#I want this AU to help others find comfort

[bloos-bloo]

Welcome to the circus..

….part 2-

THE CIRCUS CREW HAVE BEEN REDESIGNED CHAT. HOW ARE WE FEELING??

Personally- I feel like these designs live up to the expectations I have for myself when it comes to a circus.. with darker intentions. Instead of bright colors everything is a bit muted- (besides Leshy, he’s a baby)

OH! An important detail I forgot- Notice the bells! :D who has them and who doesn’t.. <3 the bells are veerryyy important!

WHAT IS TOYBOX?? OHHH IM GLAD YOU ASSKKEDDD-

ToyBox is a Cult of the Lamb Circus AU where the lamb (Emery) trapped the Bishops and clears their memory of their previous lives! It’s mainly a Narilamb centric story- but there’s a bit of everyone for everybody to enjoy <3

We got some individual ref sheets too! Don’t mind me yapping about each one.

THIS IS YOUR WARNING NOW-

ToyBox does deal with dark themes like sexual harassment, abuse, trauma, and kidnapping. So if that is something you would rather avoid, I suggest turning away now.

For the individuals- I will be adding a bit of info on their stories so far, their stage names, and just- inspo behind the characters \o/

Going from youngest to oldest here-

Leshy literally has the mentality of a child. He’s the young one out of all of the circus performers. He yearns to be in the spotlight just like the rest of his family, but he’s always pushed aside.

Emery gave him the name “Pipsqueak” because of his size.. He doesn’t know that she caused that. Out of everyone- he’s the only performer to wear bright colors. (Mainly to show off his childish personality-)

When it came to writing Leshy- I wanted to focus on the result of childhood trauma, and Leshy is an embodiment of that. His behavior is to make up of the fact that there’s something clearly wrong- but in order to protect himself, he hides it away and thinks of everything else.

Heket has it rough- her mouth is stapled shut and she’s a greeter?? Girl- pick a struggle. She tries to be open to everyone, but she often has a hard time with it. Her relationship with her family is strong- and that’s all that matters, she just needs to know that they’re safe.

“Nobody.” listened to Heket when she had suspicions. “Nobody” listened to Heket when she raged about Shamura��s injury. “Nobody” listened to Heket when she called out Emery for mistreating her family. “Nobody” listened to her. And that’s why she’s nobody. Because nobody will ever listen. Emery made sure of it.

It’s obvious what I based Heket off of- when it comes to abuse, there’s the ones who take it silently or are forced to be silent. Which was what happened to Heket, she knows what’s going on, but she cannot say it- and even if she did.. will anyone listen to her? Probably not.

Narinder does a little bit of everything- he has no solid role in the circus since Emery makes sure he is near at all times. Sometimes it’s annoying.. oh- it’s so annoying.

Figment- It’s allll a figment of his imagination. There’s nothing wrong in the circus. Nothing at all! And if there was.. it isn’t real, it’s in his head.. Emery always drills that into him.. it’s not real.. these ideas of having another life- it’s fake.

Narinder is very easy to figure out- he’s based on victims in general. How easy it is to fall for manipulation- and easy it is to try and stick around instead of causing anything else.. a sad reality.

Kallamar has a body and they know it. They use it sometimes- though is it desirable? Nope- She often changes her form since she can freely stuff or take out. It helps whenever the gazes get too much.

Minx. A sexually playful woman who often causes trouble. The complete opposite of Kallamar. In fact- she hates the stares, she yearns to have it be drawn away- and it’s not like she tries to bring in the eyes of men. She’s just given outfits to match his routines..

Reason why I associate Kallamar with “I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.” They are. Kallamar is not a hoe unlike my other AU- The idea of her is the way women are treated in modern society. Male gaze is horrible- and subjecting a body to such light is just- eugh.

Shamura- the sweet little storyteller who can barely remember their name. They just want to tell their stories and not have to worry about freaking out.

Seeker. They kept seeking for information. They kept digging and digging until it landed them somewhere they shouldn’t have been. Emery made sure they would forget, made sure that they would power off a lot more..

Now, Shamura is very special to me for this AU. A good majority of this AU being surrounded by abuse from aspects I have experienced in life. Shamura represents abuse in general. Just the fear of speaking out because of the backlash from the other, something I know of very well. They dissociate to draw away from the pain- from everything. Forgetting to protect themself.

Emery is the host, the leader of it all. She needs energy to survive- devotion. which- here devotion is given to her through cheers from the crowd. And without performers- she wouldn’t have a crowd.

Ringmaster.. it’s very self explanatory- Emery is in control of it all. Of the entire business and of what happens. Her role doesn’t stop off stage… it never does.

Emery is a character that can’t be forgiven, her actions weigh the amount of positives she could have and it sucks. Cause it’s easy to want to love her- but you can’t because of her history. Doesn’t that sound familiar? She’s basically based off people who know they’re toxic, yet never change.

[helenazbmrskai]

Road Fix [Lee Know: SKZ]

Pairing (Minho x Reader)

Genre (Mechanic AU, Smut, Small Town, Strangers To Lovers)

Summary (Your car breaks down in the middle of the road but thankfully there’s a handsome stranger to fix it for you. Giving him a ride to town you find yourself not wanting to just let him go.)

Rating (+18)

Word Count (5k)

Warnings (Sexual content, hitch-hike, dirty and oily Minho)

A/N: Cinema inspired me to write this, we all need some dirty mechanic Minho who fixes shit before he fixes you!

Stranded on 51st Street is not how you imagined your morning to go. With no signal and your car broken down, it looks like a ghost road that not many choose to pass by. You have two options either you wait in your car and hope that someone comes to help you or you abandon your car and start walking. Neither of those ideas appears to be life insurance as you can picture a dozen of scenarios that can go wrong.

You have grown up watching Criminal Minds so of course in this situation you can't help but think about the worst that can happen.

Before you can actually decide what to do there's movement on the road but it's not a car like you expected. It's a single silhouette, a man walking towards you with a backpack slung over his shoulder. His body grows bigger on the horizon as he gets closer but not that much as his form is not threatening the least as he has a lean body and slim build. His clothes are dirty and his hair is unkempt but even underneath those layers, you can see how handsome the stranger is.

"Do you need help?" He has an accent when he speaks.

You mentally debate if you should accept his help but in the end, you sigh and start explaining your situation. There's no guarantee that anyone else will come down this road and going alone to find a gas station is not a good idea.

"My car just broke down I don't know what's wrong." The guy listens to you, watching you from under his bangs. Thankful for his gesture to stop a few feet away not getting too close to your comfort zone.

"I can help you I'm a mechanic. If you want I can take a look." Relief floods over you at his friendly questions. He's not pressing or ordering you he's simply asking. Taking a look can’t hurt.

"Yes, please, and thank you." His kindness elicits a real smile, which he mirrors with a smaller one.

"No problem." He dismisses your gratitude as he makes his way over to the hood of your car. He opens it with ease, one hand on the car and the other looking around at the electronics. His nose crunches in concentration.

"I can fix it." You let out a relieved sigh when you hear it. He gets a few tools out of his bag and resumes his work. You hear clinking and twisting sounds occasionally as he works.

"All good. Try to ignite and see if it works." You get behind the wheels and squeal in happiness when the engine roars to life again.

"Thank you so much, you just saved my life!" You roll down your window to thank him repeatedly and he just shakes his head with a tiny smile playing on his lips.

"Happy to help. Get home save." The stranger nods as goodbye and starts walking again. You contemplate if you should just drive and leave him to walk but it's a long road and after he helped you you didn't get any creepy vibes from him and you will think about him all day if you don't help him out worrying if he's still walking. What if he gets kidnapped? You can’t leave him here.

"I'm going into town, if you want I can give you a lift as a thank you." You yell after him before he can get too far. The guy looks surprised but his feature morph into a polite smile.

"Are you sure?" He asks unsure if he should accept or not.

"I swear I'm not a serial killer and if you promise not to kill me either I don't see why we can't just ride together." Half serious and only half joking but the beautiful stranger finds the situation just as hilarious as you.

"Okay, thank you, and I'm not a serial killer so rest assured." You wait for him to get into the passenger seat before you start the car again.

"Honestly, if I were a serial killer this is what I would say to my victims."

He takes your humour with a stride as he laughs at your antics.

"Well, stranger can I get your name if you won't murder me?" You turn on the radio to a low volume so it can be a good background sound.

"Minho." His chuckle is angelic and despite the strange situation, you don't feel like you're in danger. Even though you know that charisma can be a bad sign but what can you do when you find him so attractive that you would let him abduct you? Well, technically you’re the one taking him away.

"I'm Y/N. Right, there are wipes in the compartment your hands must be dirty from my car." You offer and he hesitates looking down at his hands.

"Sorry for dirtying your car. I've been on the road for a while." You don't dare to ask how many hours he was walking all by himself before you met him. You might have been cautious with him but in his shoes, you would think about it twice to hop into a stranger's car. So you guys basically put your thrusts into each other.

"Don't worry about it. Just get cleaned up." Minho nods and reaches for the wipes you mentioned. First cleans his hands and then his face.

The silence is comfortable with the radio occasionally breaking the stillness.

You want to talk more but are unsure if you can ask him more questions since you're strangers but you're so curious about where's he heading or if he has a place to stay for the night. You wouldn't be able to just get up one day pack a bag and just get on the road after the first minute you would be panicking and thinking about where you will be sleeping, what will you eat what if something bad happens to you.

"You should be more careful. If you want to go somewhere just get a taxi walking alongside the road is dangerous." You can't help but voice your concerns.

"I-" Minho hesitates before his answer. "I don't have the money for that." He looks embarrassed to admit it.

"Where are you even going without money? That's very dangerous Minho." You know you shouldn't scold him but you can't help but get worked up at how irresponsibe it sounds.

"You wouldn't understand." Your hands tighten around the steering wheel hearing his hard tone. He has the right to be angry, you shouldn't preach when you don't know about his circumstances.

You take a deep breath before speaking this time. "You're right, I'm sorry if it sounded like I'm scolding you. I'm just worried about what will you do after I drop you off even though we don't know each other. I overstepped. I- just, you seem like a nice person and I'm usually a worry wart."

No one speaks after that for a few minutes. Both of you are lost in your thoughts.

"I got a new job in town. I have a lot of debt so I had to sell my house and car. This was the only way for me." Minho looks out the window avoiding meeting your eyes due to embarrassment. Anyone would feel uncomfortable if they had to talk about being broke so you try to not show much reaction as you know his pride would probably take a hit if he could see that you're pitying him.

"At John's?" There's an auto shop repair down the street where you live it's like a ten-minute walk.

"Yeah, how did you know?" He looks surprised at how you guessed so easily.

"I swear I'm not your stalker. It's a small town so there's only one mechanic shop there, it wasn't much of a mystery." You joke to set a lighter mood.

"Oh. It makes sense." Minho hides his smile behind his hand but you can tell that your plan worked at the end.

The three-hour long drive felt so short with Minho next to you. After the heavy topic of his debt and journey you talked about mundane things but as you got to know him better you dreaded parting ways at the end of the road as you didn't want the time you spent together to come to an end.

You know this is a crazy idea and you're probably out of your mind but you had to ask before he leaves.

Even if it's a small town your interactions will be limited to saying hello and polite waves before both of you go on your way and for some reason, you hate that.

You don't want to remain as the nice girl who helped him once.

He's handsome so many girls will try to get his attention, you need to act before them if you want to get a chance.

"You can say no if you find it uncomfortable but I have a proposition." You start feeling nervous as the shop soon comes into view this is your only chance.

Minho picks up your nervous jitters his full attention on you.

"So, what I'm trying to say is if you don't have a place to stay at the moment you can become my roommate?" You wait for his answer while holding your breath. It’s normal, you had roommates who were strangers before you met them. You're never this bold but there's something about Minho that just draws you in. He appreciates your weird humour and it wasn't awkward to talk to him like you're with other guys. He's so attractive and nice with a sharp edge and playful teasing comments that you're ready to risk it all for him even if you're normally a very logical and cautious person.

"I- wow, that's nice of you but I can't afford it for now. I can't pay you rent." The fact that he's not rejecting you outright is what gives you the confidence to try and convince him a little more. If anything he looks flustered by your sudden offer.

"You can pay me back later once you get your paycheck and I'm not letting you live for free you will have to help me around the house and honestly you saved me today so I'm the one who's in your debt. But if you feel uncomfortable I totally understand. You can say no but I only accept if the reason is because you think I'm creepy or something." You laugh at the end feeling nervous as you keep bubbling nonsense.

"No, honestly that sounds perfect it's just you're too nice y/n. People will take advantage of you."

Your smile grows wider as he frowns. "Oh, are you worried about me? If you're so worried you can just keep an eye on me."

"Alright. I will." Minho shakes his head with a light-hearted smile, you won. He can't say no to you.

This is how two complete strangers started living together. From strangers to roommates and now as you spent more time together considered as friends you started to feel something more than friendship that gets harder for you to hide, life truly takes unexpected turns sometimes.

Honestly, it's frightening how nice it is to live with him.

Before you met Minho your life only consisted of getting home from College and then going to work at the cafe down the street, studying or watching something on the TV before you fell face down on your bed exhausted and asleep.

Now he waits for your shift to end to walk home together, cook together on the weekends and watch movies to relax. Even if you study he brews you a coffee and reminds you to take breaks.

Even when you fight for the remote or just exist together after a long day, you're thankful that Minho is next to you.

"Your boyfriend is here." You bite your lip as Clara keeps teasing you but she's right about Minho waiting for you by the door as you catch his reflection from outside waiting patiently. The cafe is already closed leaving the only two employees inside are you and your friend wiping down the tables.

"He's not my boyfriend." You jab her in the ribs but she's unfazed.

"But you wish he would be. Honestly, I don't get it why don't you just confess? He likes you too. Not even my boyfriend comes to pick me up every day after my shifts."

You want to believe her but there's something that keeps bothering you. What if it's just gratitude? You helped him when he needed it the most. Maybe he's just thankful and you misjudge his intentions.

"He's just a good friend." You like to play it safe even if you're torn between wanting to tell him. It's easier to think that he's just doing these things for you because he considers you a good friend.

"You're so hopeless. Now get out, I will finish here." Clara takes the rag from your hand shooing you to change out of your apron and go home.

You put away your work clothes and grab your things from the changing room before you meet Minho at the entrance. Once more thanking Clara before you go.

"Hi." You greet the handsome man in front of you cheerfully.

"Hi, how was your day?" His smile reaches his eyes as you appear. His hair is dishevelled so you impulsively reach out to tidy it up. His clothes are dirty with oil and grease but you're not concerned with that as you close the distance.

"Good." You reply focusing on your fingers carding through his hair.

"You will get dirty." He warns you. Minho tries to keep you at a distance his hands hover over your waist as he catches himself before he can soil your clothes with the remaining oil on his hands.

"It's fine. I'm almost done." You never really cared if he was dirty you know it comes with his job. You perfected the art of getting the spots out of his clothes so it's not a big hassle if you just put your clothes in with his in the washing machine.

"You're weird. Normally girls would hate getting dirt on them." Accepting your nonchalance with defeat he places his hand on your waist at last as you pat the stray stands down. Your white shirt now sporting two big handprints.

"I can always wash my clothes." You reply with a smile. Carding your fingers through his hair one last time before you deem your work is done.

You step back and Minho lets go of your waist as you start walking side by side to your apartment.

"You look tired. Long day?" Minho nods rolling his shoulder as he slows his pace to match yours.

"We had so many cars to fix today. My back and shoulder are killing me."

You listen as he tells you about his day even if the technical words are flying over your head. It's a short walk home but you're able to catch up with each other, you complain about rude customers or tell him about school.

Neither of you had the energy to cook once you arrived home so you decided to order takeout and talk over the food as the TV served as background music. This is what a usual afternoon looks like for the two of you, relaxing and talking.

The only difference in mood got palpable in the air when you offered to massage his shoulders and back to help with his pain. You're thankful that he's showing his back to you as you have a hard time controlling your expression when he takes off his t-shirt. You knew he was fit but not the six-pack kind of fit.

You massage the muscle relaxant gel into his shoulders, you can feel each twitch of his muscle under your fingers as you spread it over moving lower to treat his back with the same attention.

"Does it hurt?" Unsure if the pressure is alright you ask.

"No, it feels good. You could be a professional masseur."

You snort at his overreaction.

You carefully work your fingers over the knots in his back and shoulders, you don't stop until your hand starts to ache from the use. You wiped mugs and made coffees all day that your hand already hurt.

"Thank you." Minho turned around to give you a lazy smile. You must have looked like you were in pain because he held your hand and rubbed your fingers to relax your hold. Your eyes grew wide when he put two of your fingers into his mouth. You could feel his tongue running over the tips.

"Heat is good for when your joints ache." He gives you this explanation after he pops your digits out of his mouth.

You look away afraid that your blush will give your feelings away.

"You're gross." You try to appear unphased as you rub his saliva into your pants but fail miserably as Minho smirks.

"But you like it." He gives you a wink not leaving you room to react he gets up to clean the plates from the table.

Sometimes his flirty actions give you hope that he might consider you as someone more than just a friend.

Peaceful days are the new normal with occasional slightly charged moments when you think he might actually kiss you but in the end, it never happens.

The unresolved tension makes you agitated. You don't know how long you can play this push and pull before you break.

Seem like Minho has other plans. At work, you get a text from him. He forgot his lunch so you agree to get some pastries and coffee for him.

Once your lunch break rolls around you get the food and make your way to the workshop. One of his chatty colleagues tells you where you can find him and you do find him under a BMW.

"Delivery for Minho." You say in a singsong voice and shake the paper bag to get his attention. The metallic clunks under the car stop before he rolls back, his body sweaty and dirty.

"Finally. I was starving." His smile is bright as he gets up. He looks at you sheepishly holding up his dirty hands.

"Can you feed me? My hands are dirty and there's a bathroom repair right now so we don't have running water at the moment." The first thing that comes to your mind is: that God must be testing you.

"Alright." You gulp. Minho sits down as you get the food. You bought a chocolate croissant and some raspberry twists for him. Grabbing the croissant you place it in front of his mouth waiting for him to take the first bite.

The position is already making you conscious as you stand between his legs.

Minho holds your wrist his fingers leaving behind oil marks on your skin. "Hey, no touching." You pull away, inspecting the grease he left on you.

"You can just wash it off at work. Come on, I'm hungry. You said before that you don't mind if I'm dirty." He's pouting, making ridiculous grabby hands at you. You can never win against him.

"Alright, but you can't touch anywhere else." Minho nods guiding you by the wrist as he devours the food you brought.

"You're my saviour y/n." Minho grins when he's finally full. He thanks you between sips of the coffee you hold up for him.

"You owe me Lee Minho, I'm here on my precious break to feed you." You're joking with no real meaning behind your words but he pulls you closer by your wrist.

"How can I ever repay the favour?" It sounds seductive as his face is inches away from yours.

"You look like you have a few ideas in your single man mind." You don't know what possessed you to flirt back maybe you're going insane after the building tension. There's no way he can't feel it.

"Maybe." Minho grins. His lips trace the line of your neck, dragging down on your skin breathing in your scent without really touching. He's seizing up your reactions, the spike in your heartbeat or the hitch in your breath when he finds your pulse point and latches on it.

"No marks I still have four hours before my shift ends." You warn him when you feel his teeth on your skin.

"Yes, ma'am." His smirk is pressed into your neck.

This time his tongue playfully peaks out wetting your skin, you jump at the wet sensation the hand that encloses your wrist tightens ever so slightly as a warning to stop squirming.

"Since my hands are dirty I can only use my mouth I hope you don't mind." You roll your eyes at how cheeky he is. As if he can sense it he bites down on your ear, making you yelp at the sudden pain.

"Stop playing or I will leave you here." You press your fingers into his shoulders, getting fed up with his antics.

"When will your break end?" He asks between kisses.

You look down at your watch with half-lidded eyes. "M-maybe 20 minutes. Why?"

"I can work with that." He nods playfully nipping at your neck.

"What do you mean?" It's hard to concentrate on the conversation with his lips all over your jaw and neck.

"I'm positive I can make you cum in ten minutes."

"Confident are we?" You scoff.

"Should I take that as a challenge?" This is not how you expected his competitive side to arise and it shouldn't be as hot as it is.

"You can't be serious. You're in the middle of work." You make a circle with your hands showing him around that you're standing in the middle of his workplace if he didn't notice.

"No one comes in anyway, if you can be quiet no one will ever know." Minho nips at the rim of your jeans with his teeth, laughing when you gasp in terror.

You push his head back but not before he can plant a kiss on the skin showing below your crop top.

"If you keep thinking about it we will have less time." He doesn't fight you pushing his head away as if he's trying to show you that he won't do anything that you don't want. If you say no you're sure he will back down but the painful part is that you don't want him to stop despite this risky action can cost both your jobs.

"How are you even going to do it? Your hands are filthy." Minho smiles showing you his white teeth awfully confident in himself.

"My mouth is enough, you don't need to worry." His shit-eating confidence is a turn-on and an annoyance at the same time.

"Fine but I'm not sure if you can make me cum in ten." You look behind you at the door making sure that it's closed and you sigh when you see it is.

"Relax." Minho dips his head down to kiss your lower stomach, pulling at the button with his teeth to free you.

You help him with sliding your jeans down your thighs but stops you when you try to pull your panties down and realise why he stopped you. He wanted to drag it down with his teeth, his breath brushing over your legs as he pulled it lower until you could step out of it.

You hang your clothes on the back of the chair so they won't get dirty. Urging you to take your place you sit down and obediently put your leg over his shoulder exposing yourself to the cold air.

Minho's eyes lock on your glistening folds his jaw tenses as he gulps. His hands are locked in a fist behind him to avoid the temptation to touch you.

"Fuck, you're so pretty." You blush at his evident desire to devour you. His arms flex as he tries hard to not touch you, you can feel the muscles in his back dance with the effort and when he moves your leg bends with it, making your stance wider for him.

"Wish I could touch how wet you are." You're getting more turned on by his dirty talk than embarrassed by how he keeps staring at you from his position on his knees. It feels like he's about to worship you and kiss the ground you walk on.

"Yeah? You're all talk and no action so far. The clock is ticking." Your smile is devilish, and your teasing is all he needs to finally part your folds with his tongue and taste you with a long lick.

"Set the timer, baby, because you're gonna cum in five." Minho licks his lips, looking into your eyes as he buries his face back into your cunt. His tongue flicks over your bud repeatedly, getting your thighs to close on his head but he's not fazed as he continues his exploration. His pink tongue runs up and down your folds.

The speed at which he moves is insane and it doesn't help that he occasionally switches to sucking and slruping.

You need to bite your lip hard so that you can keep your noise down. Minho watches you fight to stay still as his hands are still behind his back keeping his word of not touching you with dirty hands however you're past the point where you would care if he got you dirty or not.

The one thing that's hotter than his harsh breathing against your folds is the tongue that pokes your entrance with each descent. Expertly flattening his tongue for long licks and switching it up at the top where he sucks your clit between his wet lips.

If the space gets smaller as he fights with your closing thighs he just pushes against you harder until your legs part on their own giving him the space to work his magic. You're not in the mindset to count down the minutes but he does work you up fast. His mouth hanging open he watches you from under his lashes studying where are the spots that make your toes curl and find them again and again.

It's not just you that has to be quiet as he moans his little grunts sending vibrations through you.

You're close, he can tell by the shaking of your leg on his shoulder and the fact that you let out small moans between your fingers a little louder than you would have liked. Now he's focusing solely on your swollen clit as he pushes you over the edge with his tongue flicking over in circles.

You grab his hair tightly as you cum the other firmly pressed into your mouth to silence your cries.

Minho helps you through the high with slow drags of his tongue, his throat bobbing as he drinks down your essence. His licks slow down but keep up the consistency.

His lips glisten as he pulls back his hair dishevelled and breathing hard but has that satisfied look in his eyes as he regards you sprawled on his chair.

"8 minutes. Might just be a new record." You check the clock and can't deny that he made you cum fast.

Minho distracts you with kisses, his lips touch every inch of your thighs that he can reach as you desperately try to catch your breath.

"I think my soul just left my body." Raking your hands through your messy locks you try to move your legs that by now become jelly. Minho laughs at how cute you are, your cheeks are tinted pink in embarrassment as you need to slip your panties up your legs and cover your still slick pussy.

"This was just an appetizer, you will learn soon how grateful I can be back at home." Minho leans down for a short peck. Your lips shape a shocked O as he pulls back.

"But before I get ahead of myself I have a condition first." His tone is unusually serious as he fidgets with his hands.

"I remember tomorrow is your day off so I hoped we could go to have dinner that day. I'm paying and if you're wondering- yes, I'm asking you out on a date."

You're so shocked that for a moment your mind shuts down.

"Really?"

You ask dumbly. You need a moment to process everything.

"Everyone in town already thinks we're dating. Fuck that, everyone knows how much I love you. Except for you, apparently."

"You love me?" You repeat him like a parrot.

These shocking revelations just come out of his mouth one by one that you have a hard time following.

"Yes. I love you." His confession spurs your frozen body to take action and attack him with a hug that the momentum pushes him back as you two collide.

"I love you too." Minho lets out a sigh of relief he started to think that maybe he misjudged you reciprocating his feelings.

He hugs you back without realising that this is how he soils your clothes.

"Your break is ending." He reminds you even if he doesn't want to let you go.

"Right. I need to go back to work." You will do something about the oil marks later if you're lucky the apron will hide it until your shift ends.

"I will pick you up later." Minho grins happy that you accepted his confession, leaving you with one more kiss.

You try to get yourself occupied but the hours seem to drag on as you wait for work to end. Clara can sense your sudden agitation not to speak about the marks she put two and two together.

"Your boyfriend is here." Minho only grins when he hears it and you don't correct her this time.

"It's okay if you close up Clara?" She rolls her eyes, duh, she's the one that always closes and today is nothing different.

"Get out you love birds."

"Thanks!" You yell back before you leave with Minho, your fingers intertwined as you walk side by side.

[wingeddonkeygiantthing]

I have a few WIP at the moment, I'm not sure which one to finish first! Some are short whereas others are in depth storeys! Feel free to be inspired but please don't steal! Thanks!

PRE-SONIC 1

1) Eggman Energy - Robotnik makes a serum so he doesn't have to waste time on sleep. It makes him rather hyper and more impulsive (humor and fluff)

2) Love & Thorns - Robotnik realises he loves stone so actively tries to get him to quit by being meaner as its whats best for him. (hurt/comfort with happy ending)

3) Left yourself open - stone is actually notoriously hard to hit and robotnik genuinely tries to catch him off-guard (humor and fluff).

4) Unwanted Advance - TW 18+! Robotnik isn't the only person on site who understands stones worth. When General Everard shows romantic interest in the agent, Stone soon realises that something is not quite right with the man. Forced to manage workplace professionalism, robotniks intent gaze, and even a badnik that for some reason won't leave him alone, stone soon finds himself deflecting unwanted advances from the volatile general. If only the man didn't have a say in the doctors funding. (TW - non con and Stockholm syndrome.) (60,000+ words)

POST - SONIC 1

5) Neural Overdrive - G.U.N keeps a tighter watch on Stone when robotnik disappears to the mushroom planet. When surveillance catches stone using the control gloves and ordering the badniks, G.U.N immediately brings him in as no one else in the planet is authorised to operate the technology. Too bad stone wont help willingly. BASICALLY A WINTER SOLDIER AU. Iv got over 100,000 written for this with fanart too. But this one is a lot longer and will take more time to finish. So for this one is like to know if you guys would prefer to wait for the whole completed thing or if I should release it chapter by chapter! (explicit gore and torture, angst with happy ending)

6)The Family Curse - Gerald distrusted Stone as he holds himself like a soldier, when the agent is busy piloting the crab to London, the professor digs through the agents room and finds a familiar G.U.N uniform (from the end of sonic 2), coming to the conclusion that Stone is a spy that is waiting to turn on Ivo like Walters did to him and shadow. When Ivo and Shadow wont listen the professor takes matters into his own hands. (hurt/comfort)

7) Chaos Control - Movieverse meets Sonic Boom. During a fight with the master emerald the movieverse characters find themselves stuck in the boom universe. Thankfully that means they have 2 robotniks to work on the portal home! But when Eggman meets Stone, the man doesn't want the agent to leave and finds himself sabotaging the portal and attempting to send back everyone but stone, prompting robotnik and eggman to childishly fight over the agents affections much to the confusion of team sonic. (humor and fluff)

I have more but these are the ones that are the most finished!

[sunkissed-poet]

thinking of high school sweetheart!kirishima who can’t help but stare when you giggle with your friends.

a/n || fem! reader, no war au, two oblivious idiots in love with each other,

high school sweetheart!kirishima when others make you laugh instead of him. dammit. he wish he was the one making you smile. but for now, as your classmate, he wants to respect your boundaries as he watches you from afar. you snap him out of his daydreaming by greeting him with a nonchalant and effortlessly cheeky grin. “eijirou, whatcha thinking about? hmm?” you say, poking his cheek. the sudden touch made blood rush to his face. “you, pretty girl,” he laughs. he then freezes. an uncomfortable sensation washes over him as he realizes he said what he was thinking. he slowly turned to you, watching your smile drop. “eh?” you say with a confuse look, leaning on his desk. he mumbled a few sorries, but before he could say anything else, mina dragged you away.

high school sweetheart!kirishima when your attentions shift to others. “y/n! we have training with aizawa sensei! did you seriously forget? you usually remember,” mina smirks. before dragging you away she froze, looking at kirishima’s reddended expression and then at you. you couldn’t help but contain your smile. “WHAT?! he confessed to you already? it’s just like what you were daydreaming earl-” kirishima’s tensed body relaxed as he smirked. around you, he was soft. he felt secure, and stable. in a world where he had to constantly fight against villains, you were his comfort. and sure, he felt ashamed of it at times, and he would never admit it to himself. he likes you. no, he loves you. he loves your precious grin, your undeniable kindness, and loyalty to your friends. you were a sweet, genuine girl he could trust. you were someone he wanted to spend the rest of his days with. maybe he was stupid for thinking this. after all, he was just in high school. but if it wasn’t going to last, so be it. he had to take his chance.

high school sweetheart!kirishima when he gathers the courage to talk to you, his longtime crush.“y/n, can we talk?” mina paused as you started at kirishima, nodding your head sheepishly. you two were somewhat close, talking now and then. in your eyes, his bravery and strength was something to be admired. but more than that, you valued how he treated others. you didn’t feel left out. he made sure you were included, that you felt wanted. you were too scared to make a move, after all, what if he didn’t feel the same and it was just the delusions again?

high school sweetheart!kirishima who is scared of rejection, knowing he’ll always love you. you forgot kirishima was still waiting for your response, shaking your head. kirishima frowned, thinking you shook your head to his question. “ah, no! i didn’t mean it like that,” you rubbed your head nervously. by this time, mina had already sauntered off elsewhere, giving you two some much deserved privacy. there it was again. your subtle, yet adorable movements that made his heart pound. he led you outside of school grounds, leading your soft and delicate hands to a secluded area with a gingham blanket draped over a small patch of grass.

high school sweetheart!kirishima who awaits your response to his (indirect) confession.“y/n, do you trust me?” kirishima asked, the anxiety building up in his chest for years started to swell, just like in a classic rom-com movie you two would often watch together. “do you trust me?” he finally asked. you paused for a moment, racking your brain as you tried to find a proper response. “duh, why wouldn’t i?” you laughed. he turned his head to you as you settled your gaze on the sunset, falling cherry blossoms obscuring your vision before you turned your head towards your (potential) lover. “no, really. i need to know y/n.” at this point, your hands were intertwined with his. you didn’t even realize. it just felt so… so natural. “y/n? how come you’re so quiet? am i saying something wrong, if so i’m really-”

high school sweetheart!kirishima who couldn’t be happier to call you his. “please stop talking, idiot.” your grinned, leaning in for a kiss. before you could, his lips met yours first. for once in his life, kirishima felt that he had a chance. maybe it wasn’t as grand as becoming a pro hero, but beautiful moments like these were something he would cherish forever. his slightly grown out red hair brushed against your collarbone. you leaned it for another kiss. “greedy, are we princess?” he laughed, matching your bright personality he adored so much. “shut up and kiss me. i’ve been waiting so long for this moment…” you playfully nudge him on the shoulder. “why wouldn’t i? sweetheart.”

note: this is def a story you told your grandkids! >_<

[candycandy00]

Once Upon a Time - A Higuruma x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is The Little Mermaid featuring Higuruma! You’re a mermaid obsessed with the human world, and in love with one particular human: the lawyer named Higuruma. You make a deal with the sea witch to become human, but you only have three days to win his love!

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty here!

Read Choso x Rapunzel Here!

Read Toji x Snow White Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Reader is a mermaid. Reader becomes mute. Light violence. Oral sex. 

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @drizztdohurtin!

The water gets warmer as you swim upwards, toward the light of the sun. You accidentally disturb a school of small fish, stopping to apologize even though they don’t understand your language. You hurry on, afraid you might be too late today. 

If only your sisters hadn’t delayed you. “Stop going to the surface!” they told you. They’re always scolding you, always giving you cryptic warnings about humans. They don’t understand. They’ve only come to the surface of the sea a handful of times between them, and you’ve come hundreds of times in the past year. You pride yourself in knowing more about humans than any other merfolk.

You break the surface of the water, feeling the glorious sun on your face. You only bask in its warmth for a few seconds before swimming over to the island, to the long wooden structures the humans call “docks”. There, it’s easy to hide beneath the boards and peek up at the people moving about on their lovely legs.  

But there’s one human in particular you’ve come to see. Every day he’s here at the docks for while, walking around, talking to various people. 

You dart around under the water, coming up every so often to look around for him. It takes only a few minutes to find him, standing on one of the wooden structures, talking to an aging human man. You swim over quickly to hide beneath his feet and listen to his conversation.

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Higuruma,” the older man is saying. 

“I’m just doing my job,” Higuruma, your favorite human, replies. “That contract was clearly predatory. I’m glad I could get it voided for you.”

“You don’t think the Russo family will retaliate, do you? My wife is afraid they’ll burn down our shop.”

Higuruma pats the old man on the back. “Don’t worry. They’ve never targeted any of my past clients. They try to work within the system to exploit people with their contracts, but I don’t know of them ever using violence. Besides, if they were going to go after anyone, it would be me.”

The old man seems comforted by this, but then says, “You be careful, Mr. Higuruma. You’ve helped a lot of people since you came here. We don’t want to lose you.”

Wait. Lose him? Does that mean he’s in danger? Your heart begins to race at the very thought. You couldn’t bear it if something happened to him!

He showed up on the island a little over a year ago, and you were instantly intrigued. He seemed so different from the other humans who lived on the island. He wore strange clothing, long black pants and a white shirt with buttons that looked far too clean. The islanders wore colorful shorts and tops. He seemed to struggle with the heat, making you wonder what sort of land he came from. 

Higuruma seemed more serious than the other humans you observed. He often looked troubled as he walked around the docks, talking to the various people there. He talked about contracts a lot, and you often heard words like “predatory” and “illegal”. 

From listening to his conversations everyday, you gathered that some people on the island called “the Russo family” are hurting other people on the island with their contracts. Higuruma is some kind of expert, and he came here to help people get out of these bad contracts. 

Everyday he‘s here, trying to help people. Once you understood that, your admiration for him only grew. And over the past year, you’ve completely fallen for him. 

You stare up through the cracks in the wood. He’s apparently already been here for a while today, as he’s already rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and undone the first three buttons at his collar. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand as he continues talking. 

Ah, he’s so handsome! Even when he looks like he might wilt in the sun. At your age, you should have already chosen a mate, and if Higuruma were merfolk, you would choose him in a heartbeat. 

Or, even better, if you were human…

No, that can never be. It’s something you dreamt of as a child, always wishing you could walk onto the shore and dance with the smiling islanders, that you could live in the sun. 

Higuruma stops speaking mid sentence, and you realize he’s looking straight down. You freeze, staring up at his lovely dark eyes. Can he see you? Impossible! The crack is so tiny! Just in case, you duck back under the water. 

With a casual wave, Higuruma walks away from his client on the dock, his footsteps making the wood creak. After getting back on the sandy shore, he glances back, at the space beneath the dock. 

Since coming to the island, he’s consistently had the feeling that he’s being watched. He at first thought it might be someone from the Russo family keeping tabs on him, but over time the strange feeling has become oddly comforting. He senses no hostility at all. Quite the opposite in fact. 

Just now on the dock, he thought he saw movement through the cracks in the wood. Was it just the water? He shakes his head to banish the thoughts. Right now, he needs to focus on his work. He has a very important case. 

A young family of four was targeted by the Russos, tricked into signing a contract that would give the Russos nearly complete control over their little upstart bait shop. They’d been naive, thinking the Russos would support them financially until their shop got started, in exchange for a cut of the profits. They expected a fair deal. 

What they got was the Russos controlling everything they did and taking over half the money, long after the shop became popular on the island. Higuruma has spent the past week reading and rereading the contract at night, looking for mistakes or loopholes. He thinks he’s found one, and will present his case before a judge tomorrow. 

He walks through the town, saying his hellos to the people who greet him warmly, and heads straight to his favorite spot on the island. 

On the west side, there’s an old abandoned dock. The small beach there is rarely used by anyone, making it seem like a private piece of paradise. For Higuruma, it’s his “thinking spot”. 

The sea breeze is warm on his face as he steps out from the line of palm trees, stopping for a moment to take off his shoes and roll up his pant legs. The sound of the waves lapping at the shore is rhythmic and soothing as he walks toward the water’s edge. 

He sits down in the sand, at the precise spot where the water will slide up to wet his feet but go no further, leaving his clothes dry. To his left is the shabby dock, its wood heavily damaged by age and weather. 

With a sigh, he leans his head back, looking up at the pink-tinted sky. It’s almost sundown, the time when he should be at home preparing for the hearing. But he needs these little moments of peace to keep himself from getting burnt out. He doesn’t want a repeat of what happened on the mainland. 

After a few minutes, he raises his head and glances out over the shimmering water…

And sees a woman staring at him. 

He blinks, rubs his tired eyes, and looks again. Now there’s no one in the water. Is he imagining things? If so, his imagination is more vivid than he thought. The woman was waist deep in the sea, and quite beautiful. 

He’s had this particular daydream before, thinking he’s seen a woman watching him from the water. But she always disappears so fast, he can only assume it’s an illusion, a trick of the light reflecting off the sea.  

Higuruma stands up and dusts himself off. He looks at the dock and wonders if he could get a better view of the spot he saw the woman if he walks out on the boards. How sturdy is this old dock? Surely it would be blocked off if it’s a major safety hazard, right? 

Walking carefully, he makes his way to the end of the dock and looks out over the sea, squinting his eyes against the glimmering sun on the waves. Seeing nothing, he sighs again, feeling foolish. As he starts to turn back, he hears the wood creaking behind him. 

“Hey, you’re that lawyer Higuruma, right?” 

He turns to see four large men walking toward him on the dock. None of them are familiar, and none of them look friendly. So the Russo family finally decided to make a move. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says nonchalantly. “Why? Do you guys need some legal advice?”

The men glance at each other, but keep walking toward him. Higuruma knows how this will play out. They’ll threaten him or rough him up, try to intimidate him into dropping the various cases he has lined up against the Russos. He’s never been the best fighter, always relying on his intelligence to get him out of trouble, but he’s not exactly a weakling either. If there were only two of them, he might have a shot at getting away unscathed. But there’s four, and they’re all considerably bigger than him. 

No point trying to run, not on this dock. Might as well take whatever they plan to give then. 

To his surprise, none of them try to talk to him at all. No threats, no demands, they simply begin punching him. He takes three hits to the face. From the same guy? From three different ones? He doesn’t know because he shut his eyes after the first. 

He feels a kick to his knee, taking him down, then several kicks to his gut, knocking the wind out of him. While he’s gasping for air, one of them shoves him off the dock and into the water. 

Higuruma can swim, but he’s never been especially great at it, and he’s never had to immediately after taking a beating, when he’s already struggling to breathe. 

He feels the waves tossing him about, at one point slamming him into one of the dock’s support beams. His mouth inadvertently opens, and sea water rushes in. That’s when he blacks out. 

When he wakes up again, he’s lying on his back on the shore. It’s nearly night, dark enough to obscure the person leaning over him. It’s a woman. The same one he’s been seeing in the water, and he can just make out enough of her facial features to see that she wears a worried expression. 

“Who… are you?” he croaks out, his throat raw from the salt water. 

She doesn’t speak a word, only moves away from him, so quickly that by the time he manages to sit up, she’s no longer in sight. Where the hell did she even go?

He rubs the back of his head, checking for bumps or injuries. His face and stomach are sore, but nothing else seems to be damaged. 

She saved him, didn’t she? 

You swim away at top speed, your heart hammering in your chest. You touched him! You let him see you! 

Interacting with humans, under any circumstances, is strictly forbidden! But when you saw him being hurt and falling into the water, you couldn’t stop yourself from helping him. 

It’ll be alright! He’ll probably just think he was confused or half dreaming. He almost drowned after all. There’s no way he’ll remember you. 

You stop suddenly, letting the gentle currents carry you. He’ll forget you. He’ll think you were a figment of his imagination. You know this is how it should be, how it has to be, but the thought still makes tears come to your eyes, leaking out to blend in with the sea. 

How you wish you could be human, so that you could run onto the shore and greet him, tell him how much you admire him, how much you want him to be your mate. 

Feeling a bit raw and emotional, you begin swimming again, eager to get back home. Until you’re stopped by two young mermen, twins with dark hair who look to be in their late teens. 

“We saw what you did,” one of them says, his face completely devoid of expression. 

“What?” you ask, pretending not to know what he’s talking about. If he did see, and tells anyone, you could be in big trouble with your father. 

“You saved a human,” the other twin says in an equally flat and creepy way. 

You frown at them. “I just dragged him to shore. He would’ve died.”

The two of them swim closer, circling around you. “Even if we see a human child fall in the water, we’re forbidden from helping.”

The other one chimes in, “Too much risk of humans discovering our existence. That’s your father’s rule, isn’t it?”

You look back and forth between them. Clearly they’re threatening to report this to your father. “What do you want from me?”

They exchange glances. “Us? We want nothing,” one of them says. 

“But you clearly want something,” the other adds. “That human man, perhaps?”

You look down sadly. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I can’t have it. I’ve made peace with that.”

“Have you?”

“Have you really given up on your dream?”

Your eyes shift back to their blank faces. “What choice do I have? He’s human. I’m merfolk. We live in different worlds.”

They finally smile, both of them at the same time. “Oh, you have a choice,” they say in eerie unison. “Come see our grandmother.”

“Grandmother?” you ask, confused.

One twin swims close enough to touch you, his fin brushing past yours. “People call her the sea witch.”

“But she helps those in need,” the second twin says. 

Oh. You’ve heard of her. “For a price,” you add. 

They both nod. “For a price.”

You would give anything to be human, to live in that world with Higuruma, but you’ve heard horrible tales of the sea witch tricking people into losing the things they most value. Still, you’ve also heard stories of people being satisfied with whatever deal she proposed. 

“How can she help me?” you ask. What you want is impossible. Surely it’s beyond even her power. 

“Come and see,” they say. 

You only give it a moment of thought before you agree, then swim behind them as they lead you to the witch. 

They take you to a sea cave, so deep and dark that you can barely see them swimming in front of you. The water is cold here, much colder than you’re used to, and there’s no current at all, making the sea feel almost dead here. 

As you swim further into the cave, you begin to see light ahead. Little bits of seashells are strung along the top of the cave, lit by some strange magic. It’s beautiful to behold, if a bit ominous. 

There in the deepest part of the cave floats an older mermaid with an unusually colored fin - a violet color that shimmers, reflecting the strange light. She’s staring at you as if she’s been waiting for your arrival, as if she’s known all along that her twin grandsons would convince you to come. 

“You’re the sea witch?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, and you’re one of the king’s daughters,” she says, her voice having a bizarre echo in the cave. 

“I was told you can help me,” you say, eager to get to the point. 

She swims closer, and at this distance you can see her eyes more clearly. They’re absolutely haunting, large but empty and devoid of color. “I can help you help yourself. I can give you the tools you need to make your dream come true.”

You draw back reflexively. “You don’t even know what my dream is.”

“To be human,” she says. “To live with that man you saved.”

How does she know about that? The twins didn’t have time to tell her. Still… 

“Can you help me?”

She smiles. “Of course I can. I can transform your fin into human legs. After that, it will be your job to win the human man’s heart.”

You’ve already decided to take her deal, no matter what she wants of you. But just as a formality, you ask, “What’s the price?”

“Your voice, nothing more.”

That’s a surprising request. It will certainly hinder you in winning Higuruma’s heart, if you can’t even communicate with him. But love will find a way. 

“It’s yours,” you tell her. 

The sea witch grins. “Excellent! If you’ll just sign this contract, the deal will be finalized.”

“Contract?”

She holds up something, a glowing square that looks like a piece of paper humans write on. Words appear across it, and you read over them. 

“I understand that I have three days to make the human man fall in love with me. During this time, I will have human legs while surrendering my voice. If I succeed, I will become human permanently and regain my voice. If I fail, I will lose my human legs and my voice will become the permanent property of the Sea Witch. This agreement exists so long as my signature is on this contract.”

Ah, so you’ll either gain everything or lose everything. You’re willing to take that gamble! 

“How will I know for sure that I’ve succeeded?” you ask the witch as you take then pen she holds out for you. 

“With this,” she says, holding out a pendant in her other hand. It’s shaped like a heart, made of crystal, with golden trim. “As the human’s affection for you grows, the heart will turn red. Once it is completely full, you have won his love.”

You take the pendant, attached to a chain, and pull it over your head to wear as a necklace. Then you sign your name to the contract. 

The “paper” rolls into a scroll, and you take it as well. This is all done by magic, so you assume you’re bound to the terms regardless. 

“Take this,” the witch says, holding out a small glass bottle. “When you’re ready, drink this and your body will transform. At that time, you will lose your voice. I recommend getting close to the shore beforehand.”

You accept the bottle and swim away without another word, in a hurry to be away from this creepy place. 

You don’t drink the potion right away. Doing so would be foolish. Instead you spend the next day with your sisters, etching their faces and their voices in your mind. If all goes well, you’ll never see them again. That thought stings a little, as you do love them dearly, but you would never expect one of them to give up on her lifelong dream for your sake. So you won’t give up yours for them. 

When it gets close to sundown, you quietly slip away and swim for the surface, then head for the usually empty beach where you see Higuruma alone almost every day. You envision drinking the potion, gaining legs, and standing there at the beach waiting for him. It’ll be difficult to introduce yourself without your voice, but you’ll figure out how to convey your thoughts. He’s very smart, and should be able to understand you. 

You reach the shore and look around. It’s deserted as you expected. Higuruma should arrive soon, so you sit at the edge of the water and pull out the potion. The pendant is hanging from your neck, and the rolled up contract is in your free hand.

The potion shimmers when you hold the bottle up to the sun. You take a deep breath, then bring the bottle to your lips, downing the contents in one gulp. 

You feel it immediately, a savage pain radiating from your waist down to the tips of your fin. You collapse onto your back as waves of agony tear through you, as if your fin is being ripped in two. The witch never told you it would hurt so bad! 

With a gasp, you roll over, trying to crawl back to the sea. Something is wrong! She must have tricked you! But before you can reach the water, a stab of pain so intense that you think you’re dying shoots through your fin. You scream loudly, but the sound cuts off midway, leaving only silent horror as your voice disappears. 

After that, you pass out on the beach. 

Higuruma walks solemnly through town on his familiar path, his black jacket slung over his shoulder, barely looking up when people greet him as usual. 

His case didn’t go well today. The judge, who was always very fair before, was suddenly harsh and unsympathetic. Did the Russos get to him? It was a little suspicious that the judge had zero reaction to Higuruma’s black eye. Almost like he was expecting it. 

Seeing the disappointment and defeat on the faces of his young clients was the worst part. It reminded him a little too much of other faces, from other cases. 

He doesn’t plan to give up. There’s more than one judge on the island. But right now, he just wants to go to his private little spot, breathe in the sea breeze, watch the sunset, and forget all about today for those precious few minutes. 

There’s a thick line of palm trees and flowering shrubs that mark the edge of town, a line he must pass through to reach the old dock. He’s halfway through it when he hears a terrible scream. 

Was that a woman? It sounded like it came from the beach! Surely the Russos aren’t attacking random women there now! 

Higuruma breaks into a run, tearing through the trees as fast as he can, ignoring the shrub branches catching on his crisp white shirt. 

When he reaches the beach, he quickly spots a figure lying at the water’s edge. He rushes over, and is shocked to find a completely naked woman. He drapes his jacket over her and squats down, worried that she might have been assaulted. 

“Miss?” he asks, gently turning her so that she’s not face down in the sand. He doesn’t see any injuries, but she appears to be unconscious. Around her neck is a strange pendant, and in her hand is a rolled up piece of paper. 

He pulls the paper from her grasp, thinking it might be a clue to her identity or what happened to her. The first thing he notices is the bizarre texture of the “paper”. It doesn’t feel like paper at all. And the ink is even stranger. But most perplexing of all are the words written there. 

It’s a contract. But not a single word of it makes any sense. Trading voices for legs? Three days to make someone fall in love? It must be some sort of fantasy game she’s playing with someone. 

He rolls it back up and slips it into his pocket, then starts to pick her up so that he can carry her to the clinic in town. But just as he begins to touch her, she suddenly sits up. 

Higuruma is so surprised he falls back on his ass in the sand beside her. She looks around, then her eyes fall on him. They go wide, and then all at once she’s waving and making gestures in an excited fashion. 

“Hey, calm down, I’ll help you, okay?” he says, getting back to a more dignified position on his knees. “First of all, are you hurt?”

She stares at him blankly for a moment, then shakes her head. 

“Can you tell me your name?” 

If he can figure out who she is, he can take her to her family. 

She shakes her head again, then points to her mouth before shaking it once more. 

“You can’t speak?”

She nods. 

Well that’s going to make this a bit more challenging. Yes or no questions only. 

“Do you live in town?”

No. 

“Do you live on this island?”

No. 

“Where did you come from?” Shit, that’s not a yes or no question!

Before he can rephrase, she stretches out her arm and points to the water. 

… Huh? She’s from the sea? At that moment, looking back at her face, he realizes she’s familiar. She looks like the woman who saved him yesterday, the woman he’s glimpsed watching him from the water. Is this her? 

No, it can’t be. She just coincidentally resembles the person who saved him, if that person even exists. He was pretty groggy when he woke up on the beach, and he’s been stressed out lately. 

“You mean you come from another island?” he asks, thinking that must be why she pointed that direction. 

She hesitates for a moment, then nods. 

He wonders how she ended up here, naked on the beach. Then an unlikely but theoretically possible idea hits him. “Did you just wash up here? Did you fall off a ship?”

Again, she hesitates before giving a nod. 

That would certainly explain a lot. If she was trying to swim to shore, a heavy dress would have been a major impediment. Of course she’d pull it off to survive. 

Still, she seems awfully fine with being nude. She still has his jacket draped over her, but it’s slipped down enough to bare more skin than most women would be comfortable showing to a stranger. He’s been trying to avoid staring out of politeness, but it’s getting hard to ignore the lovely breasts peeking out, especially when she’s making zero effort to cover them up. 

He stands up and he holds his hand out to her. “Let’s get you to the clinic so they can check you over, make sure you’re not injured.”

She takes his hand quickly, an excited smile on her pretty face. He can’t help finding the gesture very charming. 

Just as he pulls her to her feet, her smiling face twists in agony and she crumples against him. He instinctively wraps his arms around her to keep her from falling. 

“Hey, are you alright? Are your legs hurt?” he asks, thinking she might have a broken ankle or some other type of injury that would be difficult to spot. 

She clutches his shirt in her hands and shakes her head no again, then looks up at him and smiles. What was that about? 

He’s suddenly aware that he’s holding a beautiful naked woman in his arms, and he feels heat spreading over his face. He’s feeling something else too, and hopes to god she doesn’t notice. This is definitely not an appropriate situation to be horny! 

“We need to get you some clothes,” he says. “You can’t just walk through town like this. If you’ll wait here, I can go get you some-“

She grabs his shirt again and shakes her head, looking alarmed. 

“You don’t want me to leave you?” he asks. 

She nods quickly. 

He supposes that makes sense. She’s probably afraid to be alone after what she’s been through. 

“The clinic is in the middle of town though,” he says, wondering how to navigate this situation. She’s still clinging to him, and he gets the impression she’ll fall if he lets her go. Maybe her muscles are cramping from swimming for so long. 

“I guess I could take you to my place and let you wear something of mine. I live on the outskirts so maybe no one will see you.”

She smiles brightly then, and nods. His jacket has almost completely fallen off her, so he readjusts it for her, wondering why he’s trying so hard to guard her modesty when she seems totally disinterested in it. 

Probably because he’s trying very hard to remain a gentleman. 

She hangs onto his arm and leans against him as he helps her head through the tree line, toward his small house. 

There are two feelings dominating your very being at this moment: elation at being so close to Higuruma and the utter torment of walking on these human legs. 

You had no idea they would hurt so bad. Do all humans endure this pain? No, you’ve watched them for years. You’ve never seen any indication that they feel pain while standing or walking. If so, how could they run and dance? Maybe it’s because yours are so new, or because they’re made from magic. You seriously hope the pain will subside after a while. 

But even if it doesn’t, you have no intention of giving up. You’ll take any pain if it means being human. 

You love leaning on Higuruma, feeling his warm body against yours, smelling his scent, hearing his voice so close to your ear. It seems so strange to have him looking straight at you after all this time of trying to avoid his gaze. 

He keeps talking about getting you clothes. You’ve observed humans enough to know that they cover their bodies, but you’ve never understood why. It’s just now dawning on you that being unclothed must be shameful to them. It makes you feel a little embarrassed. 

You know for a fact that humans take off their clothes to mate. You’ve seen them do it on the beach late at night when they thought they were alone. You’ve watched in amazement as couples join together, moaning and gasping in pleasure. 

Merfolk do not mate in that way, but they are very free with their affection for those they love. Mating is a completely different process, less intimate, though done with great love. You’ve always wanted to try mating like humans do, despite not having the ability to do so until now. 

There is one intimate act you could have done before, that you witnessed at the beach one night. A human woman got on her knees in front of her mate, opened his pants, and used her mouth to pleasure his mating organ. 

You watched breathlessly, growing heated even in the water, entranced by how much they both seemed to enjoy it. 

After that, you began to fantasize about swimming up to Higuruma while he sat on the dock and doing that with him. It was still an impossible dream, as doing so would require you to reveal yourself, but you could at least clearly imagine it. 

Now, as you struggle through the pain to walk while staying pressed against him, those fantasies are coming to the front of your mind. 

He stops at a human dwelling, a small wooden structure with only a few similar structures around it. The sun has completely set, but there’s still enough light to see the faded white paint on the exterior and the cracked blue door. After opening it, Higuruma helps you inside. 

You’ve never been inside a human home before, so you’re finding it very difficult to act calm. It’s so warm inside! Higuruma helps you over to some sort of large, soft seat and then begins turning lights on. You’ve seen the pretty artificial lights humans make, but you didn’t realize they have so many! 

As you look around in wonder, Higuruma disappears through a door. He returns carrying some clothes. 

“I don’t really own a lot of casual clothes,” he says as he hands the folded items to you. “I hope you don’t mind a T-shirt and boxers. I promise they’re clean.”

You recognize the term “shirt” from listening to humans for so long, but you don’t think you’ve heard “boxers” before. You unfold the two pieces of clothing and look them over. The “boxers” are apparently shorts. These are blue with red circular spots all over them. So he does have some colorful clothes! You wonder why you’ve never seen him in them before as you carefully stand up, trying hard not to let him see you wincing. 

He quickly turns his back to you. “Let me know if you need help. Uh, just bang on the coffee table or something to get my attention.”

You’ve seen humans dressing and undressing before, so you think you know how to do it. The only problem is keeping your balance on your new, painful feet. You sit back down and pull the shorts over one foot, then the other. 

Soon you’re dressed, feeling more human than ever. You wish you could find a reflective surface to look at, so you could see yourself in clothes. Will you look more appealing to Higuruma this way? 

You need to let him know you’re finished, so you take the few agonizing steps over to him and tap on his shoulder with your fingers. 

He turns, looks you up and down, and his face becomes slightly pink. “Uh, we should get you to the clinic, have a doctor look you over. I’m concerned about your legs.”

Doctor? Oh no. A human doctor might be able to tell you’re not human yourself. You shake your head, trying to motion with your arms that you don’t want to go. 

Higuruma looks confused for a moment, then hurries into another room and comes back with a pen and some sort of block of paper. He hands them to you. 

Human pens are different from what you use, but the writing system is the same. You write out the words, “No doctor. Please.”

He reads them and looks back at you. “Are you sure? You seem to be hurt.”

You shake your head and write, “Just tired.”

He seems uneasy, but eventually says, “Okay. No doctor. Is there someone I can call for you? Family?”

You think for a moment, then write, “No family. Can I stay with you?”

His eyes move over the words, then shift to your face. “I guess you could stay here tonight,” he says, making you smile. Then he taps the paper with one finger and says, “Can you tell me your name?”

You write it down for him and he reads it out loud. Hearing him say your name makes you feel giddy. 

“I’m Higuruma Hiromi,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

You decide to write something else on the paper: “Thank you for helping me!”

He gives you a subtle smile. “You’re welcome. Are you okay with sleeping on the couch? I can get you a blanket.”

He’s gestured toward the large soft seat. So this is a couch? It certainly looks comfortable to sleep on. You nod and he steps out again, returning with what he called a “blanket”. It’s a big, soft piece of fabric. Oh! This must be something you cover yourself with to stay warm at night! 

“I have some work to do before going to bed, so I’ll be awake for a while. If you need anything, let me know. Feel free to eat or drink anything you like.”

You really don’t want him to leave, so you hurriedly write something and then tap his shoulder to stop him. 

“What kind of work?” your note reads. 

“Oh, I’m a lawyer,” he says.  “I specialize in contracts. I have several cases coming up soon so I’m going over some notes.” He pauses, then reaches into his pocket. “That reminds me, you were holding this when I found you. I know it’s just pretend, but in my professional opinion, you got a bad deal.”

In his hand is the rolled up contract you have with the sea witch. You take it, feeling panic rise in your heart. He read it?! Then he knows everything? Wait… he said it was pretend. So he thinks it’s not real…

You smile and nod, trying to seem normal about it, but you’re so distracted that you fail to stop him when he turns to walk out again. Left alone in the room, you sit back down on the couch. You pull the pendant from beneath the shirt you’re wearing and look at it. 

There’s a tiny little speck of red at the bottom! He’s starting to like you! 

After sitting on the couch for a while, you grow restless. You’re very aware of your time limit ticking down. You want to win his love right now! But even more than that, you just want to be with him. Would he be bothered if you go to him now? He said he’s working, but you don’t mind watching him work. 

Gathering your courage, you stand up and make your way through the room, toward the door he went through. You’re getting more accustomed to moving around on these legs. They still hurt, but the pain has become more bearable. 

When you reach the door, you’re not sure how to open it. He turned the knob on the first door to get into the house. Does that work for this one as well? You put one hand on it and use the same twisting motion he used. It worked! 

The door slides open and you get your first view of what must be his private room. The lights are dim, only a small one on a stick with some sort of fabric covering it, sitting on a small table. Higuruma himself is sitting in a chair at this table, several pieces of paper scattered across it. He looks up at you as you cross into the room. 

There’s a flicker of surprise on his face, and you notice for the first time how tired he looks. He turns in his chair and says, “Do you need something?”

You wish you could shout, “Yes! I need you!” Unfortunately that’s impossible right now. How can you express your affection for him? 

You walk over to him and put one hand on his shoulder. His eyes flick to your hand and back to your face. He scoots the chair back from the table and starts to get up, but you press lightly on his shoulder to stop him. Then you slowly lower yourself to your knees, just as you saw the human woman do it on the beach that night. 

His eyes widen. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper. He makes no move to stop you. 

You stare up at him, hoping he can see the desire on your face. Your hands rest on his thighs, gently nudging them apart. 

“You don’t have to do this,” he tells you, perhaps thinking you feel indebted to him for helping you. 

You look at the table full of papers behind you. There’s a pen there as well. You grab it and hastily write, “I want to” on one of the papers. 

His face is slightly pink again. He swallows, then asks, “Are you sure?”

You nod emphatically. 

He hesitates, seems to be thinking it over, then sighs and mutters, “Fuck it, I’ve had a long day.” Then he opens his pants and pulls out his mating organ. 

Your eyes shine as you look at it. You’ve imagined it so many times, dreamed of touching it, tasting it, feeling it, that you can’t suppress your excitement. 

You reach out one hand and curl your fingers around the warm, meaty rod. It grows bigger and harder under your touch, surprising you with its size. 

This is new territory for you, but you remember that woman on the beach and decide to mimic her actions. You lean forward and give a tentative lick, right across the tip, then slide your tongue along the length, tasting his salty skin and leaving a trail of your saliva. After that, you take as much of it as possible into your mouth. 

Higuruma inhales sharply, his hands on the sides of his chair, as you begin sliding your lips up and down the shaft. Ah, this is what you’ve fantasized about for so long! Having him in your mouth is making your whole body feel hot. There’s a strange dampness between your legs, a sensation you’ve never felt before. Is this what arousal is like for humans? 

Your tongue rubs the underside of him as you push your head forward, letting his tip hit the back of your throat. One of his hands leaves the chair to rest on your head, his fingers gently threading through your hair. He’s enjoying it! You lift your eyes to look up at him while you pull back slightly, lapping at the fluid that’s leaking from the tip. 

His eyes meet yours, his breaths coming more quickly. You lick your lips then wrap them around him, tightening them at his base. You hear a quiet groan above you as the hot organ in your mouth twitches. His fingers bury themselves in your hair as his body goes rigid. Then warm, gooey strings of fluid shoot down your throat. You swallow it hungrily, remembering from the various couples you’ve watched that this happens when a man is pleased. 

You draw back and look up. Higuruma’s face is a little red and his chest is rising and falling rapidly. You carefully get to your feet and step toward the door, turning back only once to smile and wave at him. He looks utterly bewildered as you walk out and close the door behind you.  

[hollowed-theory-hall]

"Where do you think Harry would live after the war? I personally think he would stay at the Burrow for a while, but I can also see him coming back to Grimmauld Place. I know Harry sees the Weasleys as family, but I doubt he'd want to live there long-term. Harry's an introvert, and the Burrow isn’t the best place for someone who needs time alone. But yeah, it’s my headcanon, so I’m curious about your opinion on this."

I really like the idea of Harry returning to Grimmauld Place, though, I don't think it'll be immediately.

The first night after Voldemort is dead, he sleeps in his bed in Gryffindor Tower:

he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the fourposter bead lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there

(DH)

He might stay in Hogwarts for a bit to help out McGonagall and the others. While they're going through the bodies, preparing burials, until Mrs. Weasley insists it's bad for him, and he should come stay at the Burrow with them.

I actually think Harry would decline because I'm not sure how comfortable he'd feel there right after Fred died. How he could sit there, having died and came back, but Fred just died. He didn't come back. And, I don't think most of the Weasleys would really think it's Harry's fault, but, there will be some tension there. Like, I think Harry would feel really awkward about the whole thing and like when he's upset early in DH and in OotP, he'd want to be alone.

Harry tends to go quite and isolate himself when upset, so I see him finding himself back at Grimmauld with Kreacher, secluding himself from everyone for a bit and disassociating like early in OotP:

On the fourth night after Hedwig’s departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

(OotP)

Or after Ron left in DH:

She [Hermione] threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry. Harry felt dazed. He stooped, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. He dragged blankets off Ron’s bunk and threw them over Hermione. Then he climbed onto his own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain.

(DH)

Hary, when upset and depressed, tends to just, shut down. So I can see him going into this state in Grimmauld Place for a bit early after the war. (Except for a few visits to Andromeda and Teddy, since I think he'd take his godfather role very seriously).

That is until Ron and Hermione drop by to drag him to dinner at the Burrow.

During this first time at the Burrow is when Ginny probably corners him about their relationship, how that goes depends on what AU/ship you're writing. But even in canon (with the epilogue), I'm not sure how quickly they get back together. I mean, Ginny still goes back to Hogwarts and Harry would try to find his footing in his life, so, it's up to the writer.

Anyway, I think Harry is more likely to stay most of the time at Grimmauld Place but stop by the Burrow often enough in the year after the end of the war (after that first lunch/dinner Ron and Hermione drag him to).

This guy is going to use Sirius' bedroom again (like in DH) like the traumatized mess that he is.

Now, the question is, where is Teddy in this time?

We know during the battle he's with Andromeda, and I think Harry is going to take his godfather responsibility super seriously, as I mentioned. Harry doesn't trust adults in general, so I think, initially, he wouldn't really know what to think of Andromeda, so I think he'd be more inclined to visit her and Teddy before going to the Burrow — he feels responsible for Teddy and guilty over Fred. And Andromeda I think would feel familiar to him. I think she has the same arrogance as Sirius, she carrys a similar pain to Harry — she, too, lost everyone. They both only have Teddy.

(Yes, Harry has the Weasleys, and as much as he loves them and appreciates how Molly tries to make him feel included, I don't think he really feels like he belongs, yk?

The aftermath of Fred's death shows this well:

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died. . .

(DH)

And after the war, he skips Ginny and Molly to get to Ron and Hermione:

He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder: There would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk. [...] Everywhere he looked he saw families reunited, and finally, he saw the two whose company he craved most.

(DH)

Ron and Hermione are the closest to family for Harry, not all the Weasleys. When he wants to reunite with family, it's Ron and Hermione, not Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys. (And Luna earlier, but that's because she is comforting to him in general, but he doesn't see her the way he does Ron and Hermione))

Eventually, though, he'd probably move out of Grimmauld and to a different place of his own. With who and when is more up to personal headcanon and whether you consider the epilogue canon or not.

[beyondourstars]

[tonycries]

Bed Chem - T.F.

Synopsis. No, you’ve never gone through a heat. No, your big bad neighbor, Toji Fushiguro, hasn’t had a rút in years. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive when all that changes with your…bed chem.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Toji, OMÉGAVERSE AU, slight enemies-to-Iovers, rúts, breéding, MARATHONS, cúmplay, búlges, Toji is BIG, heats, face-sítting, 69, spítting, praise, oraI (f + m), knottíng, he goes FÉRAL, DÚMBIFICATION, one use of “ma’am”, fated mates, matíng bites, p talking, breaking furniture, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.9k (whoops)

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“-oh! And, darling, my friend recently showed me this new serum that could-”

“-help with my…condition, huh?” You’re finishing off, teeth grit almost as hard as your fingers were around your glaring phone. “Mom- I’ve already told you that I want nothing to do with those sketchy inducers. I’d rather stay dormant like this forever.”

There’s slight static crackling from the other end of the line, “I’m just so worried for you, especially with that massive alpha-”

“Who? Wait- Toji?” You’re braving out a chuckle, gut clenching at the memory of your utterly hot new neighbor and his muscles upon drool-worthy muscles. “Y’know, the doctor has already determined that it’s impossible for me to go into my first heat now.”

And despite it all, you can’t help but drink in a deep inhale the moment you step foot into your cozy local convenience store. Only for your senses to be met with…nope. Nothing, again.

“Besides-” Fingers hovering over that angry red End button, you’re speed-walking your way as inconspicuously as possible towards the Heats and Ruts aisle. “-Toji doesn’t have ruts.”

Well… 

Nobody ever said that you weren’t a hypocrite - but, hey, you were desperate at this point. 

Even if you had to consider another one of your mom’s attempts to artificially induce your inner omega into finally putting in the work.

With your goodbyes hastily muttered, and your phone stowed deeply away into one of your pockets, you find yourself slowing down near that one particular section of the Omega shelves. Gulping at the somewhat-shady inducer portion that you found yourself familiar with ever since you’d reached late puberty without a single heat. 

It was ridiculous, but it wasn’t impossible. 

Mandatory school bloodwork revealed you to be an omega - yet, you felt like anything but that. Anything but what you supposedly were as you watched more and more of your fellow omega classmates miss out on a week or two of school to deal with their heats. 

Consoling you with pitying glances and half-hearted complaints that alpha scents were annoying anyway. But you didn’t care if the pheromones were obnoxious, and the cycles even more so.

Your months just came and went by without any of it.

You’d visited many fertility and growth doctors over the years, and not a single one had been able to pinpoint exactly what was blocking you from accessing the pheromones and biology that everyone else could. That you wanted to. 

Hell, even betas were said to have at least a faint ability to smell wafting clouds of musky perfumes.

Most professionals claimed that everything was as it should be, that you might just be dormant - a late-bloomer, if you will. A very, very late bloomer. 

A majority presented at the start of puberty, or perhaps - in only very rare, alleged cases you found on barren forums - after meeting their fated mate. Two souls bound to fill in each other’s missing pieces. 

The theory was something you let yourself indulge in guilty sips, the sort of fantasy that flashed through your mind right before you wound up with yet another heartbreak.

But after graduating college without a mere half-sign of anything to do with your second gender, you vehemently called bullshit on that one. 

Some suggested that you might merely be a beta in disguise. It was almost comforting to think that it might have all been one big mix-up, yet, every medical test after medical test you’d done always came out the same. 

An omega.

“Damn second genders.” You’re grumbling, traitorously curious fingerpads skimming over the sterile boxes of medicines with official-sounding names. You’d tried out a few with the least amount of side-effects before, and it always ended up being a waste of your time (and your paycheck.) “Damn- damn inducers-”

CLACK!

In your reveried haste a few unstable boxes of products found themselves plonking onto the ground. Wincing at the withering glare of the manager unhelpfully peeking in from a few aisles down, you urgently dropped to your knees to put them back-

“Damn, what did those scented lotions do to you? Remind me not to get on your bad side, doll.” 

You see him before you hear him - strong, engulfing hands motioning into your field of vision to dexterously grab at the mess you’d created. 

And then once you hear him it isn’t any better, because you could recognize that richly rumbling baritone anywhere. 

“Wha-” Cutting your own self off with a strangled mess of a yelp the moment your furrowed gaze looks with viridescent eyes. “-oh.”

Oh? Oh?

Toji Fushiguro quirks up one brow in a way that is unfairly attractive, sultry scar engraved onto one side of his sleazy grin tilting up ever-so-slightly. And was that- a dimple? “Heh- n’ the pretty girl says oh. Cat got your tongue, sugar?”

It’s only then that you’re realizing that this was the first time you’d ever been so…close with the man himself. 

Usually settling for grumbling conversations from your doorstep and incoherent text conversations from his toddling, cherub-faced son stealing Toji’s phone.

So ah, there was one thing you’d forgotten to mention to your mother. Sure, you might have let it slip that Toji was…ruggedly handsome - all Herculean physique, a glossy black Harley Davidson bike, and long legs that carried him well over six feet - but you’d always omitted one thing. 

He was just so cocky.

And you can already feel your blood curdling strangely in your veins, scoffing out a heated puff of breath. “Nah, more like the alpha in the Omega section is.” Darting your eyes anywhere but at the strain of Toji’s sinful compression shirt sneaking winking at you underneath his leather jacket, practically painted onto the ridges of his washboard abs. “Thinkin’ of a secondary gender change, Toji?”

“Ah, yeah yeah-” He’s rolling those hooded eyes, leaning in so pointedly close that you can practically feel his slow, seeping look up and down. “-got tired of havin’ cute lil’ omegas falling all over f’me.”

You scramble to finally stand, “You wish.”

The bout of husky snickers that escape from him make your thighs squeeze together, and Toji’s promptly following you to place back all those fallen lotions. “‘Course I do. That n’ the brat is out on a trip with his lil’ pink-haired friend, m’just killing time.” Tilting his head at you, “You? Thinking of going for alpha? Or…” Crossing his big, beefy forearms, and he must know the effect that has on you and your greedily ogling eyes. “-an alph-”

“Just this.” You’re cutting him off before Toji could fray at your sanity even more, holding up that heat-inducing serum your mother had mentioned. 

But, oh.

Oh.

That wasn’t the expression you’d expected on the handsome face of Toji Fushiguro. Maybe something more smug, perhaps even amused as he realized your little predicament- but never this.

Eyes stony, sharp jaw clenching with a jumpy little tick. And Toji’s fingers are so thick when they pluck the box cleanly off your hands, the split-second graze of his burning skin making you feel almost feverish.

“This trash? Yer takin-” He’s glaring down at the serum as if it had offended him personally five times over. Something about the utter look of discontent makes your chest burn, “-this trash?”

You find yourself defensive, “N-no. At least, not yet. What about it-”

“Because s’gonna ruin your inner workings that’s what.” And for all the world, you never expected to be getting lectured by Toji Fushiguro of all people on your health - though, one look at his sculptured body should have told you all you need to know about just how seriously he takes it. “Don’t even know why s’on the market. S’not good for ya, mama.”

And you knew that. Probably. But ah, the things you do when you’re at your ropes end. “And? I’ve never had a single heat my whole life, y’know?”

“And I should know, bratty doll.” Toji murmurs, throwing that oh-so-famed miracle serum haphazardly back onto the shelf and flipping off the manager who glares at him. “Haven’t had a single rut in years, not since Megumi’s- anyways, all these inducers here are full of shit.”

“Oh.”

Wrapping a staggering arm around your waist to guide you, your body practically burns. Weird. “Tch- silly girl.”

Two peas in a pod.

Before you know it, you’re being dragged by a disgruntled Toji away from the treacherous clutches of the Heats and Ruts aisle and past the cashier - who only smiles as you so-very-subtly sneak in a long whiff of the air. 

Again. Nothing. 

With the stinging pang of disappointment, you sigh as you step outside. Only for Toji to rub your back with a hum, “S’alright. You’ll be alright, sugar- you’re my strong girl, huh?” Eyes widening at just how…sweet Toji was being. That is, before he opens his mouth once more- “Besides. Who needs inducers when you’ve got such a big strong alpha-”

“Pass.”

“Don’ act like ya don’t like it, little miss neighbor. I see how ya look at me.”

“I- I don’t-” You did. And you do. And you will - in fact, you were looking at him that way right now as Toji swings over one thick thigh to straddle the padded leather seat of his prized Harley Davidson. Looking like he’d just stepped out from your wettest of dreams and it makes you almost simper out a sigh.

He’s jutting his head back at the tempting extra space behind him, and you could already hear the suggestion oozing into his next words. “Mhm— whatever ya say, girl. Now stop just standing there looking pretty n’ get over here, I’m a busy man.”

It’s almost as if on auto-pilot when you do.

Toji Fushiguro’s motorbike was big, and just as intimidating as he was. And it’s only on shaky legs that you manage to press yourself only mere precarious inches away from his hulking form. “Heh, ‘er name’s Harley. Fitting for a bike, huh?”

“If- if you crash I’ll kill you.” You’re puffing out a few thickly muffled words through the sleek matching black helmet he was deftly putting on you. Wondering just what led you to be…here of all places. 

“Yes ma’am, I’ll help ya hide the body.”

“M’serious- no funny business.”

“Uh huh, anything else, mistress?”

“And I’ve seen you run red lights so no-”

SMACK!

Your heart stutters with a loud ba-dump! as Toji’s rounded, calloused fingertips leave a good smack against the side of your thigh to get your yammering mouth to halt. And he’s letting off a titter at the shocked expression of your face even through the tinted helmet before turning to rest his hands on the handlebars. 

“Hold on tight.”

It’s all the warning you get - and, honestly speaking, you don’t think any sort of warning could’ve prepared you for the way that Toji rides. 

Something about it is so attractive. 

Maybe it was the creaking stretch of leather as his biceps strained against it from underneath, maybe the way your ears ring with his words even louder than the growl of the bike, maybe it was the way that you were holding him.

Arms stretching to connect over Toji’s broad front, your skin mushes against the curvaceous mounds of his toned pecs. Firm and warm. So, so warm that you can’t help the way that your eager self was mindlessly inching ever-so-slightly closer-

“Phew.” Startling - but not moving away - at the low whistle that Toji blows out, eyes still trained weaving through traffic. “Dangerous game yer playin’, omega.”

Sidling even closer, the defined angles of his back muscles only flexed at the innocent smooch of your tits. “What?”

“S’fucking close.” And not just to him, but to his scent glands. So sensitive and prickling the shaggy black hair at the base of Toji’s neck just from your heated proximity. Huh, strange. “S’a damn good thing I ah- don’t get my ruts, huh?”

And, suddenly, you’re despising what these helmets hide from you. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t get my heats, huh?”

The exact same words playing over and over in your minds once Toji’s braking to a stop at his designated spot right outside your apartment building. And part of you almost feels upset that this little ride with him was over. 

Letting him do as he pleases when he’s seating around gruffly to take off both your helmets himself, you couldn’t help but notice that something about the air seemed…thick. Like it had just been dipped in candy and right now you were gladly suffocating in the sugary sweetness. 

Your eyes catch onto a lock of deep black that’d curled behind Toji’s ear - and you knew right then and there that something was wrong, you knew that you weren’t thinking. That you weren’t listening to your common sense. 

Because before you can stop yourself - before you can even register it - you’re swiping away the stray tuft, sensory curves of your fingertips just catching onto the skin above where Toji’s smooth glands should be.

“Fuh-fuck-” He’s hissing, willowy eyes curtaining behind a scrunch of his lids, and it’s almost as if on instinct that his thick digits fly upwards to trap your hands right there. “Hold on- just a little, mama-” Pressing down even tighter, and the way that Toji’s letting his head tumble back makes your mouth lacquer with a syrupy wave of drool. “-s-so you said you haven’t had a heat in years-”

“Ever.”

“-ever, huh?” Dewy whirlpools of his eyes examine you, and suddenly you feel like running away. But Toji only grins, “Say, why don’tcha scent me?”

Your maw falls slack with a hot shudder, and you’re not sure if it’s in shock or if it’s from how much you wanted it. To have an alpha offering himself on a silver platter - let alone Toji. Letting out an eloquent, “Wh-what?”

You’re being reeled in even closer with a tug of Toji’s strengthened hands, plummeting onto his chest with a cushioned oof–! He only repeats, breathing bated like he didn’t want to know anything himself until you did. “Scent me, pretty girl.”

“I-I don’t know why-” Your fingers unlatch, and you swear it makes Toji’s chest rumble with a low whimper. Steadily planting them onto the collar of his overpriced jacket to pull. “But if this is your idea of a- oh.”

Shit.

Shit.

And something…is different. There. 

Was- was this how he smelled? This heady concoction of jasmine and something so undeniably…Toji? 

Something snaking and boiling bubbles up throughout your body, you all but slump yourself into his eagerly awaiting arms. You can’t even register what you’re doing, nuzzling into his tender throat. Can’t even recognize the look on your face when you’re gasping in greedy heavals of what was obviously his scent.

That you could smell.

With a gasp, you’re pulling away, eyes diverting to him and- oh, it was much the same for him.

There was no other explanation for the lecherous look of devastation on Toji’s pretty features right about now. 

Scarred lips parting in awe, weighty lids drooping down until those heart-eyes him were almost invisible, face veiled with a delicate flush. His palms find their way to rest on the dip of your hips and stay there.

You’re croaking out, “T-Toji-”

It happens so fast - too fast. 

It’s as if your mere voice was enough to send a zillion volts of electricity shattering down Toji’s spine, jolting him with something darkly visceral. Enough to snap up one tannish forearm and bite-

“Ngh-” Toji’s pearly canines coat with a slight tinge of red, eyes shuttering open - and you notice that they seem slightly less glassy now. Slightly. “-fuck ya really are dangerous, doll. Was almost g’na have me take you right here right now.” The slight dip of his strawberry-pink tongue as Toji pulls away makes you gulp, “N’ I don’ wanna spend my first rut in years here.”

.

.

.

Toji couldn’t think - he couldn’t breathe. And if he was any lesser man he’d have fallen to his knees with only one whiff of your candyland smell. 

Addictive. 

Fingers clutched tightly underneath the plush of your thighs to carry you all the way in through your cozy apartment. Never faltering. Never slowing. You could almost roll your eyes at the blatant reminder of strength if you didn’t feel so feverish.

Toji’s steely eyes light up at the way your trembly fingers clutch the silken hem of your skirt, lips wobbling with every spilling word. “T-Tooooji, feels so hot.”

“S’that so?” He’s swiping the regal button of his nose down where the sides of your neck were swollen, breathing in the hot, sugary waves emanating from your skin. “Feel anything else?”

And the slight hitch of your breath is all that he needs as an answer, well, that and the goopy wetness that was formulating between your thighs. Shit, he never thinks he’s kicked down a door off its hinges harder than he has to your poor bedroom door. 

Draping you gently onto the plethora of silken sheets, you whine at the slight recoiling bounce.

Barely even given the time to gather your wits before Toji’s sliding his jacket and his t-shirt teasingly off, all thick, muscled limbs stalking towards you like a predator that’d just cornered his favorite prey. And you eye his rippling back, his rumbling tone speaking over your mattress’ creaks. 

“Ya better know…” he’s hurling out, mouth just only centimeters away from yours. Hot. “-m’not here ta fuckin’ play around jus’ cause you’re in heat, sugar.”

Ah, that’s what it was - heat. You were in heat. Fuck. 

Your fingers leave neatly indented semi-circles on his flesh when Toji’s grasping your throat tightly, padded ends of his fingers pressurizing right onto the treasure trove of your scent glands. “If I fuck you now, you will be mine. You and…” Before one largely crowned kneecap of his sidles into the snug cove of your pussymound. Weighing down- “...her.”

It’s the only thing you could do to bat your lashes up at him in a way that makes Toji’s achy cockhead twitch. “I want you…wan’ you to touch me, Toji–”

And that’s all that he ever wanted. 

Roughened hands shove you meanly back onto the cushy bed, and Toji’s sliding his palms languidly down, down, down every curve and dip on your body. As if he was trying to worship you with them. 

“Oh? Only wan’ me to touch ya?” Toji’s humming, Adam’s apple bobbing with wads of salivation once his fingers slink down to curl at your bra strap and snap! “Not to take this off or-” You gasp, the sting almost making you forget those minute rips! echoing from where he was grasping your t-shirt. “-this? Guess I can do whatever I please then, right?”

Before you can say a word of shrill protest, those useless pieces of fabric are tattered off. Ending up not-so-nicely in a pile right beside your bed with Toji’s intact clothes. 

“H-hey!” You whine, “Those were ah- limited edition-”

“Ah, I’ll buy ya five more of those.” Toji rolls his eyes when your lips part open, “What? Thought I wasn’t filthy rich or somethin’- Oh, girl, you are about to be spoiled. But first, a kiss-” Innocent and sweet onto your lips, “-here. And…”

Toji huffs out a few cocky sniggers at his own little joke, because of course he does. Leaving you off with a gentle swat! to the perfect curve of your hip and your heartbeat throbbing at your drooling cunt. 

He’s shuffling onto his very knees at the bottom of the bed, tutting at how unfairly far you were from his greedy mouth - well, that had to be fixed. You almost get whiplash from how swiftly you’re being dragged to let your jittery legs be thrown right near his tightly coiled deltoids. “-here.”

Head bobbing in an urgent yes yes yes when Toji rids you of your flimsy skirt and slowly slides down your drenched panties. All bunched up and leaving a glimmering coating of slick down your skin.

Stuffing it into his pants pocket, “This is a lil’ reward f’me.”

“Filthy.”

“Oh, well helloooo there, pretty girl.” He’s drawling, eyes flashing with such darkness at the heavenly mess of a banquet all laid out in front of him. “You’re so in heat- so fuckin’ in heat. See? Who needs fuckin’ inducers when ya have me.”

Toji’s pupils were swallowing up his verdant orbs. Needy. And he’s unashamed in taking a long deep inhale of your saturated pheromones. His favorite perfume now. “Lookin’ real happy ta see me. Happy s’your hah- first heat, hm?”

You’re squirming, fingers tangling into his silken tresses in an attempt to try and shove his face closer. “Are- are you talking to-”

“Hush now, doll.” Toji leaves a wet pap! of his fingers thwacking against the treacly slit of your pussy, watery with your flooding slick and greedy. “Lemme talk to ‘er- lemme talk this cute cunt through her first heat. M’honored, y’know?”

And honored just doesn’t begin to cover it.

Toji was devoted.

It’s like your wafting clouds of heady scent made his mind dizzy, until the only thing he could do was to let his slutty tongue loll out and sliiide at the splatters of translucent sap soiling your inner thighs.

“Oh- fuck-” You’re squirming your hips in a wild buck upwards, only to have him pin you down with the heavy-handed weight of his forearm. “-feels so- so…”

“Yeah? Good? Ya always get this wet or s’that jus’ f’me?”

Truly, you could only jumble out a few nonsensical syllables. Because Toji didn’t want to waste a single ounce of your precious juices, slurring out a few open-mouthed kisses across every inch of skin you’d exposed to him. And the moment that rosy peak of his tongue touches upon your teary pussy- oh.

He thinks he might just be the one about to cry.

Because you didn’t just smell like his favorite candied lollipops - you tasted like it, too. And, fuck, he can’t help but go in for seconds. Thirds.  

Guffawing out breathily with disbelief, he’s drawling his tongue to mush open the gummy folds of your pussy. Swirling out a lazy flick of his sopping muscle to stretch out the tight ring of your wide agape-

“Just look at ‘er all hngh- overflowing.” You watch with bated breath when Toji’s prying your quivering entrance with a bullying few inches of a singular thick index - only one, but Toji was so incredibly towering with his size and strength that you find yourself keening. Coral pink lips puckering up to give your hooded clit a squelching kiss. “Heh…like a damn waterpark, aren’t ya?”

Filthy words only making you filthier. Making your omega inside blink up and yearn.

Your gushing wads of juices bawling from between your legs in torrent. And you yelp at the lecherous sounds that echo out - the waterlogged squelches and slurring that only makes Toji grin. Wild and sly. “Mhm, real talkative.”

Arching your back into the perfect slutty curvature off of the prespired sheets, “Tojiii- s-stop teasing n’ give me- ngh- more.”

More. 

And just then you feel him fuck his softened digits into you slow and thorough. Curling up to swipe down the mushy soft spots of your walls - Toji was burning up. But you were burning up even more, and shit.

Shit. shit shit shit-

You don’t know if it’s because of your heat, or if it’s because Toji is just that good with that rude mouth of his - but you’re cumming faster than the thought could even flash across your melty mind. “Wait- m’close ngh- Toji- I’m gonna-”

It’s like a tidal wave of bliss peaked up further and further with every slashing motion of Toji’s gyrating make out with your cunt. You’re so very extra sensitive right now and he makes use of it - bumping up that rounded angle of his nose to press your fleshy clit just right. 

It’s so intoxicating. So heady that he finds himself pushing back those sweat-dampened bangs of his to lower down loooong breath. And then finally another passionate French kiss onto your bulging pussy. 

“Fuck- I-” Pearlescent droplets of tears welling up at the scrunched corners of your eyes. “M’so- sensitive–”

God, his wolfish canines were sharp nipping teasingly into the fat pucker of your pussy lips. Parting your slick-gleaming mound to squeeze his tongue into your tight hole, the stretch is incredible. It’s staggering. And Toji can only sully your insides with a gentle brush of his lengthy tongue along your gooey insides before pulling back with a huff. 

And then again- to let out a throat groan when your elastic walls push with resistance. And again. And again and again-

“Now m’offended.” Toji’s letting out a surly swat! where you’re trickling down viscous fluids of sickly sweet slick that coat his mountainous knuckles, his wrist, the raised trailways of his veins. “Wanted more but tha’s all ya can take- tch.” 

Oh, by the time your white-hot tingles of pleasure were bating you should’ve known better than to think that Toji Fushiguro was done manhandling you with his superhuman strength to every whim and want of his. 

That he would give you even a second of a warning before hovering over your frame and flipping you into such a pliable position over him.

His back hitting the puff of the pillows, strands of hair making a dark halo underneath him. Toji looks so fucking handsome that you can feel your pussymound slobber a few streaky puddles of slick onto his heaving abs. 

Hands positioned on either side of his leering head, you mewl. “Give me a warning first, you animal-”

“Hell yeah.” He’s snarking up at you, but there’s not a single speck of heat behind his words other than towards you. Towards what he wanted to do to you. Planting a heavy smack! on your ass, “Tha’s right you’ve got me in a rut after years like a fuckin’- animal. Heh, so jus’ lemme throw my pretty omega ‘round a lil’, I can feel how wet that gets ya.”

“N-noo- it doesn’t-” But that was a fucking lie and both of you knew it, knew it from the syrupy pool of sap laminating his heated skin. 

“See? She’s on my side. Doesn’t talk back.” The curvaceous pads of his fingers twiddle and tease your plumpened clit, so dirtily that it only makes your dripping cunt drool even further. Leaving a gauzy cobweb of treacly slick with every swat! swat! swat! he gifts. “Has anyone ever had her seated on a mouth, sugar? Made you feel good that way?”

Your head shakes before the thought has even contorted itself into an understandable shape. “No- no one has- ngh- before.”

It’s a confession, it’s a line plucked right from Toji’s filthiest thoughts on those late, late nights.

And he couldn’t look happier when molding you to the exact shape and angle that he wants you in. Turning you right around to bare your sodden pussy from the back, your unbalanced thighs curling on either side of his ravenous head. 

Not even a single command, yet your head is swimming with honey at just how much you were like putty underneath his hands. 

Your head cranes over the plane of your shoulder to give him a pretty plea. “Toji?”

“Mhmmm, Toji’s right here, pretty girl.” He’s awestruck - stunned with the gumdropping droplets of sap plopping down onto his tongue and sliding right down his throat. Making him groan, “Filthy fuckin’ pussy, can feel ya ngh- dripping allll down my tongue.”

And he’s drunk. He’s babbling, he’s heaving and heaving to inch his intoxicated maw to connect with your saturatedly glossy pussy lips. “Lower her down so I can give her lil’ smooch.”

Your hands nimble down along the tufted black happy trail brushing from between his navel and going down, down, down. “L-like this?”

“Nah, more. Can’t believe all those pathetic boys never had ya hah- sitting on their faces. Spread those pretty legs n’ lemme show you-” You can’t even begin to think about merely hovering your entire deadweight above him, because Toji was ready. And he was hauling you to rest every single mass of your flesh onto him, “-how a real man fucks.”

Thickly viscous helpings of your generous slick flood his mouth the second that Toji’s lengthy tongue is burrowing between your folds and driving you mad. 

Sliding all the way up and down up and down up and down with a welcoming flit at your buttoned clit and then pumping you overwhelmingly full. Fucking you with the overheated scratch of his tastebuds exactly the way that he wanted to with his achy cock right now.

“Can still taste m’self on ya- haaah- good.”

Toji wasn’t holding back.

“O-oh my god, m’so sensitive.” Your moans come out mangled. Wanton. Spilling from between your parted lips right along with rivulets upon rivulets of waterfalling saliva every single time that Toji’s bumping the curvaceous search of his tongue into your earliest sweet spots. “Slow down, Toji–”

Your fists maze through the velveteen blankets and clench, hips jerking up-

“Nuh uh, doll, no runnin’ away from your Toji.” Sliding up one slick-glazed hand to snake the small of your back, he’s using his face to nudge your legs even further. Drowning your sobbing cunt with a fat wad of spittle, Toji’s licking down the stray speckles that gravitate back onto his own mouth. So dirty that it makes him delirious, nose crinkling, bottom lip bitten. “Yeahhh, crack ‘em open even wider. She’s eager.”

Eager you were.

Jostling your hips against his mouth until through your clouded mind you were wondering whether he would suffocate. But little did you know that this might just be Toji’s ideal death - buried right there between your pretty legs. 

You’re being bounced so hard that you can feel your legs aching with the strain, hollowing out shuddered breaths and whines of Toji, Toji—

“Say my name.” He’s huffing, easing in a thick few inches of his fat digits that fill up the snug geysering orifices. Each n’ every single volume of space that’s inside you, and those puckered pecks leave screeching squelches that have you halfway through sobbing. “Say my name- say my name heh, g-gonna have a looot of ngh- noise complaints after this.”

Even though he’s saying this, he doesn’t do anything to deter you. Why the hell would he?

Pumping you full of one finger, two, three until your gummy ring of muscle was being molded to the plump circumference of his lengths. Multi-tasking. 

All the way until he was slathering the patterned bumps of his knuckles with a sticky second skin of slick, Toji curls those rounded tips down the tenderized walls of your channel and drags. Feeling for that one special target of his-

“G’na make ya feel s-so good.” He’s whispering, breathing like it was the truest of true words. And shit- he hasn’t felt like this for ages now - years. Secondary gender growling from his inner depths with guttural need to give you more more more. “Gonna find- ah- found it.”

And Toji knows he found it with the way you squeal. Wafting scent intensifying, lashes fluttering with a clinging swash of tears once he jerks a good push into that bulging bullseye that makes you see stars.

“Right there- Toji– right there-”

“S’fucking loud.” He’s rolling his eyes for what seems like the nth time today, but it was impossible not to when you were just so cute being teased like this. Bubbling out a few sloshes of slick and spit when your fingers dip right underneath his trousers and push. “O-oh? Trynna keep yer mouth full, huh? Let’s see ya try then.”

Your low lip juts out into a pathetic sort of pout that Toji finds adorable, that only makes his clothed cock pool out a darkening patch of precum onto his boxers. 

“Wan’ taste you- make you feel good.” Your words are warbly and broken, tone hitching upwards with every tiny slip of his sticky underwear downwards. It’s like you were teasing him - teasing yourself. And your inner omega was oh-so-very impatient. “Wanna make you feel…oh.”

“Heh, cat really got yer tongue now, huh?”

And you couldn’t even retort, you couldn’t even snap back as you usually might have because you were stunned. 

Maw falling slack at the generous girth that was throbbing fatly between your fingers, honestly from this lecherous angle it seemed like a struggle to even close your fist around him. Because Toji was…big - and even saying that was an understatement. 

Just about nine throbbing inches with hefty breeder balls that your bleary gaze could make out, flushed a candied pink on the rounded curve of his mushroom tip. Graduating down, down, down into a pale baby rose - you didn’t know whether it was the heat talking but right now he just looked like your favorite sort of lolly.

“L-look so pretty, Toji.” You babble away, words getting breathier and breathier as sloppy as his kisses get. Your puckered lips are almost stinging with just how thorough he was. “Wanna taste…”

Oh, and you didn’t realize that one perk of having your secondary gender presented was realizing the shift in his pheromones. 

You didn’t know how you knew but there was a tinge of utter adoration in Toji’s jasmine-infused scent as you plop down a wet mass of slippery saliva right onto his strawberry divot. Lathering the split, plummy globe before planting your mouth down and kissing.

Your mushy tastebuds looping little motions over the creamy butter-topped cap of his splurging cock, he tastes so heady. Rich pre melting on your tongue and it was so musky, so…him. 

“Oh, girl-” he’s breathing out through a rasping sigh. Darkened brows marrying together at just how warm your mouth was sheathing around his painfully hard shaft, “That’s it- thaaaat’s it. Suck on my cock like a good girl, mama—”

“Ngh-” Your jaw aches, throat jumping at the squeezing sensation of his lustrously crowned tip tunneling right down. Craning your head so that he could count every bounce, “S-sho bwigh.”

You were so heavenly, alternating to leave shy little snogs over and under his sensitive slit - and Toji was one competitive man. It was in his nature, of course. 

Tumbling your hips to rest even greater onto his mouth, he didn’t need to breathe. Didn’t even want to even dream of it when he had the circles of his fingerpads latched on your jiggling ass so hard it was sure to leave battered bruises for the next week and weeks and weeks.

“Damn, she’s good, huh?” Toji’s whispering at the sopping wet purse of your lips, “But I can’t have myself  c-cum before- fuuuck- my girl.” 

Your eyes were sprinting all the way to the back of your heavy lids with ever swaying lash of his mean mouth. And it didn’t matter just how vulgarly you were sliding your starved tongue down the heated ridges and veins of his swollen cock - Toji was doing ten times worse. 

Every deepening inch you swallowed up into your cavernous mouth only made him plug you fuller. Every stray swipe of the thick, ivory beads of his pre made Toji douse out lumping masses of saliva lewdly. And every twitch that made you sure Toji was right on course to tumbling over the edge was urging him to push you headfirst into your orgasm with a final teasing pinch at your clit. 

And your mouth opens with an accusing gasp - did he just…pinch your clit? But all thoughts of his audacity and the fact that Toji was chuckling out right after washed away as soon as your high was flooding you.

Moans being muffled around his generously fat shaft, the only thing that you get is just a single wispy wire of condensed cum being lacquered onto your tongue. Just one. Right before Toji’s free hand splays out onto your scalp and pulls you free with a wet pwah!

“Tha’s it-” You hear him mutter in the blinding cloud of your orgasm, it felt so blissful that some darkly primal part of you said that you were never letting him go after this. He was yours. Your mate. “-louder. Louder– good fuckin’ girl cummin’ all over my mouth.”

Toji didn’t know how the hell was multitasking with your pussy kindly spraying him with a sheeny covering of all your remnant juices. But for you? Anything.

Anything anything anything and he was whispering the very same mantra into the quavering, slick-flooded entrance of yours. Letting your hips drag sloppy grinds to ride out every edge of your peak - to use him in a way that no other alpha might just.

Toji’s strokes up into your tightly-clasped fist were deep, and he doesn’t stop even when your eyesight stops tinging with black. Not even when your back arches with oversensitivity, waterfalls of tears producing from your ducts. Sobbing, “I-I’m- ngh- Toooji- I can’t anymore-”

“Sure, ya can–” Looking you right into your thoroughly half-lidded eyes as he nods along with the slurring symphony that he was orchestrating from between your overworked legs. “-she says ya- ngh- can.”

Toji wanted to taste you again. Needed it.

“But-” And, yet, he finds his ear perking up at the wobbly sound of your voice, blushing bludgeoning tip creaming out another thick mess of white. “-but I wan’ my next- ah- next orgasm around your cock, Toji–” 

And, well, how could he say no to that?

Toji thinks he could never say no to anything you ask ever again with the way you were positioned precariously on top of him and still begging. 

He’s saying goodbye to your pretty pussy with a slow peck as a lover would. Breathing in heavily - oh, how he loved the smell of you. “M’gonna see ya later, m’kay? Don’t miss me too much.” 

And another gifted spank! to your tenderized ass makes you jerk a few inches off of his sugary mouth. Sweet, sweet praises being pecked up the bending arch of your spine when he sits you down all cutely on his lap.

You’re heaving out a huff, scent glands throbbing with a spike of something slightly salty. Jealousy. “M’startin’ ta think you’re playing ngh- favorites.”

“Well, duh.” He’s fluttering his long, bestowed lashes with an eyeroll, barely even flinching before cupping your slobbering pussy with one large palm. Teasing, “I’ve got yeeears ta make up for.”

Years of desperation and need pouring and pouring out when Toji folds you easily onto all fours.

And that’s when you’re getting a thorough striking of exactly three times that Toji’s sappy crownhead jolts upwards with a few gummy kisses hello up and down the crying middle of your pussy lips. Smooching. Gently. Before he’s snuggling right beside your hole-

With you bent over and arched right how he wanted you - oh, he was so enjoying the view. Saturated bursts of cloudy pheromones hitting your feverish body and only making the fountains of translucent slick increase tenfold. 

Shit, you were so wet that Toji has to force himself to let one greedy hand go from its favorite job trapping you underneath him. 

Guiding a few dexterous digits to wrap around the bulkily bloated cylinder of his base, he takes his time slipping and sliding.

“Might wanna hold yer breath, mama, h-heh…” You’re squirming your hips deeper into those pronounced hip bones of his despite the fact that simply breathing won’t help you take on his monstrous size. But you wanted to. You needed to. “Gotta c-count- ngh- eeeevery inch like a good girl now, m’kay?”

And that’s exactly what he made you do. 

“Oh!” Saltily flavored globules of your tears had your lips wetted, blubbering unconsciously when Toji anchors the hills of his palm onto the ends of your spine and pushes. “Shit- Toooji, why the hell are you s-so big-”

“Now that doesn’t sound like a ngh- ‘one’ ta me…”  But of course, who was Toji if it wasn’t for a little bit of teasing. Just enough to get your lips pouting cutely and your gluey walls clinging around him as if afraid he would pull away. Adorable. “Now now, c’mon- don’t tell me the biiig stretch has made ya forget how to ah- count, mama.”

So easy to rile up, to get you shaking your head so fervently that you swear you could feel your melty mind tumbling about like a bobble head. “N-no. I can count.”

“Then, say it w’me-” And oh, you knew that tone. That feral tone of his that would never ever bode well for you or your needily dripping pussy. Toji’s inching his hips back mere sinful inches, drawling out all the while. “-oooone.”

He doesn’t even ease you in.

Hitting your spraying cunt with the full force of his mushroom-topped head pushing past the adhesive-like resistance of your flooding entrance. Pushing and pushing and pushing- “One.”

Toji’s hands are clammy - depraved - when they pry your bouncing ass ever-so-slightly to really take in the sight of your gobbling pussy. Because he had no shame. He had no fucking shyness letting out a proud puff of pheromones that make your boneless knees weak.

“There there.” He’s patting that curve of your hip he loved so much - birthing hips, the thought strikes him. Shocked at just how much deeper that drowns him into his heady rut. “My good omega. Now…two.”

“T-two-” You’re sobbing out.

“Hmmm, nah- no stutterin’.”

Oh?

And, honestly, Toji half-expected your omega in heat to snarl at him a little, to let your hugging channel scoop up a hefty few dollops of milky pre right before he’s reeling the familiar pathway forwards again.

But, oh shit, he didn’t expect for you to bare your teeth like a fucking threat. For one hand of yours to dart behind with surprising accuracy and curl around his shaggy haircut, dragging Toji to pump you full. And it wasn’t just one inch. Not two. Not even three - you were damn near yearningly jackhammered with about halfway down his fuming red shaft before he finally got his cottony brain together. “Two.” 

“Damn, greedy girl–” Toji praises, though it comes out as more of a rasping growl that sends voltaged shivers down your spine. “Comin’ back for more, already? Knew my dick was hah- heat- alright then-” And the bed rings out with a few symphonied creaks when he shuffles his muscular thighs wider. Steadier. “-but ya better still fuckin’ count.”

Four. five. Six.

More and more - seven and eight. 

Up until Toji’s puffy head smudges a wet wipe at the canvas of your cervix. You were so soft there that he obviously has to greet the melty depths of your pussy with a good spurting of ribbony pre, swabbing around those drenched springs with a lazy circle of his hips.

“Eight.” Your jaw spills a surging slew of profanities at the feeling of him spearheading you so open, face pushing into the soft mattress when you perk your hips up and push. Only to gasp at there being- more? “Wait- I want-”

“Down, girl.” Toji’s sweat-shimmered biceps flex when he shoves your too-eager body back. “Gotta get you to at least cum on m’cock again before I give ya my- fuuuuck- knot.” 

And Toji fucks you like he’d going to make you remember.

He knows he’s going to make you remember - it’s why he has that big, dopey smirk smearing wider and wider across his face with every fat thud! into the rubbery bounds of your pussy. You’re taking him like you’re made for it, and that only makes his heart stutter even louder than your protesting wooden bedframe.

“Doll, m’gonna ahh- break this damn bed.” He’s uttering out, never ever sounding prouder of himself than right now. “And you.”

“Cocky.”

“Whatever, girl- talk t’me when ya haven’t gotten- hah-” Managing out through blissful hiccups of his breath, “-heart-eyes after bein’ hngh- fucked dumb by me, ‘kay?”

You’re not sure if you’ve heard that correctly - but luckily for you, Toji Fushiguro is allll about keeping his girl in the loop.

All about prancing his rough hands to entrap your wrists and pull you with barely even a wisp of his true strength. Beaded dewdrops of sweat perspiring up and down the heavily toned muscles of his back like their very own personal rollercoaster.

With you right along for the ride with the way that his rightly angled rotund tip romantically scours and scours for your magical g-spot. Jerking you up in midair to snap his slender hips with a particularly vicious pap!

The sensation of skin-on-skin makes your head dizzy, and your core overpour with another sudden downpour of treacling juices. But what was even blasphemously worse was the way that precious geyser embedded into the treasure trove of your walls were pummelled. 

Over and over.

“There- right there–” you’re sounding out as if you were a broken record. Every resonating moan of yours accompanied hand-in-hand with the loudest splish-splosh of sputtering juices. Secondary gender working overtime now to make Toji cum. To make him give you his knot- “-wan’ you to c-cum right there.”

“Where?” Toji’s deepening his angle to bump a heavy-handed slam pounded into your cervix. “Here?” At your vehement shakes - honestly, he wondered if you even knew he was taunting you at this point. “Then…” Only to give your peaked clit a mushy squeeze, “-here?”

You’re almost crying at this point, bursts of heat fluctuating between your goopy depths and your swollen scent glands. Full and ready. And it’s a sight so pretty that Toji can feel his stomach twisting already. “N-noooo.”

He almost loses it once your shakier, smaller hands take the lead to guide one of his own all across your thighs where he loved. Your cunt, where he loved just a bit more. And to about halfway along your pretty tummy to press- “Wan’ you to f-fill me up riiight here.”

And Toji only growls, “Riiight there, huh?”

Pinpointing his puffed-up divot to smudgeon repeated heavy collisions into the latched wall of your womb. Once. Twice. Before thrashing your permeated walls with hosing flushes of his cum. Of such thick ribbony wads - and it’s so fucking dense that you feel your hips weigh down.

Or perhaps that was because of your own orgasm the- third of the night?

Just about all you can manage out, syllables falling from your lips slower than you’re being hammered through the faintish spurts of your high. “C-umming–”

Before you know it, you have one of his muscular forearms around your throat in headlock, bulging Toji’s rounded biceps hard and possessively at the bumpy area of your glands.

“Cummin’ again?” Toji snarls against your ear, nails clawing at your hip to keep them under his control. “Yeah- yeahhh tha’s right. Milk your dear Toji, t-take this fucking cock. Take my…”

And Toji was about to overstuff your awaiting hole with the fat circular ring that’d swollen around his base, to finally give you his knot the way he’d been dreaming of ever since you waved at him on the day he moved into this fucking building. 

But just one sneaking glance at the ivory lipstain your puffy pussy was wearing, the way the ends of your sopping slit drown with a swamping drip drip drip of his lustrous cum makes Toji go a little…crazy. 

Makes the bulgingly tender crook of your neck look so, so tempting. 

His glassed-over eyes lock downwards, breath hitching at the way he slowly sinks back out and in has your pussymound mewling out such a cute glomp! His second-favorite girl - after you, of course - was speaking back to him. Lathers of splashing cum painting his bulky heft with a ring of frosted seed. 

Oh.

Toji would never get tired of this. How the fuck hadn’t he had a rut in years again?

And he says only one word, “More.”

“M-more?” Your fingers experimentally nudge at the tautly coiled pressure at your stomach and find yourself slobbering - from both drizzling lips. Even with the dredges of pouring cum, you were still so full you felt that you could burst. “Can it even fit?”

Right now he thinks the hazy fog covering his brain would never stop - and he doesn’t want it to. Waves of pheromones wafting off of him in such high concentrations that you find your mouth flooding with saliva all over again.

Cobwebs of it overspilling down onto the veined muscles of his forearm - only increasing in saturation when he tilts your head up in the perfect 90 degree curvature to face his boring gaze. And his mean mouth.

Spitting right onto the tainted bullseye of your tongue, streamy rivers flowing back into your mouth when he firmly nudges it shut. “If yer droolin’ n’ can still t-take ngh– that,” Branding the thorough push of his circled circumference into your cervix like he was branding the swollen indentation there permanently. “-then ya can take allll of haaah- this, okay, mama?”

Shit, was Toji glad that both your concoctions of pheromones kept him still hard. And he’d heard of ruts that lasted a week - two, uncommonly. The longest ever recorded was twenty days and by god was he going to gain the title of world champion.

Even if it meant he had to lift you cleanly off of the now-broken bed, the exact same one that you were only now noticing. Just barely so. 

You’re gasping, fingers digging into Toji’s smooth skin when two arms wrap around your middle and jostle you over a few coiling bedsprings that’d started to stick out from one sagging end of the mattress. Being pushed to bend over in such a complaint position at the end of your cool mahogany desk. 

You’re dipped deep, but his battering rams were impossibly deeper.

And the zig-zagging probe of his veins were massaging you just right, thrusts determined and practiced now that Toji had every scouring inch of your pretty pussy drilled into his mind.

“Th-three’s the ah-” Toji’s chest rumbles with a sensitized shiver once he hikes up a strong leg, caging you with him and his ruthless cock and him. Letting you gape at the documents rustling and flying about, “-charm. Or was it four? Ngh- f-five? Six?”

Just how long did he intend to mess up your insides? 

Though, you really, really aren’t complaining at the way that every merciless dab of Toji’s sharp hips into your fleshy mounds fuck you stupid. Entire body burning up - all the way from his lolling, sweat-stucken head in the crook of your neck, to the splurging torrents of streamy sap coating you.

And then there was that stinging plap! of his tightened knot behind you-

“C-can I have your knot now, Toji—?” 

Shit, his hips stutter their sloppy staccato, did you even know what you were asking for?

You never knew that heats came with such a side of begging, but right now you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Or to complain. Because Toji liked it, earning your pillowy walls with extra thorough hits. 

“Impatient girl.” He’s raising a hand to give two messy spanks on your bulging pussymound, deep snickers hitting your ear in condensed pants at the way it only makes you filthier. “Real diiiirty, too. mmm, wonder if she’d ngh- m-make an even bigger ngh- mess if I…”

And at this point, you were hanging onto every word falling from his kiss-bitten lips. A side-effect of just how good he was fucking you into the digging edges of your clattering desk right now. “What- ngh- what? P-please-”

“Ohhh, know yer m-manners, huh?” Full body wracking at the oodles of slicked sheens frothing down the plump curve of his globed balls and making them clench. Dangerously so. “S-since ya asked so fuckin’ nicely, I’ll let you ngh- know, sugar.” 

Nothing could have prepared you for the way that Toji moistens his parched mouth with a few sultry licks of his lips as if preparing to share his deepest, darkest secret.

Nothing could have prepared you for the notched up burst of his jasmine perfume that makes your legs resemble weak jelly, and Toji’s support yours until they were hovering almost midair. 

Because he was craning his head down to nip at your scent glands, with a sudden snicker. Crazed. A few octaves higher. Like he doesn’t even realize it’s tumbling out before sighing, “-wonder if she’d make an even bigger mess once I get ya…pregnant, mama.”

And oh you think you’re cumming - hot spurts of bliss tackling you by surprise. Fuck, and if you thought that the last orgasm had taken a lot out of your Toji then you’re sluttily glad to find out that that was not the case.

The complete opposite, in fact.

You’re sure that Toji cums even more this time, sunken divot into the elastic material of your walls welling up with the creamy helpings of his bloated cock. So much seed spilling out of him that you wondered whether this was the rut or just him.

Just his urge to fuck you full until you were pathetically overspiling, until had had you in a hold so tight that you think you could almost feel Toji’s delicious crownhead fuck his cum into you until it reached your lungs. 

For what feels like rounds upon rounds until your saliva had amassed in a forevermore pool underneath you. You didn’t know what time it was. How long it had been- 

Only feeling the firm glissade of Toji’s washboard abs against your back. The way his thighs shivered and jerked at every one of your gripping clenches. And despite being so fucked, you were already drooling at the heavenly cushy push and pull of his Adonis-like pecs heaving in throaty gasps. 

So unfairly sexy that it made your primal instincts preen. Mate.

And, apparently, Toji was thinking much the same. 

“F-fuuuck-” He’s letting his mouth nuzzle the side of your throat with all the tenderness that he wasn’t bestowing upon your sappy cunt. “Think about i-it- you all ngh- round and glowing n’- rooound–“ Rambling and rambling at the wet splashes inside you of his stuffing, “You’d make the prettiest momma.”

As if to prove his point, a gentle hand greets the inflationary outline that was slowly forming its way at your tummy. Made by yours truly - Toji. 

“I…” And he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars. And his sanity right along with it somewhere up there. “-want that. Oh, I- hngh! want that-”

Words barely out of your mouth before Toji’s hand slams down - he had to keep himself together. He needed to. But that grating desk clearly wasn’t the place, because you flinch when one straining leg snaps!

And Toji’s alpha instincts are flaring up in an instant, wrestling you to the ground right - pulling out for only a nanosecond to flip you onto your prespired back, pretty legs strewn sloppily over his shoulder, even prettier face gazing up at him - beside the wreckage. One that you’d only find it in yourself to worry about much, much later. 

Definitely not when he’s patting the curve of your pussy with a softened thwack! Murmuring, “Then..g-gonna hafta- hngh- take it.”

And if you didn’t know any better, then you’d have sworn that the smug Toji Fushiguro’s voice cracked as soon as he was settling for drawing a languid heart pattern around the velvety perimeter of your entrance. Before thumbing his way inside-

“Hck!” Your lip wobbles with oversensitivity, nails clawing red, red lines of raw need across the faintly bubblegum pink flush of his body. “S-Soooo much–”

And, yet, you couldn’t get enough. 

You watch with a bitten lip with a fat goblet of sweat drips from Toji’s angular jaw and slithers between his pecs to disappear down below. More - you wanted to fucking ruin him.

The desperation of your heat plummeting in heady wavelengths all around you and making the room smell like a candy heaven.

One that you were very much lost in with the unforgiving stretch of Toji pawing his way to working your sprinkling cunt doubly open. Fingers pumping in quick, methodical half-fucks in the same way that his persistant hips were doing.

Every single recoil against your fleshy cervix causes you both to keen at the wet slosh of his mounds of seed piling up inside you from all the endless rounds before. 

Again. And again. And again and again until it feels like countless hours upon hours. 

“Ohhhh- w-ait-” Toji stammers out, attractively sharp jaw falling and wrenching shut a few repeated times. And then his hips slow down. “Think s’gonna- ngh- ohhhh yeah, gotta take this kn-knot okay? Like my goood girl, okay?”

You’re filled with countless inches of a staggering girth that you didn’t even know was possible. Because while alphas were big…Toji was extra big. 

Extra rounded in his sizable knot, rested upon thickly globular balls that still held such voluminous amounts of cum. Pounding open your eager cunt further and- further-

“I-is it in?” You’re shrilling out, syllables slurring and stumbling together with the incredible stretch being made evident from down below. Fuck, your nails create more painted patterns. You didn’t even want to look - you couldn’t afford to cum again just from the sight. 

“J-just ngh- one more inch. Scratch me, ruin me- anythin’. But m’gonna make it f-fit.”

And Toji only hooks in another one of his thumbs, this time swiping the fat pad of a few stray fingers down your buxom clit. “Count w’me, doll-” For his sanity more than anything. Neck straining with a few popping vessels of blood that swell, face reddening with such a maidenly fucking blush as he looks downwards. “-ooone more-”

“-inch.” You finish off, not expecting that exact moment to be when Toji snaps. His patience. You, full of that achingly hot knot that’d been just begging for you to take him the very moment you waltzed up to him with that sweetened saccharine scent. 

His favorite now.

Gulping in cavernous quotas of it the moment Toji’s inflated knot pops and he sinks his sharpened canines into your scent glands with a whimper-

Hard enough to taste your honey-glazed pheromones, to draw blood. To be permanent - just as he’d needed it. 

Hard enough to make him cum all over again at the feeling of your own teeth making their pretty mark on him. Shit, he didn’t even know if it was fucking possible for his overworked cock anymore. But he sure wasn’t fucking complaining at the delicate splat splat splat of milky cum hitting the back of your pussy. 

Already filled to the brim and spilling with every loving grind that Toji was boring down upon you. The only thing that he could manage when you two were connected so…tightly this way.

“Cute.” Toji manages to run his fingers over the proprietorial set of indentations set in his flesh, eyes still laminated dewily with an euphoric sort of stunned awe. “F-fated mates really have some good ngh- bed chem, huh?”

Fated mates. You could only smile and scent that overwhelmingly addictive jasmine scent of his. Taking in a long, deep breath as he held you. Tight. 

Yeah, jasmine. 

But jasmine was Toji Fushiguro’s.

And you’d be damned if Toji Fushiguro ever let you off that easily.

The smile you’re given is feral, predatory teeth glimmering in the dim lighting and making the neat circle of marks at your neck throb. And something about that told you this was far, far from over. 

You could only hope that your floor didn’t suffer the same fate as your bed, and your desk…and your fluttering cunt.  

After all, you both did have years to make up for. 

“Now the only haaah- way to really test our bed chem is to see whether we can make Megs a big brother.”

A/N. Thinking about making an omegaverse installment for every JJK man- what do you think babygirls?

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[meliohy]

.

[writingastory]

Headcanons: The Morning After

Prompt: "It’s the first time they’ve woken up together in the same bed, and one partner is mesmerized by the other’s sleeping face—softly watching them wake up, still sleepy and a little disoriented."

Pairings: Xavier x fem!reader; Zayne x fem!reader; Rafayel x fem!reader; Sylus x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, suggestive thingies

Genre: "Normal" AU (no Evol, no Wanderers - just normal life)

A/N: I originally wanted to write some angsty, but couldn't bring myself to it. Life's hard enough, let's enjoy some fluff. Hope you enjoy! 💕

🌟 Xavier was still fast asleep by the time you woke up. The sun was tickling your nose in a way it usually did not - and it took you a moment to realize why it felt so strange. You were not in your bed... or your room for that matter.

🌟 Looking around, you found your clothes strewn about the room - and your boyfriend in bed, right by your side, under the blankets. Naked. Just like you.

🌟 A pleasant shiver ran up your spine, images of the night before flickering through your mind. His touches, his kisses - the way you two entangled under the sheets, and became one...

🌟 You smiled and traced the light marks on your skin. Xavier stirred lightly next to you and you couldn't help snuggling into his back, leaving gentle kisses on the back of his neck. Your fingers traced his spine with a feather-light touch, before continuing to draw invisible patterns into his skin.

🌟 He stirred again and rolled onto his other side, facing you. He blinked a few times and scrunched his nose cutely as the light hit his eyes. You giggled and kissed his nose. "Good morning," you whispered, cupping his face gently. He hummed in response, a small smile forming on his lips.

🌟 Xavier was far from ready to start his day. He scooted closer to you and pushed you onto your back slowly, snuggling into your side, his face hidden in your neck as his arms engulfed you carefully - as if you were a precious treasure that would break if he used too much force. His lips found your collarbone, planting soft kisses on the warm skin there.

🌟 "Good morning, indeed..." he mumbled between kisses, his hand finding your thigh, pulling it over his hips to lock you together once more. His one hand gripped your knee to hold your leg in place as his other snaked around the back of your neck to keep you close to him, stealing kiss after kiss from you, each one deeper and more intimate than the one before - and you suddenly had the feeling that you would not leave that bed for a couple more hours...

❄️ Zayne woke up before sunrise - 5 AM sharp, as he did every single day. His internal clock was as precise as a Swiss watch. He jolted slightly as he felt movements next to him; it was a strange feeling to share the bed. The smallest of smiles graced his lips as his eyes fell onto your form in the dim light of your shared bedroom, buried underneath the many blankets.

❄️ He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, his head resting on his hand comfortably. Zayne watched you in silence, enjoying the serenity of the moment. He was in no hurry. You two had been dating for months and decided to go on a last-minute vacation in Snowcrest. Away from friends, family - and work. A well deserved break from life that had gotten just a tad too hectic lately.

❄️ Zayne just loved spending time with you. He had invited you on this vacation for this very reason. You two becoming intimate was not planned - but not unwelcome either. It was simply the perfect addition to a perfect day.

❄️ He scooted closer carefully, trying not to wake you up. He just needed to be closer to you now, feeling your soft skin under his fingertips once again...

❄️ You stirred a bit as his fingers trailed over your exposed neck and shoulders, reaching the edge of the blanket. Slowly, he pushed them off your form, small goosebumps appearing on your warm skin. Maybe it was selfish - he should let you rest for however long you needed to - but...

❄️ His lips followed the path his fingers forged a few moments earlier, leaving tender, loving kisses. He felt your stir once more before your opened your eyes, smiling fondly. "Hey..." your voice was hoarse, still thick from sleep. "Hey," he answered quietly, the tiniest smirk forming on his lips. "What time is it?"

❄️ "Probably around 5 AM," Zayne answered, his lips reaching the small dip between your collarbones. You hummed, your eyes falling shut again. "Why are you awake already? I thought we're on vacation?" A chuckle left your lips, and Zayne continued planting kisses on your soft skin. "We are," he answered, slowly rolling on top of you again. "I just... need another taste."

🎨 The air flowing into the room was fresh and cool, carrying a salty taste from the sea. The long white curtains danced in the light wind, the sunlight streaming through the opened windows. You groaned a bit at the sudden coolness, only then feeling the weight on your back. Rafayel clung to you, snoozing happily, his head resting between your shoulders, his arms tightly wrapped around you.

🎨 He mumbled something incomprehensible and nuzzled your skin gently, littering sleepy kisses over your back. His hands shamelessly started wandering along your body, quickly finding and settling on your breasts, squeezing them gently.

🎨 "Good morning?" you chuckled lightly, not minding the needy fondling. "It is a good morning," he answered, his grin audible in his words, his hands squeezing your mounts again as if agreeing to his statement.

🎨 "Stop that," you giggled, trying to wiggle away from him - unsuccessfully. He deliberately pinned you down with a chuckle, his lips attacking your shoulder and neck. "Why would I? The noises you make are just so cute~"

🎨 He was relentless in his attacks, his kisses turning sultrier and sloppier with every passing minute. "Say," he groaned, pressing his hips against your behind lustfully, "this is not just a vivid dream, is it? And last night..."

🎨 You hummed in pleasure, thinking about the passionate moments you two had shared. "I don't think so," you answered with a light smirk, finally able to roll onto your back. He was above you immediately, his eyes filled with need and longing, as if he was still not sure if you were really there or just a cruel trick his mind was playing on him.

🎨 His lips found yours in a sweet kiss, filled with adoration and gentleness. He looked down at you again before stealing another kiss - the second of many many more that day.

🐦‍⬛ Usually, Sylus was a night-owl, and sleeping during the day. However, after your first time making love... he couldn't bring himself to leave the bed, and so he found himself between the sheets, with you in his arms. His fingers drew lazy patterns into your skin absentmindedly.

🐦‍⬛ Your head rested on his chest as you snoozed peacefully, fully content and safe in his strong and warm embrace. He was so sweet. So gentle. So loving. And now, with the way he held you, sleep had a tight grip on you. You refused to wake up and leave your cocoon of warmth and comfort.

🐦‍⬛ Eventually though, your mind was slowly pulled back to reality, your lids fluttering a few times as you woke up. "Good morning, kitten," he whispered, his deep voice filling the silence in the best way possible. You looked up at him slowly, only then realizing that he was, in fact, still there with you.

🐦‍⬛ "Morning..." you mumbled, rubbing your eyes gently. "Don't you have work...?" You yawned, propping yourself up slowly to look down at him. Sylus shrugged in response, a small smirk playing on his lips. "I can leave, if you want."

🐦‍⬛ You frowned and snuggled back into his side. "No," you said firmly, wrapping yourself around him slowly. "I was just confused for a second."

🐦‍⬛ He chuckled a bit, wrapping his arms around your form again. "That's what I thought," he smiled, kissing your forehead gently. "Luke and Kieran can deal with whatever's going on today. I'm not leaving this bed until you kick me out."

🐦‍⬛ You quirked a brow, grinning slightly. "Is that a promise?" you asked, nuzzling his neck gently before placing a kiss on his skin, right where his pulse was thrumming. Sylus hummed deeply and closed his eyes, pushing his head back and exposing his neck to you and your advances. You grinned and nibbled his skin, carefully at first... but it didn't take long for you to full-on attack his neck with kisses and love-bites. "Kitten," he droned, rolling onto his back with you on top of him, "I hope you intend to finish what you started."

[ohbo-ohno]

animal, sick as they come

summary: Ghost has been starving his whole life. Never enough food to fill his stomach, never enough blood to cover his hands, always leaving him hungry and ready to snap. You’re the supposed solution to his problem, willing or not. (or: the kidnapped home chef au)

wc: 14.2k

cw: graphic nonconsensual sex, kidnapping but you’re lowkey chill about it, rough sex, pain play, dirty talk & light degradation, non-consensual spanking, rough/painful anal sex, gratuitous description of cooking/food written by someone who once lit a pot of boiling water on fire and is really just trying her best

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

You may have never been kidnapped before, but you can’t imagine this is how it’s supposed to go.

The masked man looms in the doorway to the kitchen, shoulders so wide that he can’t stand in the opening properly because he wouldn’t even fit, the very top of his head hidden by the worn frame. He’s a beast of a man, hulking in every sense of the word, and you can’t help but wonder how he managed to sneak up on you in the first place. Surely you’re not that unaware of your surroundings? He’s easily 6’4, probably no less than three hundred pounds.

Not much time had passed since you’d woken in a dark room with a thudding pain between your temples, mouth dry and throat swollen. You were sure you’d been blindfolded at first, eyes dry and heavy, until ice-cold water splashed onto your face and your eyes flew open on instinct.

He’d just… been there. One minute you were walking home, trying to avoid large puddles and squinting through pouring rain, and the next you were shivering and scared, your captor towering over your crumpled and bound form.

You’d lost control of your bladder the moment the sight of him registered. He’d looked down, snorted, and lumbered away to find a hose. 

You’d been inconsolable when he told you to strip, shaking with your sobs and keeping your arms wrapped tight around your chest. Even when he’d grunted ‘m not gonna fuck you when you reek of fuckin’ piss, you hadn’t been able to calm enough to follow his demands. It was only when he’d reached up to run a hand over his face and his shirt lifted just enough for you to get a glimpse of the piece on his hip that you’d been snapped away from your panic.

You can see the shape of it now, tucked in its holster. You’re fucking terrified that at any moment he could pull it out and end your life, like that. It would take hardly any effort at all. Just a twitch of the finger and bam, you go from captive to corpse.

“How long’ll it be?” The man grunts, massive arms crossed over his chest, breaking you out of your fearful stupor. 

You blink at him, wide-eyed and silent. He’d given you clothes – clothes that fit, to your comfort and horror – so you’ve been spared the further indignity of forced nudity, but the extra layer doesn’t make you feel much safer. 

He dips his chin when you don’t answer, dark eyes boring into yours. That only makes you clam up more, joints stiff.

He huffs. “Dinner. When’re you gonna fuckin’ feed me, bird?”

You stare at him, baffled. “What?” It’s the first word you’ve said to him without sobbing, and your voice trembles, shrill and weak.

He steps forward, angling his shoulders to fit into the room, fuck, and you skitter back, pressing yourself to the wooden cabinets. They’re tall, taller than the countertops in any house you’ve ever lived in, and the lip presses into the middle of your back.

“There’s food in the fridge,” he grunts. “Get to work.”

You’re not sure you could move even if you wanted to, your fight-or-flight instinct having settled firmly on freeze. 

He rumbles low in his chest and plants one hand on the island in the center of the kitchen, leaning over it. He’s so tall that his head nearly reaches the other side of the counter, hardly a foot away from yours. The counters are the perfect height for him. 

“What’s not clicking, girl?”

You pinch yourself, a quick twist of skin to make sure that this is all real and you’re not just trapped in the world’s most confusing nightmare.

“I-I don’t… you want me t-to cook? For you?” You manage, voice strangled.

He looks spectacularly unimpressed with your lack of understanding, and a distant part of you recognizes that you should probably be worried about making your captor displeased so quickly. However, the far larger part of you hasn’t had a rational thought since he hosed you down with freezing water and is still almost entirely useless.

He turns to the side to open his fridge, hand dwarfing the handle, and drops a chunk of frozen meat on the counter. It’s wrapped in brown parchment paper, a little string holding it closed. The fridge rattles with how harshly he closes the door and you can’t help but flinch. 

If he weren’t closer to the exit than he is to you, you’d have bolted away the second he turned his back. But he’s close enough that he could reach out and grab you with one hand if you got to the doorway, and you can’t even bring yourself to think about what he might do if you were caught. 

“Cook it.” He nods at the meat, voice bored like this is simple. Like it’s obvious, and your lack of understanding is an inconvenience that he’s rapidly losing patience with.

You listen, because it is obvious. He’s the captor, you’re the captive. At any moment, at the slightest whim, he could shoot you, strangle you, beat you, or a dozen worse things you can’t imagine for fear of ruining his dinner with your bile. 

He has every advantage and you don’t have anything but the shapeless hoodie and sweatpants he gave you. Here, you are nothing and he is everything.

So with shaking hands and tears streaming down your face nearly the entire time, you listen. 

You find a pan – he doesn’t help you and it’s incredibly awkward to try and dig around in unfamiliar cabinets without turning your back to him, but you manage it – and get the burner turned on. He steps out of the doorway again, still watching you from the hallway, and that gives you just enough bravery to inch towards the fridge, snatching the butter from it like he might lurch forward at any minute. 

It’s a good cut of meat. A ribeye, think and with not much fat on it. You’ve worked in the resturaunt business for a long time and it’s obvious to you that this is cut by a local butcher, not some packing plant. This is fresh. 

You have to stand with your back to the counter beside the stove to keep him in your eyeline. He doesn’t seem to mind, though the black balaclava covering him from scalp to neckline keeps almost all of his expressions a mystery to you. 

“How do you want it?” You manage to ask, after what must be five minutes of psyching yourself up internally and darting your eyes between him and the meat. 

“Rare,” he says, and you find that you’re not exactly surprised by his answer.

Basting the meat is the hardest part, but you manage. You’ve watched your father do this since you were born, spent countless nights in the corner of your parent’s restaurant watching line cooks and chefs and dishwashers and paying them all far more attention than you ever did your homework, nodding off in class the next day because the restaurant was open until eleven and your parents never once left early.

You could cook this meat in your sleep. Even with his minimal ingredients (he just shakes his head when you ask where the garlic is, and you quickly realize the only seasonings you have to work with are salt and pepper), you’re confident that the meat has come out tender and juicy, if flavorless. 

There are no sides. No drinks. No dessert. If you’d made this meal for either one of your parents, they’d lecture you for so long that the steak would go stone cold. 

You don’t have a plate to serve it on. When you ask tentatively about the dishes, voice hardly audible to even you, the man doesn’t answer. 

He instead begins to stride towards you, sending you careening around the island to try and keep as far from him as possible, hips crashing into the sharp edges of the counter and socks slipping across the tile. He ignores you completely as he leans over the over, sniffing loudly. 

You’ve thrown yourself, completely unintentionally, to the side of the counter with a large and well-stocked knife block. Before you even really think about it, you’re gripping a carving knife with both hands and holding it straight out in front of you, like you’re hoping he runs into you and impales himself. It’s probably your best bet, considering your knees are nearly knocking and barely holding you up.

He is entirely unconcerned by you. He grabs an oven mitt that was either always black or has been scorched so badly that it’s been darkened, the back of it split with its thin lining peeking out, and grabs the cast-iron by its handle, turning back to the rest of the kitchen. 

He snorts when he sees you, the sound distinctly amused and unafraid. “You think you could hurt me? With that thing?”

You may be shaking in fear, the knife quivering in front of you even with your knuckles clenched so tight they nearly spasm, but you still manage to find yourself almost offended.

“I’ll stab you,” you threaten, voice quiet but the steadiest it’s been since you woke up in that damp basement. “I’ll do it.”

The cheeks of the balaclava pull up, the imprint of his lips clear throught the fabric as he smiles, an indent where his teeth must be. “Don’t think you’ll like what happens if you try, pet.”

He steps around the island again, striding for the door and completely dismissing you. At least, that’s what you think until he calls, “Follow,” over his shoulder, like you’re an animal being called to heel.

The dining room is visible from the kitchen, a section of one wall carved out so you can see into each room from the other. You only lose sight of him for a second before he reappears on the other side of the wall, heading to sit at the table. 

The room has a horrible dark red carpet, the walls the same old-fashioned panneling as the hallway he’d dragged you down hardly an hour earlier. He seats himself at the head of a small rectangular table. It’s the only chair in the room despite the fact that five more could easily fit at the table, one leg shorter than the other. There’s nothing on the walls, no decor anywhere, just one table and one chair for one man.

You linger in the doorway, shifty and nervous, halfway to rushing back to the kitchen if only for some deluded sense of familiarity you’ve already built. 

“Don’t make me chase you,” he warns, eyes narrowing into a brief glare before he drops the pan in front of himself, silverware already set at his place, cast iron still smoking. “Neither of us’ll like it if you ruin my meal, bird.”

Then, he digs in. 

You’ve seen a lot of people eat. More people than you can count, in fact. You’ve seen them eat good food, bad food, life-changingly good and life-changingly bad food. As a child you’d been fascinated by the expressions on customers’ faces when they tried something new for the first time.

A woman with her eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows raised high as she bites into a new chocolate cake recipe your mother spent weeks making you taste test, moaning so loudly her husband had blushed. A man nearly collapsing over his bowl of soup on a cold winter day, just barely keeping his tie from falling into it as he desperately shoveled another bite into his mouth. You’ve seen people cry over your father’s wagyu, pepper your mother’s face with kisses after tasting her dacquoise.

This man eats like none you’ve ever seen before.

He’s like an animal. It takes him just a second to push his mask up to his nose, revealing pale skin decorated with atrophic and keloid scars both, then he’s pulling the pan as close to his chest as he can and hunching over it like a predator guarding its kill. 

He seems entirely unworried about burning his wrists on the edges of the pan, instead focused on tearing his steak into barely bite sized pieces with his fork and messily rubbing it in the extra butter still pooling in the bottom of the pan. 

He doesn’t even pick the first piece up with his fork. He pinches it between two fingers and pushes it between thin, scarred lips, ignoring what must be a burn on his fingertips. He chews twice, then swallows. His digits shine under the low light of his dining room, juice from the meat dripping down his fingers to cover his hand, nails choppy and with a little piece of fat stuck under one until he digs it out with his tooth.

You gape as he does it again and again, pushing two, then three pieces into his mouth at once as he works through the meat. 

It was a massive steak. It took more than half an hour to cook, if the clock on his stove is right. It’s gone in less than five minutes.

He moans as he eats, nearly pornographic in a way that makes you shift in discomfort. The steak is rare enough that the juice dripping from it is pink, the meat itself a brighter color than the man’s thin lips. Juice sluices down his chin as he chews with his mouth open, bits of the meat caught between crooked teeth. 

When he gets to the last piece of the cut, half of it submerged in butter, he holds it in front of himself for just a moment. Then, he turns to you for the first time since he left the kitchen.

His lips are flat, expressionless, as he holds the piece of steak up in front of himself. His elbow is planted firmly on the table to keep his hand in his eyeline, and he looks at you expectantly, silent. 

Your stomach growls, loud enough for him to hear. His lips twitch up in a smirk before he smothers it. You glare. You have no idea how long the drugs knocked you out for, how many days it’s been since your breakfast omlette. Standing over the oven, smelling the steak as it cooked, has made you hungry. 

The two of you are silent as you inch forward, hardly daring to lift your feet from the carpet. It doesn’t take you very long to reach the table, not when the room is as small as it is.

You shift the knife to just your dominant hand, your now free hand reaching forward slowly as you keep your eyes trained on his. The steak is still so hot that steam is still curling from the pink center of it, right between his eyes. He’s still as a statue.

Then, the second your fingertips brush the meat, he snatches it back, slipping it between his lips. 

You flinch back as your mouth drops open, offended and startled by his sudden movement. Your fist tightens around the knife, no longer so limp at your side. 

He chews with his mouth open, smiling meanly at you. His teeth are stained pink from the juices, and you think for a moment that it almost looks like his gums are melting. 

“Forget your manners, pet?’ He asks, only swallowing once he’s finished talking.

You wince at the lack of manners, your p’s and q’s brow beaten into you with a stiff wooden spoon to the back of your hand when you were young, shocked to see someone ignore what you’ve always seen as instinctual and then ask you about manners. “What?”

He leans forward in his seat, greasy hand set on his jean-clad knee. “You didn’t say please.”

You blink at him, caught in some sort of trance that you have no idea how to pull yourself out from. “Oh.”

He sits, still and silent, for several long moments, belly rising and falling beneath his folded fingers, before speaking again. “You’ll call me Ghost while you’re here.”

Your brows furrow a bit but you nod, fingers trembling where they rest limp against your thighs, knife almost entirely forgotten in this almost-hypnosis he’s dragged you into. You can’t quite make your lips move enough to give him a verbal answer, but he seems to accept the nod. 

He snorts, eyes narrowed as he looks at you. He doesn’t even have to tilt his head up even though he’s the one sitting. The realization makes you sweat, something hot igniting low in your belly. 

Before you even register that Ghost is moving, he’s snatched the knife from your now-slackened grip. He drops it into the pan immediately, the handle and blade both becoming drenched in the butter. 

You’d nearly forgotten you even had the knife but the lack of it now drags the fear back up your throat, makes your heartbeat louder and your fingertips colder. 

“Don’t need that,” he grunts, leaning back and folding his hands over his belly, fingers sliding against the fabric and already staining. This close, you can see that it hangs over the hem of his pants just enough to cover the button. You swallow thickly. 

“‘S good,” Ghost says, looking you up and down. Just like in the kitchen, the chair and table here are taller than what you used to, like they were tailor made for your captor instead of bought from a store. You’re only barely taller than him even as he sits, but he somehow still manages to make you feel like he’s looking down on you. 

There’s something in you that keeps you from backing away, even though being hardly a foot away from him makes the backs of your eyes sting with tears. It’s like your feet have sunk through the floor, like you’re up to your knees in shag carpeting and you can’t even try to get yourself out until the behemoth before you looks away.

“Congratulations, girl,” he rumbles, lips quirked up into a mean smile. “You just bought yourself a life, right here with me.”

You can’t stop the tears from falling, shaking hands clapped to your mouth in a fruitless attempt to muffle your sob. 

Ghost leans forward, smile growing when you stumble back until the small of your back meets the half-wall. “What’re you cryin’ about, doll?” He lowers his voice, like he’s sharing a joke with you. “Think I won’t treat my new pet well?”

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat so hard it gives out, its galloping thump felt even in your teeth, gums numbing. Your tears blur your vision, but you can see enough to know when he stands from his set, the chair creaking as he scuffs towards you.

He comes into focus when he crouches in front of you, his knees hovering just above your naked feet, toes curling into the carpet in a futile attempt to get as far from him as you can. 

“I won’t,” he says lowly, hot breath gusting over your face and lighting your nerves on fire. “Not until you earn it. Y’hear me?”

Whimpers eek through your fingers at his words. There’s something in his eyes that still looks hungry, little drops of grease dripping from Ghost’s fingers to your toes, and it makes you feel like prey just inches away from the predator’s jaw. 

His hand darts out, smacking your clothed thigh and making you yelp. 

“Don’t fuckin’ ignore me,” he snarls, sharp and sudden anger upon him like a wave, your thigh stinging from his hit. 

You nod as soon as the chain of words connects in your brain to mean something, head bobbing up and down quickly in desperation to avoid any more physical contact.

His eyes narrow, unimpressed. “Repeat it, then.”

“I have to–” you cut yourself off, breath suddering out of you almost painfully. “I have to earn it.”

“Earn what?”

Exasperation mixes with terror, eyelids straining to stay widened, unwilling to miss another twitch from him.

Think I won’t treat my new pet well? He’d said. You have to earn it.

You can’t think of a way to distill that down into a singular answer, not quick enough for him, at least. 

“I don’t– I don’t know,” you sob.

His movement is slow this time, but it’s no more possible for you to avoid his touch than it was when you hadn’t seen anything coming. His hand drags into your hair, nails catching on scalp, and he tugs your head back, slamming it into the wall. 

“Everything,” he hisses, the fabric covering his nose brushing against yours, snot sliding down your fingers. “You earn everything here. You work for it all. Get it?”

You can hardly nod this time, his fingers tightening around the strands of your hair and pulling at your scalp, but thankfully it’s enough for him.

“Good,” he spits, leaning back and standing, dragging you with him. 

Once you’re standing, half crouched to try your best to ease the pain rippling from your head but pushed up on your toes so his hand isn’t practically lifting you, Ghost grabs you by the elbow instead and drags you out of the room before you can even fully realize what’s happening.

He grabs you in the exact spot he had when he’d dragged you to the kitchen in the first place, each finger laid precisely where there were already bruises emerging. His grip so tight you can’t even think of trying to rip away – you imagine your arm would come off your body before Ghost’s hand came off of you. 

He drags you from the dining room and down a small hallway. From what you’ve seen of the house, and what you can remember that isn’t clouded over by a haze of panic, the floor-plan is closed off, more claustrophobic than anything else. 

Every room seems connected by a new hallway and they're each thin enough that you couldn’t walk by the man’s side – the two of you might not even be able to walk chest to chest without somehow getting wedged between the wood-panneling, considering the bulk of him. 

Your toes drag, catching on the warped wood floor as he pulls you behind him. Your hands are wrapped around his wrist in a wasted but desperate attempt to keep everything below his grip from going numb, leaving your choking whines and sobs and pleas to rush out of you, voice bouncing off the panneled walls. 

Ghost ignores you entirely, doesn’t even seem to notice when you dig your nails into his skin and you try your best to yank. 

You start to grasp at the walls, trying to slow his stride in whatever way you can. You have no idea where he’s taking you, no idea what you’d do even if you did somehow manage to break free from him, but you try nonetheless. 

He doesn’t react, no matter how much you scream and hiss, no matter how much you claw and kick and make your body dead weight, nearly breaking your wrist from the way you yank and twist. 

It’s only when your fingers catch on the edge of something thin that you’re given a tangible thing to wrap your hope around.

You only realize it’s a picture frame once you’ve already yanked it from the wall, the photo itself a complete mystery to you.

It’s the adrenaline that makes you pull back and slam the frame glass-first into the side of his head, reaching up as high as you can to make contact. There’s a horrible crack when glass meets fabric, a screech when you drag it down the side of his face, glass catching on mask and skin and more glass.

Ghost doesn’t let you go but he does stumble into the wall, grunting like a bull and batting your opportune weapon like it’s hardly more than an annoying mosquito, sending it crashing to the ground despite your death grip. 

He falls back into the wall, tugs you with him with enough force to nearly knock you off your feet, your head a mix of fear and victory and adrenaline and pain and more fear, coherent thoughts a far-off dream.

“Little fuckin’ cunt,” you hear him spit, heavy boot smashing fallen glass into further pieces as he turns to press you against the wall with his body, heavy and hot against you.

His eyes are raging, scarred lips curled to bare his teeth and little pieces of glass sticking from his skin and balaclava. 

You only have about four drops of blood to speak of for your desperate attack, and with your kidnapper furious and holding you down all you can manage to think is why the fuck did I do that? What was I thinking? 

There’s no room for anything but shame when you’re staring down the barrel of God only knows what he’ll deicde to do to you. 

“Off to a bad fuckin’ start,” he hisses, spittle landing across your cheeks. “Thought I’d be nice to you. Send you off to sleep with hardly a damn scratch.”

Ghost snarls, shakes his head like a beast shaking off fleas. Glass goes flying around his head. You can hardly breathe.

“Tha’s not good enough for you, is it?” He says, hand coming up to lock around your throat. You’d cry out if he left you enough air, but he’s squeezing so tight you can barely get enough breath to stay conscious. 

“You need a heavy hand, ‘s that it, pet? Need someone to show you what happens when you fuckin’ misbehave?” He pulls your head a few inches away from the wall on the last word, slamming you back enough to rattle your brain in your skull, eyes unfocused and hardly seeing and unable to groan with his hand squeezing your airway shut. 

You try to shake your head, can’t manage to do anything more than shift with the grip on your throat. You think, briefly, about how he could snap your neck with one hand. His palm rests over your vocal chords, fingertips pressing against the nape of your neck. A flick of his wrist and you’d be dead. You think your heart may give out, overwhelmed and unable to keep up with everything Ghost is drawing from you, spitting at you.

Capture myopathy, a friend told you once, sitting beside you in a required biology class only one of you was interested in. When a rabbit is so scared that their heart gives out on them and they die. Just like that. Snap. Easy dinner for a fox. Isn’t that sick?

Sick. She’d said. This, you think, is sicker than anything a fox could do to a rabbit. 

“You’re lucky your meat was good,” he says, tone calming into something less rageful and more frustrated, hand loosening enough to let you breathe more easily but still keeping you from speaking. “Don’t mind trainin’ you up knowin’ you’ll be an investment. Just need some work, huh?”

You try your best to nod, eager to pick training over certain death any day. 

He hums, thumb stroking the crease of your skin between neck and shoulder and you can’t stop your shiver.

“Don’t worry, bird.” His teeth gleam when he flashes them, finally leaving your space. He practically throws you in front of him with the hand on your neck, letting it shift to wrap around your nape so he can guide you forward. “I’ve had pets before. All those tears tell me you’ll at least be easier to break in than the boy was.”

You only have a brief moment to wonder who the fuck the boy is, if he’s in this house, and what that could possible mean for you, before Ghost is nudging open a rickety door and nudging you down the stairs. 

He lets you go once you’re firmly on the narrow staircase and taking slow, tentative steps out of fear you’ll miss one in the dark. Ghost takes his hand from you, looming as you make your leaden-footed way down.

You can’t stop your sniffles or your tears, terrified of the nightmares that must be waiting at the bottom of the staircase and back in the basement you’d woken up in. You know some of what waits for you, what the room will look like and what will be in it – Ghost had been with you since he dragged you to the kitchen, there would’ve been no time for him to change anything – but you’ve got no idea what training means or what Ghost will do to you when your feet hit concrete. 

You don’t move any further into the room when you reach the bottom, Ghost easily stepping around you and choosing to ignore you in favor of looking for whatever he’s decided he needs. The sight of a small carabiner with keys latched to one of his belt loops makes your idea of running back up to the door leave as quick as it comes.

“Over here,” Ghost calls, back turned to you as he crouches down and fiddles with something at the wall.

You don’t move, feet anchored to the floor.

He huffs when he doesn’t hear you following him, shifting one knee to rest on the ground so he can turn over his shoulder and level you with an unimpressed look.

“You really want to make me come get you?” He rumbles, and the threat is enough to get you rushing forward then pulling to just as sudden as stop just out of his arm’s reach. 

It doesn’t matter much, you can’t really do anything to stop him when Ghost’s arm darts back to grab you by the knee, his torso leaning back to get a hand on you and tugging you forward. 

You can’t keep yourself from falling to your knees right at his side, nothing around for you to grab onto other than him and even looking at a face-full of concrete you know not to make any unnecessary contact with Ghost, not if you can help it. 

The weight around your neck is sudden and unexpected, his quick movements around your head even moreso. You don’t even have enough time to decide if it would be worth it to try and fight him off before there’s a resolute click, and he’s pulling back with something thick wrapped around his knuckles.

It’s a chain. Silver, hardly a hint of rust on it, thick and well-kept, and leading right back up to your neck.

You don’t put it together until shaky hands come up to press around the- the collar. Thick leather, two or three inches wide, just tight enough that you can feel it on every exhale. 

A collar. A collar with a chain leash, heavy enough that you can feel the hint of pressure pulling you towards Ghost, the length of the chain that’s not tight in his fist resting in loops by his boot. 

You can’t do anything but stare up at him, wide eyed and trembling, can’t begin to think of what to do before he’s standing and tugging you with him.

“Here now,” he grunts, not bothering to give you any time to get to your feet. You sort of stumble after him, knee scraping the ground as your head is jerked along. You can’t let yourself lag at all, not unless you want to get dragged along by your neck.

You feel like you’re moving through quicksand, every move only making things worse for you. Every forced step forward is another step closer to him, every jerk of your head pulls at the hair stuck in the back of the collar that he hadn’t bothered to move before locking it onto you, every panicked breath only serves to keep your breathing short and hitched.

Ghost drops himself onto the small cot pressed against the wall, it’s metal legs creaking under his weight. You can’t straighten fully with how short he keeps the chain, which leves you in a terribly vulnerable hunched position, eye-level with his stomach and bent at the waist, knee throbbing.

“Over my knee,” he rumbles, voice quiet. “Get this over with.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes, panting open-mouthed, drooling. A panicked animal with its leg caught in a trap, unable to do anything but stare up at the jaws closing around its body.

“Please,” you beg, voice hardly a whisper. “Don’t hurt me.”

His eyes are hard behind the mask, mouth a firm line as he looks down at you. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat beneath the thick leather. 

Ghost doesn’t give you another chance to obey. One quick jerk of his hand and you’re toppeling forward, choking on spit and holding your hands out to catch yourself. 

He manhandles you quickly – one hand on the chain yanking it further down, head forced lower than his knee while his other hand grabs you by the hips and hefts you on top of him, elbow jamming itself between your thighs while blood rushes to your head. 

You yelp, legs kicking out as you push at the bed with one hand, the rough ground with the other, throwing your head back and forth as much as you can with the leash giving you almost no room to move.

“Settle,” Ghost hisses. You don’t listen, can’t listen with the way panic alone rules your mind, and in response he lands a harsh smack on the center of your ass, enough to push you forward a few inches.

Your pleas come to a sudden stop, breath stuck in your throat as you absorb the pain, a noticeable sting even through the sweatpants.

“You’re gettin’ fifty,” he grunts when you’ve gone silent, tucking two fingers in the back of your pants and tugging them down, lifting up one knee to lift your torso so he can yank them to your waist. “Take ‘em, then we’re done.”

“No, no, please, God,” you choke, one hand flying to your mouth and pressing against it. Tears stream down your face, cheeks blazing with heat, a horrible mix of terrified and humiliated that leaves you all but limp over his legs.

Ghost snorts above you and you jump when you feel his cold hand make a pass over the fat of your ass. “Won’t be thinkin’ that much longer.”

You only have a brief moment to think hysterically is he making a joke right now? before there’s a horrible pain on your ass, the smack loud in the otherwise silent room.

It takes a second for the pain to hit you, but when it does you yowl. You push up on his thigh with both hands as another smack rains down, pulling as hard as you can against the chain.

“Stop, stop, stop it!” You screech, toes sliding uselessly against the cement as you writhe, all of your struggles doing absolutely nothing to stop his hand from falling again, this time right on the center of both cheeks. 

“Y-You can’t- you can’t d-do this!” You wail, throat filled with tears and snot as you realize you can’t even get close to standing, not with his grip on the chain as immovable as it is. “Stop!”

His next smack is his hardest, his grip around the chain loosening at just the right time to allow you to be sent sprawling over his lap, sobbing at the pain that lights up your backside. It hurts, and now your forehead is nearly pressed to the floor, leaving you completely off balance.

Ghost grunts as he shifts one of his legs, tucking your flailing limbs between his thighs and forcing you to be bent over just the one thigh, knees hovering inches off the ground.

“Stop your fuckin’ wailin’, Christ,” he hisses, peppering you with more spanks, each of them as hard as the last and forcing all the air out of your lungs. “Damn lucky this is all you’re gettin’. I should make you count ‘em, start over every time you get one wrong.”

You cry out at that, wriggling desperately and only serving to push your ass further into the air, trapped on both ends.

“We’d be here all damn night,” Ghost mutters to himself, hardly audible over your fit. “One picture ain’t worth bruisin’ my hand over.”

Your feet just barely brush against his thighs when you manage to kick up, but you’re embarrassed to find that you don’t have the strength to do much more than hang limply in his hold, one hand reluctantly wrapped around his calf to keep yourself from falling to the floor. 

Your tears and sobs don’t stop as he continues his assault on your ass, but there’s a part of you that almost… settles. Not into the pain, not when he’s smacking you hard enough to jolt your body forward and make you wail at every new touch, but into the steadiness of his smacks.

He doesn’t wait more than a second between hits, each spank no heavier or lighter than the last. It hurts, hurts worse than anytime you’ve burned or cut yourself in the kitchen, but after the first minute or so your body comes to expect what’s coming.

That doesn’t make it any easier to handle. You couldn’t stop your crying if you tried, like his hand is resting on your tearducts instead of your ass, squeezing every bit of moisture out of your eyes. 

He stops at some point, hand resting on your cheeks. He squeezes, nails digging in deep, and pulls your cheeks apart. You sniffle at the indignity, free hand covering your eyes as your face crumples.

“Half way through now,” Ghost says, ignoring the way you cry out. You can’t imagine taking one more hit, let alone twenty five. 

He shifts back on the cot and for a moment you have absolutely no idea what’s happening. It’s not until he not-so-gently readjusts your legs, his own laid out flat in front of him with his feet hanging off the cot, your body readjusted so you’re lying properly over his thighs.

It’s more comfortable, certainly, but you’re not sure you want comfortable right now. It feels impossible to imagine the brute above you as thinking of your comfort, completely analogous to his actions and leaving you a confused and weak mess. 

Ghost shifts his hand along with the rest of him, dropping the chain entirely in favor of resting a heavy palm on the back of your neck, equally as effective at keeping you still. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t comment on your heaving breaths or shaking thighs, just lets you breathe with your hands curled beneath your chest and your forehead pressed to the thin sheet covering the cot.

The next spank catches you completely off guard, your body having gone limp and leaving you unprepared for the sudden pain. It reignites your sobbing, your throat on fire from all the screaming you’ve done. You can hear your voice crack as you absorb the pain, shoulder shaking.

“Christ,” Ghost sighs, hand briefly leaving your ass. 

He’s lifting you by your hair a moment later, thick fingers laced through the tresses as he pulls your head back and stuffs something in your mouth. You whimer at the feeling, tongue working at the frankly disgusting taste, brows furrowed.

“Keep that there,” he orders, and you just barely get a glance of the side of his head before he’s shoving you back down, face-first. You realize, blinking slowly, that he’s shoved his mask in your mouth. “Can’t be bothered to teach you to shut the hell up, gonna hafta work on that once you learn how to behave.”

He spanks you again and this time your sob is muffled as you bite down on the fabric and grind it between your teeth. 

His pace is slower now, hand more thudding than stinging. It feels like he’s putting his weight behind every smack, each one delivered with what you’re sure is bruising force. Though truly you can’t tell much of a difference, not with your whole ass already feeling like it’s on fire. 

It gets harder and harder to differentiate between new and old pain as he lays brutal spanks over spots that are already hot and throbbing, varying the strength of each smack this time. You sink into the pain, limp and unable to do anything but take it.

“Better,” Ghost says, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing your scalp when you jerk at the sound of his voice. His next hit lands on the crease between your thigh and your ass, but your whine is almost silent. “Can hear myself think now, for one.”

Another smack, and your body doesn’t even jerk this time. You’re not even fully present in yourself, mind floating. You don’t quite feel like an outside observer, more like you’re just a few inches removed from the situation. All your sensations feel dulled, and you bear the pain as best you can. 

“Can enjoy the sight too,” you hear him say, and suddenly there are pauses between each smack, a little break Ghost takes to rub your glowing ass and thighs as much as he wants before laying another handprint across your soft skin. 

“‘S too bad I don’t fuck where I eat,” he muses, and you groan into the mask at a particularly rough hit. “You don’t take much fightin’. I like that in a girl. Go down real easy with a firm hand, don’t you?”

You shake your head as best as you can, which really isn’t much at all. He snorts at your effort, tightens his fingers to keep your head still.

You’re sapped of all energy, unable to move even as his punishing spanks linger lower on your ass, and even when he bullies a hand between your thighs and spreads your legs.

“Look at that,” he says, voice low. You can feel it through his stomach, goosebumps racing from your ribs to the rest of you. “Dirty girl, are you?”

You’ve got enough wherewithal to try and squeeze your legs shut when his fingers prod at your center, yanked back into your body at the sharp turn from painful to… something else.

He strokes two fingers over your slit, and you groan at just how much slick you can feel him spreading. You have no idea when it happened, have no idea why it happened, but you’re drenched between your thighs. Your cunt feels as hot as your ass, and the realization yanks a horrible little whine from you.

“Guess that wasn’t much of a punishment,” Ghost muses, spreading your lips and letting cool air ghost over you. You feel him blow a breath across you and struggle more than you have since he’d laid you flat across him, knees coming to tuck up under yourself.

“No,” he says simply, landing a horrible, smarting slap to your pussy. It sends you flat to your tummy again, squirming against him and wailing through the pain. It hurts. “Down, girl. No strugglin’ now.”

He only continues to stroke you, now pushing the steadily dripping wetness from your clit to your asshole, making you tense and writhe where you’re pinned, his order ignored.

“Think I’ll do the last few here,” he says, landing another harsh smack to your center, this time focused on your clit. “Make sure you remember your lesson.”

He doesn’t wait any longer, just begins to lay quick, harsh slaps all across your cunt – your spread lips, your hole itself, your clit. Once, even, on your bottom hole, digging his nails into your stinging cheeks to spread you wide for him.

It hurts more than any of the smacks to your ass did, undeniably, but you’re sapped of all energy and find yourself hardly able to cry, let alone struggle. You’re too busy being swept away in a maelstrom of pain-pleasure you’ve never experienced before to even try defending yourself.

Your only option is to lie still and wait for him to finish with you. So that’s all you do.

It feels like it’s been an eternity when he finally stops. 

The hand near your ass gropes you firmly, pinching what you can already feel are tiny little raised spots from where his palm landed the hardest. 

You don’t have the energy to even think of struggling when he finally moves you off him, letting you flop uselessly to the cot as he moves out from under you. There’s the sound of metal clinking, the tension from the collar finally eased as he lets it go completely.

He doesn’t bother to pull your pants up, but he does nudge your legs closed. It’s a bit of decency you didn’t expect from him. 

You can’t do much more than blink wearily at him as Ghost reaches to tug his mask from your mouth, lip curling in disgust at the drops of saliva that fall from it. Good, you think. That’s just the start of what you deserve, bastard.

He crouches in front of you a moment later, bringing his face into full focus in front of you.

He’s… not traditionally attractive, that’s for sure. Even your defeated and exhausted mind can recognize that you would’ve avoided this man had you seen him on the street. Probably would’ve even risked being seen as rude and crossed to another sidewalk before he walked past you. Seeing as this is where you’ve ended up, your instincts wouldn’t have been wrong about him.

He’s got a square head and blond hair buzzed close to the scalp. The scars you’d seen across his cheeks and jaw extend further up his face, something textured across his temple that you can’t guess the cause of, eyebrows patchy and only half-grown in from burns, little bumps decorating his scalp.

But there’s something captivating about him. In his eyes, maybe, such a dark blue that you can only tell they’re not brown because he’s hardly a foot from you. There’s something about him that says look at me. Don’t forget where I am.

Though maybe, you think deliriously, you’re only thinking that because he’s the captor who just spanked your ass raw and dragged his fingers through your cunt.

“Rule one,” Ghost rumbles quietly, breath gusting over your lips. “You hurt me, I hurt you. Heard?”

It takes all the energy you have left to nod, eyes falling shut even as the little prey voice in the back of your head screams at the danger so near, never mind that you haven’t been able to do anything to keep him from you. You’re too loud to listen to the voice anyways, only a very distant part of you acknowledging it as you slip into a sort of half-sleep.

You don’t hear him leave.

From there you settle, bizarrely, into a routine. 

Every day begins with you waking up in the basement. Always before Ghost comes to get you, some primal instinct buried deep knowing that you need enough time every morning to brace yourself for seeing him.

He locks the chain, the leash, to a hook on the wall a couple feet above your cot every night, the key to the padlock always left on him. The chain is long enough to give you plenty of room to roll and shift in bed at night but it’s too short for you to reach the small bathroom across the basement. There’s no clock for you to keep track of time with but you spend what must be half an hour every morning just sitting on the cot, waiting for Ghost to come get you.

He’s always nearly stumbling when he comes down the basement stairs to fetch you, sleep keeping his bones heavy. It’s only in the mornings when you see him with his shoulders hunched, movements weighted down, any other time he’s perfectly alert. 

You think, at first, that your best shot at trying to hurt him would be in those early mornings when he’s groggy and slow moving, but Ghost never lets you off the chain when he’s like that. It’s always after he’s stiffened up, shoulders rolling back and permanent-scowl firmly back in place.

He’ll unhook the chain from the wall first, rarely saying a word as he half-drags-half-leads you over to the bathroom, doesn’t let you close the door while you do your business and shower.

(There’s a way he looks at you in the morning, when he’s at his rawest. Something animal and hungry in a way you don’t see even when you serve him his meals, pupils blown and lingering on your curves, unabashedly staring at your ass when you glance over your shoulder at him.

It had been terrible, at first, to get naked in front of him. He’d just stare, and most days you could see his hardness tenting his pants. Hell, some days he came down the stairs with his cock making itself plenty known, not a speck of shame in him.

You’d once listened to him jack himself off while you were in the shower. You’d had to step over the puddle of cum on the tile when he’d tugged you out of the room, nearly slipped into it when he’d pulled you just a little more harshly than usual.)

The chain stays in the basement, always unlatched from your throat along with the collar before he shepherds you up the creaky stairs, never much more than a foot or two away from you. 

Then, breakfast. 

It had taken a while for you to really believe him after he’d said you were only there to cook. What kind of person kidnaps a woman just to keep her as a private chef? But days went by where he never once touched you any more than necessary to get the collar on and off, his only reaction to your body a seemingly unintentional erection and usually ignored when you were naked. 

Days, weeks pass where all you do is cook. Three meals a day, snacks when he’s hungry (which seems to be always). 

Ghost’s cabinets were bare the first week of your captivity. He had enough meat in his freezer to last him months, but little else. There was a loaf of bread on the counter, a few condiments in the fridge with crusted lids and misshaped bottles, and some cans of soup in the pantry. Nothing else. He’d drop a cut of meat on the counter and expect you to work with it and seemed plenty content when you served him the blandest roast chicken of your life.

It took you three days until you worked up the nerve to ask him to go grocery shopping. It was the first thing you said to him that wasn’t a plea for your freedom. 

You’d been terrified that you’d end up face down ass up over his thighs again, your ass still bruised from his first punishment and his subsequent much quicker corrections. But he’d hardly reacted, had just given you a piece of paper and a short pencil with bite-marks on the eraser, told you to write what you thought you needed.

He locked you in the basement for hours (you tracked the sun through the sole window as best you could, left behind fear and anger for boredom around what you guessed was the three hour mark) when he left. Briefly, you’d regretted asking in the first place. If the bastard wanted to eat nothing but protein and die of a nutrient deficiency, who were you to stop him? It would serve him right.

But you have nightmares, sometimes, of being stuck in the basement. Your captor dead in his bed, fallen to the bathroom floor with his head cracked open, bleeding out in the forest one of the times he goes off hunting. And you, stuck here, chained to a wall. No key, no way out, no one to find you.

A part of you had breathed a sigh of relief when he came home, letting you up to the kitchen and supervising while you dug through the plastic bags and put everything where you wanted it.

He doesn’t… do much during the days, is the thing.

He goes hunting, sometimes. You find that that seems to be his most consistent outing. He’ll spend hours out there at a time, sometimes coming back with nothing and other times coming back with a twelve-point buck you watch him drain through the kitchen window. He also has to keep his weapons – his many, many weapons – in shape, and you find that it’s not rare to spend an afternoon watching him clean guns or sharpen knives.

You enjoy his hunting moods most. He’ll disappear for hours on end to even find his kill, then spend days skinning and preparing the meat, then doing whatever it is he does in his shed with the bits of the body he doesn’t bring you to cook. Those days spent in the forest or the shed for him guarantee you hours of time alone, which isn’t nearly so miserable when he doesn’t keep you in the basement. 

Sometimes he goes out after dinner. You’ll hear the front door slam shut after he locks you up in the basement, his truck’s old engine loud enough to be obvious when he revs it. You’re never sure where he goes, who he might even go with since he never takes calls, but you also have little interest in asking.

But most nights he watches TV. Almost exclusively old VHS recordings of The Price is Right, Wheel of Fortune, Password, and shows so out-of-date you’re sure you could count the pixels on the screen. He’ll roll himself a blunt and relax into an old recliner with cracked leather, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

(You watched him rest a hand in his pants, once. He hadn’t even been focusing on the TV, eyes far away and breathing heavy as he stroked himself slowly beneath his jeans. You don’t even think he finished, he was just… relaxing. You’d decided to just be glad he wasn’t coming after you for that job.)

Sometimes he’ll watch the same Manchester United games every night for a week straight, grunt approvingly or shout at the TV at the same points no matter how many times you’ve seen him watch it. By the end of your first month in his captivity, you could guess who scored every goal in the team’s 2012 championship game. You have absolutely no idea why he doesn’t just turn on the newest games.

You learn quickly that Ghost mounted a hook to nearly every wall in the house, and that he’s not shy about chaining you in the same place for hours at a time and leaving you to your own non-existent devices while he lumbers off. You spend the most time in the kitchen, undoubtedly, but you find that the horrible plush carpet in his living room isn’t too uncomfortable to sit on either.

It doesn’t take many days for your fear to turn to boredom, is the thing. Absolute, complete, mind-numbing boredom. There’s simply nothing to do but watch Ghost, and for a kidnapper he’s turned out to be spectacularly uninteresting. 

He’d laid out the rules in the first few days. You hurt him, he hurts you. Listen to his orders, don’t make him repeat himself. Don’t try to escape, you won’t find anyone to help anyway and he doesn’t want to chase you down. Don’t try to fuck with the food you make him, he expects good meals consistently.

It had been the third you’d struggled most with, though you could hardly blame yourself. You’d thought he was going to make you bleed when he caught you trying to throw yourself out of a recently-broken window.

He’d taken you over his lap a few more times for smaller infractions too. To make sure the lessons stick, he’d said. They did. Ghost hits hard, and even after just his first punishment you’d been plenty cowed. You don’t give him many reasons to punish you again.

The bright spots in your life are, as they have always seemed to be, food orientated.

There’s a part of you that hates how much time you think of ways to quite literally serve him, but you have nothing else to do. He may enjoy his shows, but after about two weeks you think you may go insane if you have to focus on much more Tom Kennedy in an other-wise silent house. 

You spend long hours staring out his windows at the foggy forest surrounding the cabin, running through the recipes you’d wanted to try before you’d been taken, notes for your parents’ dishes that were never listened to, plans on what you could make for Ghost himself with what he would provide.

And he does. Provide, that is. He provides plenty.

The fifth day of your captivity, he drops a chicken carcass on the wood island. Whole, unplucked, the blood from its neck still drying.

“I can’t…” You start, hesitating at the doorway to the kitchen as he moves further in. “I’m not a butcher. I can’t cook it like that.”

Ghost looks over at you, mask covering his expression. You find that it’s a fifty-fifty chance he doesn’t pull it on in the morning, dependent on some factor you’re not allowed to know.

“I’ll cut it up,” he grunts, turning his back to you and tugging a drawer open, digging around noisily. “Don’t need you to do anythin’ but cook it.”

You shift from foot to foot as he turns back to the bird, empty trash bag at his side and carving knife in his hand. 

For a man who you’ve always assumed to be inept in the kitchen, he handles the bird like a professional. He has it plucked in less than a minute, his mess minimal.

His butchering is less impressive, though no less effective. He’s a bit of a slob with his cuts, reckless with his knife in a way that has you craning your neck to see just how much breast is left on the bone. 

Ghost is slow-moving, careful in a way you’ve never seen him when he pops the thigh from the leg joint. It must’ve been a well-fed bird during its life, there’s plenty of meat for his thumb to dig into as he carefully rotates and pulls, not too much strength but not too little. A balance he seems to struggle to find before the thigh finally pops away from the body easily, and he moves on.

It’s… intimate is the wrong word, but it’s not far off. His hands – damp from being washed, something you’d been glad to see him do without you needing to draw his attention back to you – are shiny with the bird’s juices covering them, his thick fingers brutalizing the delicate, pale meat. The job is done quickly and cleanly enough to leave you plenty of meat.

He doesn’t butcher it completely for you. He leaves the wing connected to the breast, the breast and the tenderloin one large piece of meat when he lays his carving knife on the counter. His most precise cuts are around the oysters, each of them dug out and set to the side quickly. 

It’s not a quiet process, his knife cutting through bone and joint. But it feels particularly loud with the only other sound the soft humming of the fridge, the call of a bird outside the window. 

You feel squirmy for reasons you can’t quite place when he’s finished, bird butchered and glistening under the dim kitchen light. The look he gives you, heavy and stifling, doesn’t help. 

You make him get mason jars next time he goes to the store, mourning all the stock that goes to waste because you’ve got no way to store it. He praises the tenderloins you make for dinner that night, voice rough in a way that makes your cheeks heat.

Most of the food he buys for you to work with is store-bought, but the meat continues to be fresh. He enjoys the food most when he kills it himself – he moans when he bites into a piece of duck in a way that you feel no shame in calling pornographic – but you learn that he’ll settle for anything fresh.

There’s a calendar on the inside of the pantry. 

It’s an old military one, each of the pictures a dramatic shot of a soldier, covered in filth more often than not and staring across some sort of beautiful landscape. It’s from 2014, each of the pages worn and ripped where fingers have pinched and flipped. Each of the days is already marked off with an X in the box, some of them even with little notes written in different colors from over the years.

G birthday in Lancaster

S appointment - needs ride

L retirement on base

You know when he flips it to read June that you’ve been with him a month. You’re not happy, far from it, but you don’t spend everyday shaking in fear. 

You know what to expect from Ghost, he knows what he expects from you, and you’ve settled into an almost-peaceful cohabitation. 

He takes to ordering you prettier clothes about halfway through your second week. Sweatpants get traded in for sundresses and uncomfortably tiny shorts, sweatshirts exchanged for cardigans and low-back tank-tops. 

Some days, watching him feed the chickens through the window in your daisy-print sundress and flour-covered apron, you feel almost like a homesteader’s wife.

If not for the chains hanging from the walls, of course. 

You’re wearing one of those dresses when Ghost comes to visit you in the kitchen, nearly six weeks after he’d taken you.

He’d been letting you wander the house off-leash more and more, in small doses. Whether confident in his ability to catch you or your inability to get far from the cabin, you’re not sure, but you’re thankful nonetheless. You’re still a little sore from your last escape attempt, ass smarting from his belt, and haven’t quite gotten into your head to try again yet.

You’re leaning over the counter, tasting a fresh brownie from the middle of the pan while he smokes with his Wheel of Fortune on, having sent you off with a pat on the ass and a I want somethin’ sweet, doll. 

You’ve never been nearly as good at baking as you have cooking, and you’re not sure you’ve perfected your brownie recipe yet. But you’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth, and Ghost keeps his house cold. Biting into a still-steaming gooey brownie, the top just enough of a crust to give the bite texture, the chocolate melting into your tongue, is one of the best things you’ve done since you first woke up in that basement. 

You don’t realize you’ve made a noise until there’s an echo behind you, Ghost’s groan so quiet it’s nearly drowned out by the TV in the other room.

You jerk back from the counter, hands braced on the rounded corner as you look over your shoulder, sure that there’s a pipe groaning in the wall.

Instead you see your kidnapper, already hardly a step away and boxing you into the counter, hulking body smothering you with ease.

Your spine goes ramrod straight, brownie abandoned in its pan as he presses himself into you, hard chest pushing against your softer back. You’re silent, stiff, too surprised and scared to do more than wait. 

“‘S got you moanin’ in here?” Ghost rumbles, heavy against you. “Thought I said I wanted a treat.”

“I–” You gasp, arching when he presses his hips into you. His sweatpants don’t do anything to disguise his length and you can feel every inch of him against your back. “I–I made brownies.”

“Hm…” One hand comes to rest on your hip, his head lowering enough that you can see his profile in your peripheral. “Let’s have it then.”

You don’t move at first, fingertips tingling and lips pressed tightly together.

He huffs, smacks your ass once. He pushes the fabric of your dress up just enough to clip your skin, simple granny panties doing little to soften the blow. You gasp and jerk forward, soft stomach pressing into the counter.

“Give me one,” he says, hand rubbing where he’d just spanked, fingertips just dipping under the edge of your underwear. “C’mon, bird, I want a bite.”

Your fingers quiver as you lift the brownie in your hand to his lips, holding it just over his shoulder as he feels you up with both hands, roughly kneading the cheeks of your ass as you try to stay as still as possible.

Ghost gives you more of his weight and bites the brownie, the sharp edges of his teeth scraping your knuckles. You jump at the feeling, unwittingly grinding yourself against him. 

“Fuck, pet,” he moans, face dropping to rest his forehead against your temple. You can do nothing but stare at the cabinet. “That’s fuckin’ delicious. I need another bite.”

You’re reaching towards the pan to cut him another piece when you realize he’s shifting to his knees behind you.

“Ghost,” you whine when he takes your hips in his hands, hefting you up so you’re fully resting on the island with your toes unable to even skim the tile. Your eyes are wide as you stare at the backsplash, unable to quite believe what’s happening.

“Hush,” he scolds, and you get a smack to the thigh for your trouble. “I want my sweet thing.”

Ghost eats your cunt the same way he eats your food: voraciously, messily, and shamelessly.

He gives you no warm up, no time to prepare for something he’s only hinted at wanting to do before. There’s one broad swipe of his tongue across your sex, then his lips wrapping around your clit and your eyes rolling back into your skull.

You’re not sure that he cares about your pleasure, but he’s certainly giving you plenty. He licks from cunt to clit again and again, tongue quick and stiff against where you’re sensitive and drawing breathy moans from you, nails scratching uslessly at the counter.

He focuses mostly on your hole, licking up your slick like it’s the best thing his tongue has ever touched and leaving you pushing back for more unconsciously, wanting more than just the tip of his tongue inside you. 

“Greedy,” he huffs when you nearly slip off the counter. He slips two fingers into your leaking hole and you squeal at the stretch, noticeable even with his mouth working you over. “This is for me, not you, pet. Settle down and let me eat.”

You cry out when he laps at your clit, quick, broad licks over the bud and just enough pressure to make your mouth hang open. He gives you almost too much suction, your brain rattling around between your ears when he crooks his fingers and tugs.

He uses just one hand on your thigh and two fingers in your cunt to shove you up the counter, giving him more space to have you practically sitting on his face. He laps around his own fingers, fucking with you just enough to coax more slick for him to drink, your knees knocking against the cabinet.

Eventually, what feels like it must be hours later, you come. The combination of Ghost’s fingers pressing at just the right spot, the suction on your clit and the sound of his mouth against you making you feel insane and finally pushing you over the edge.

It’s heaven, to have him lick and suck you through your orgasm. Your limbs feel tingly, bright white starbusts flying behind your eyes as you go limp across the counter, head pressing against the backsplash.

It isn’t until he doesn’t pull out his fingers, doesn’t pull his tongue away, that you start to feel truly gone, a puppet dancing to his tune, a piece of fruit squeezing whatever juice he wants into his mouth for as long as he wants.

“Not done with you yet,” you hear him murmur, the rumble of his voice against your cunt making you moan from overstimulation. “Gonna drain you dry, pretty thing. Shouldn’t have made yourself so sweet if you didn’t want me taking it all.”

You want to growl that you can’t make yourself taste like anything, but he slips a third finger into your hold, curls his fingers and rubs his knuckles against your g-spot, and you’re coming too hard to even attempt a protest.

By the time he pulls your dress back down and pets your ass, taking a brownie from the pan without even bothering to use the knife to cut himself a piece, there’s nearly as much drool dripping from your mouth as there is your cunt.

From there, your life centers around two things: food and sex. Both of them exist only because of and with Ghost, him your constant companion as you unwillingly grow more and more comfortable in his house. 

You cook him a stew made from cow leg he’d dropped on your counter that morning. Small russet potatoes float in the broth, popped into his mouth whole and swallowed almost as completely, pieces of carrots he chews to mush and celery he avoids, wine soaked meat leaving grease stains down his shirt. 

Ghost puts you on your knees beneath the table, feeds you his cock while he feeds himself your food. You suck him as well as you can, trace your tongue over the thick vein up the side of his cock, ignore the throbbing in your jaw and try to push his foreskin back to suckle on his head.  He wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, doesn’t let himself come until he’s finished with his meal. You can’t tell if his groaning is for your work on the stew or your work beneath the table.

Fuckin’ heaven, that mouth. Want me to send you off with a full belly, huh? Bet you like your meal as much as I like mine.

Half a dozen eggs, scrambled, served with enough bacon to make you feel sick from the smell alone and half-soaked in maple syrup. 

You, needy and desperate, grinding your cunt across his thigh. You lean back as far as you can with your hands carefully resting on the table at your back, desperate to avoid his syrup-sticky fingers, and end up with a view of his cock lancing you. He scoops your slick up with his clean fingers, picks up another piece of bacon and rips it in half, offers you the bit he doesn’t take.

Please, please, Ghost, I need it so bad, it hurts and it’s supposed to, love, I said I wanted a show with my breakfast, didn’t I?

A rack of lamb, sliding off the bone, bites of it shared between Ghost and you as three of his fingers work slowly in and out of your ass, leisurely and for his viewing pleasure more than your own orgasm. Red juices smeared across your lips and face, dripping down his chin and staining his fingers. A thumb on your clit, meat shoved between your teeth as you come. 

Gonna fuck you here too. Gonna make it hurt, listen to you cry a little when I eat. Oh, hush, you’ll be fine, don’t get yourself worked up. Not yet, at least. My cock’ll spread you out at least twice this much, save your tears for when you’ll need ‘em, pet.

Sticky fruit laid across your stomach, cantaloupe and watermelon and kiwi and banana. His fingers picking them off you piece by piece, savoring them as he fucks you hard. You laid flat to the table, legs spread why and throat sore from your cries, the stark difference between the way he relishes the food and the way he fucks you like an animal making you feel wanted in a way that threatens to drown you.

You need it bad, don’t you? Slut. Pretty, tasty, perfect little slut. Fuckin’ squeezin’ my dick off, goddamm, honey. Gonna fuck you full, gonna fill you up and feed you plenty. 

Stir fry you make with hog maw, a recipe you’d never tried before given to you by a girl in cooking school who was set to inherit her parent’s restaurant. His face moving between your cunt and his meal, your whines about a UTI and cross-contamination go ignored, and he holds his bowl beneath your cunt while he strokes your g-spot with two calloused fingers. 

Tightest fuckin’ cunt in the world. Pretty little thing and her pretty little meals, just made for me, huh? ‘S that right, pet? You’re made just for me and my mouth and my cock, hm? Gonna give me a nice little dressing for my food?

A night spent in his bed, after you make him angel-food cake from scratch. Waking up to a cock pressed against your ass, chain leash and collar heavy around your throat and locked around the headboard but the sheets soft under your skin, pillows thick and his own body warm in a way the basement never gets. 

Ghost isn’t awake yet. He’s snoring like a freight train, completely unaware of the way you stare at him in the blue-dark of the early dawn hours. 

The chain is heavy in your hand, cold against your soft palms. You feel almost like you’re in a trance, the world still hazy around its edges as you shift to kneel over him. 

You don’t know how much strength it takes to strangle a person, but evidentially you don’t use enough. 

You wrap the chain tight around either knuckle, press your hands hard into the mattress on either side of his head, and hold your own breath. His snores quiet, his breathing shudders. He coughs once, twice, you feel his hips and legs begin to shift beneath you and you really put your body weight behind your hold. He goes still.

Then, his eyes fly open. 

There’s hardly time for you to think fuck before he’s flipping you onto your stomach, harsh hand shoving you into the mattress while another rips the chain from your hands and pulls.

You wail a breath as your head is pulled back, scalp nearly touching your spine as Ghost forces your back into a steep arch, ass pushed into the air.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he hisses. You can’t tell if the heat in his words is rage or hunger or some sick mix of both, have even less of an idea which one you should be hoping it is. “You tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me?”

You can barely breathe through the anticipation, the fear that’s been gone for so many days suddenly wrapped around you as tight as the collar, but you find enough breath to shout when he lands a horribly heavy hit across your ass. 

“Ghost!” You shout when he only follows it with several more, eyes squeezed shut as he overwhelms you in pain and discomfort.

“What?” He snarls, fingers clipping your cunt and making your squeal. “What, now you don’t like pain? I watched you cream my cock without a single finger in your cunt last night, girl, but this?” Another spank, harder than you’ve ever taken and burning. “This too much for you?”

You huff, squirming as much as you can in your strained position. 

“You wake me up with a goddamn chain around my neck and bitch when I beat your ass for it?” His voice is nearing a shout now, thick with what you’re sure is anger. “You’re gonna try and kill me in my own fuckin’ bed and pitch a fit when I make you sorry?”

You can’t find it in you to do anything but cry, chest tight and eyes squeezed tighter while he doles out punishment, bruising slaps landing anywhere from your cheeks to your cunt to your thighs to your hole, his hand spreading you wide for him.

“Spread,” he grunts eventually, a harsh hand shoving your knees wide. “Need to get to that hole.”

You don’t get to listen, he makes you do what he wants without giving you a chance to, and then lays a dozen terrible, painful smacks to your asshole.

You’re nearly screaming through them all, feet slamming into the bed as the pain rushes through you. He yanks the chain hard when you try to pull forward and bury your face in the pillow, forcing you to keep the tortuous pose he’s holding you to.

You feel the bed rocking with the force of his hits, spit and tears dripping down your face as you can do nothing but lay there and take it. 

“Naughty, naughty fuckin’ thing,” he spits, two rough fingers pushing into your cunt with little care for your cry. “My own little chef tryin’ to strangle me, I can’t fuckin’ believe it. I bring you here to feed me, give you a load in your stomach anytime you need it, and you wrap your leash ‘round my throat?”

“I’m– I’m sorry!” You wail, inconsolable as he roughly rubs a palm over your clit, your cunt quickly getting slick. You’re still damp from the way he’d bent you over earlier, a mix of his and your cum wet between your thighs.

“Not good enough,” Ghost hisses. He quickly fucks his fingers back inside you, once twice, then pulls them out again.

You go taut as a board when those slick fingers move up, towards your far, far tighter hole.

“No,” you gasp, struggling even pinned as you are, a sense of panic shrouding your mind. “No, no, nonono, you can’t, oh God, please, Ghost, don’t–”

Ghost drops the chain in favor of grabbing you by the throat, tearing you back so violently that you’re staring at his sneer upside down. 

“Shut the fuck up.” His spit is tacky when it lands on your cheek, mixing with your tears, and his smile looks evil as he glares down at you. “Gonna make sure you don’t even think of that shit again. Gotta make it hurt if you’re gonna learn a lesson.”

You sob as he lets you go, head finally falling limp to the bed as you turn your face to the side so you can still breathe. You watch as he reaches for a half-full bottle of lube on his bedside table, the label peeling and stained. 

“Gonna cry for me some more?” He coos, laughing when you jump at the cold feel of the lube on your ass, thighs tense with nerves. “You know I like it when you make yourself look silly, pet. Go on, cry all you want. Still gonna fuck you.”

One finger pushes the lube into your ass, then two, then three. He gives you no time to adjust, only one thrust from each digit before he forces you to stretch further, lands slaps across your ass seemingly whenever he feels like it.

“Ghost, pl-ease,” you cry when you feel the hot head of him press against you, sure that it’ll be excruciating. 

He threads a hand into your hair, pulls you up enough that he can bend to speak into your ear.

“You’ll call me Simon while I fuck your ass,” he says, voice low. “I wanna hear you scream it when I hurt you, pet.”

You listen to him against your will, the scream he wanted tearing from you and echoing the sheer pain of being fucked by someone as massive as Ghost with such little prep.

Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the pain racing through the rest of your body and leaving you limp and panting, only able to close your eyes and endure as he mercilessly pushes forward, uncaring of your pained hiccups and cries.

“Simon,” you whine when he bottoms out, warm balls settling against your neglected cunt. “Hurts…”

His laugh is mean, nasty in your ear. “Good, fuck, say it again, girl. Tell me how much it hurts.”

“So bad…” is all you manage, even just those words warbling off into nothing as he pulls out, fucking himself back in with a harsh thrust that nearly chokes you. 

“Can’t believe you tried it,” he huffs, bracing himself over you as he sets a ruthless pace, no consideration for your comfort. You can see the chain in his right hand, feel the way it just barely tugs at your neck with how viciously you’re moving along the bed. “Been waitin’ for you to give me a chance to do this to you, to fuck you up.”

Your fists clench in the sheets as you do your best to breathe through the pain, the slide of the lube only making his thrusts marginally easier to endure.

“Been waitin’ to get my cock in this hole. Wanted to watch you cry and make you put your tears in the food, gape your little hole and make you ride me while I smoke, shit. Tightest ass I’ve ever felt, love, goddamn. ‘S that feel good?” A slap to the side of your face, rousing you. “You feel good with my cock drilling your little ass?”

“No,” you moan, miserable.

“Good,” he hisses, thrusts quickly becoming uncoordinated as he stares down at your ruined face, his eyes gleaming. “You’re so much sweeter when you’re hurtin’, girl. Wanna keep you like this all the time.”

You sob at the idea, already unable to imagine how excruciating it’ll be to sit tomorrow with your ass covered in welts.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Ghost pants, staring at you ravenously. “Cry a little more for me, attagirl…”

You feel his cum shoot deep inside you before his thrusts slow, the heat spreading as he fucked you through his orgasm, face twisted in pleasure. Your tears haven’t slowed, even as the pain lessened and lessened throughout your fucking.

“Fuck, fuck, that feels good,” he breathes, grinding himself against you as he empties the last of himself inside you.

You feel nearly catatonic as he pulls out, only able to whine when he slips free from your hole and then again when he rearranges you on the bed, limbs sore and neck stiff as he continues to hold you by the leash.

“Took it well,” he grunts, shifting to lay on his back again and tossing the lube to the table beside him. “You gonna pull that shit again?”

You sniffle shaking your head no, only verbally answering when he cocks an eyebrow. “No, Simon.”

He smirks. “I’d love if you did,” he whispers, like it’s a secret. “Would love if you gave me another chance to ruin you. Just go ahead, love. I’ll tear into you whenever you want.” He tilts his head, considering for a moment. “Whenever I want too. ‘Cause you’re mine to do whatever I want with, aren’t you?”

You nod, hands tucked beneath your chin as he tugs you closer by the hip, fingers pressing into rapidly developing bruises and making you whimper.

“Yeah, gonna fuck you ‘til you cry as often as I want. And you’ll gimme those tears every time, won’t you?”

All you can do is nod, a part of you calmed and feeling safer as you watch the predator’s teeth pull away from the prey’s neck when he nods.

The plate you balance is larger than your face and still nearly overflowing with food.

It’s filled to the edges with steak, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, and rolls. You have a bottle of wine tucked under one arm, a corkscrew held between your lips and one glass in your hand as you saunter towards Simon.

“Smells good,” he grunts. You’ve learned that his compliments are concise but rare, and you greedily take in the praise from him. “Enough for us both?”

You snort. There’s enough food on your plate to feed five people, easily. But Ghost’s stomach is never-ending, and you’d made sure that there would be no way he’d go to bed hungry.

He spreads his thighs as you approach, pats one of them like you’re not already lowering yourself to him. He takes the glasses while you lay the plate, setting his silverware to the side as he opens the bottle and fills the glass nearly to the brim.

You hum as you take in a breath of the food, that familiar sense of pride from a meal well-made settling in your chest.

Ghost cuts the food while you lean back on his chest, watching his thick fingers work. 

He lifts one of the little pieces of steak to your mouth once he’s cut it, swiping it through the potatoes and guiding you to look at him with a finger on your jaw.

He presses the tender, rare meat between your lips and you take it greedily, letting your eyes slip shut as you savor the taste. He kisses you almost immediately after, passes his tongue over the food before you can even swallow, but lets you keep it.

You giggle when he pulls back, swiping a thumb over the potato on your lip. He picks himself up another bite, pinches a bit of carrot with his steak and swallows without chewing, a moan slipping from his lips. You feel yourself dampening against his thigh, breath hitching.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” you say, voice quiet and held just between the two of you.

He snorts, ever unromantic. “Eat up, doll. Wanna have you for dessert after a meal this good.”

You smile softly at him, opening your mouth willingly when he lifts a bite of food to your lips.

[sevsbunny]

secrets

gp!alpha!sevika x omega!reader

4k words!

warnings — sevika has a dick. talks of knotting. fingering (r). thigh riding. slight choking. semi public sex. joint mention.

the brain rot is overwhelming in this one. trust there will be a part two, however please send me things for these two! i want this to be an au <3

skin tone in both pictures is not related/relevant! it is purely for the outfit <3 (minus gloves)

EIGHTEEN PLUS MINORS AND MEN DNI

her scent was intoxicating, smelling of musk, cinnamon, sweat, a hint of mint. and something else. something possessive.

there was no denying the pull you had to her the second you felt her presence enter the threshold of the small meeting room. you were new to the team, having been there for a mere year — and considered an asset for being the only omega — but to each their own.

you needed money. you needed to make a living.

you hadn’t been claimed by an alpha. not that you didn’t want to, just…you hadn’t met the right one.

some were powerful, which usually came with the upper hand of being able to conceal the abuse some held. others were, well. boring. they didn’t spark that interest in you, didn’t make your body thrum with excitement when they were around. you didn’t feel ‘the spark’ your other younger omega friends had talked about when they met their alpha’s in college.

you thought it was something that didn’t exist.

silco paid you well, enough for you to have your own little studio apartment on the top floor. it was small, but you had a rooftop access essentially, so you turned it into a little cozy space.

the hours were tiring, however. you posed as being decoy to missions — a little lost omega in a big city with no one to help her — it was the best weapon to busting these goons that kept stealing from silco.

it was fulfilling for a while, until it wasn’t. you know, the usual motions.

however, it kept you close to sevika. more than it should.

it was dizzying — having to work so closely to her because she was the leader. the one to call the shots. the one that watches everything that goes down, to make sure things are going according to plan.

there were times on the way back from a mission that was more emotionally taxing than the last, that she would let you lean into her, find comfort in her being in alpha.

she knew she shouldn’t let it get farther than that, you were unclaimed and it was dangerous waters for her to be so close to an unclaimed omega when she had been resisting her rut for years.

you noticed her keeping her distance most days, how she would stand on the other side of the room, noticeably the one with the window cracked open. you’d study her figure, the way her broad muscles block out most of the limited light streaming in through the cracked pieces of stained glass. that ruby red cloak sat neatly and layered on her left shoulder, hiding her mech arm. something that you thought of more often than you should’ve.

her brows were usually furrowed at anything, and it seemed that she had permanent scowl on her face. you figured this type of work would do that to you, but that was just how she was. her short, dark brown locks were always in a half ponytail, stray pieces of hair always framing her face that always fell out of the loose ponytail. your fingers itched to push them behind her ear whenever your focus was locked in too long on her.

her eyes never left the usual spot in front of her, darting towards the door when someone knocked, or looked over at silco when he was speaking. but she never gave you a second glance. it kind of killed you on the inside, that just because she was an alpha and you an omega, meant she wasn’t able to spare you at least one single peek. you were always polite and respectful when she was in the room, why wouldn’t she look at you?

it wasn’t like sevika didn’t see you. fuck, all she could smell was you. the scent signature to you, a pretty little unclaimed omega that taunted her every single day when you showed up for work. it was like the devil couldn’t reach her, so instead she gave her you.

it took her resisting herself every single day after meetings to shove you up against the wall and shove her thigh in between your heat, hearing your soft whimpers in her ear as she made you feel the pleasure only an alpha could bring you.

it was after a particularly stressful mission the team had, that you felt like you had almost had enough. and it seemed like sevika was right there with you.

you were both planning to show up at an event, a gala where most of the wealthiest people silco was after would be. it was a pretty elaborate event, one they had been planning on for a while, so you knew better than to think with your pussy tonight.

you had worn a pretty little number, a silk dress that fell down to your ankles, a slit on the left left that ran up to your mid thigh — almost exposing what underwear you should’ve had on. you knew you had work to do, but you also knew you wanted to get fucked up, and you thought you had a pretty good handle on doing just that. (you very much didn’t.)

your hair had been done up, adding on your favorite pearl earrings with matching necklace and black stilettos with a red bottom. you had your signature scent on your wrists and behind your ears, a pink sugar scent with your added omega scent -- vanilla with an undertone of lavender. you knew you looked good, fuck you felt good.

the second you saw sevika, however, you knew it was over for you.

her hair was slicked back into a low bun at the nape of her neck, two pieces of small braids framed her face holding a few pieces of gold hair jewelry. a thin gold chain sat under her neck, white dress shirt with a few top buttons undone with a black vest matching her slacks. her sleeves were rolled up a quarter of a way on her thick arms. you could see a small design of henna on her right hand, the intricate patterns running up to her wrist. you could see the soft light of her mech arm under the fabric of her shirt, and you swore you could smell her from where you stood at the bar. you didn’t know if she had seen you yet, thankfully. you looked away from her, not daring to bring your eyes to her face incase you made some accidental eye contact. you flagged down the bartender and asked for a drink, letting out an exhale of breath as you reminded yourself to stick to the mission.

you knew the second you raised this drink to your lips, it was trouble. there were smells of other alphas around you, and you knew with the way you looked and the fact you had on nothing underneath, you were just asking for an alpha to come up to talk to you.

you didn’t want it though, and sevika wouldn’t allow that anyways.

she spotted you, of course she did. she smelled you before she saw you. it was invading her senses, making her brain full of thoughts of just you. it was getting harder and harder to resist her rut every single day when it came around you.

she let out an exhale as she watched you drink yout concoction at the bar, your legs crossed at the knee to reveal more of your thigh at the slit on your left leg. if she squinted hard enough, she could swear she knew you weren’t wearing anything. but you wouldn’t do that, this is work, you’d keep it professional, right?

her back was pushed up against the wall near one of the doors that let out to a balcony, one that looked over a garden with a little pond. the lights out there were off, no one was permitted to go down to the garden, just on the balcony. you both also knew it was an advantage point these people could have.

you werent sure how much time has passed, but you could feel the alcohol start to take over in your body. you felt giggly, happy and carefree and you honestly could care less what anyone else thought. you had an elbow on the bar, legs still crossed with your back semi to sevika. she couldnt see who you were talking to, but whoever it was was making you laugh like no one should.

she saw a manicured hand rest on your arm in a playful banter, making her chest inhale and exhale heavily. she knew there were other alphas here -- and she knew that you didnt belong to her but couldnt you behave for just once? it pissed her off, how carelessly you were throwing away the mission…

right, the mission.

her huffs again, taking one last long drag to the joint in her hand before flicking her gold lighter closed and placing it into her breast pocket. she kicks off the wall and comes over to you at the bar.

you smell her before you see her.

“ladies,” she says casually, the joint that was once inbetween her fingers, now fell loosely at her lips and smug smile on her lips as she looked down to you and then over towards the other alpha.

“sevika! wonderful to see you!” you sat up a bit straighter as sevika moved closer, half her chest overtaking the front of your seat as you sat back. your thighs pressed against hers as she leaned across the bar casually. she takes a hit from the joint before handing it to you — not offering.

you take it, while she strikes up a conversation with the middle aged alpha that was just hitting on you. you could feel your anger bubbling inside. why would she interrupt you like that? its not like she owned you. you didn’t belong to anyone.

but seeing the way she leans over you, passing the joint between the three of you had you squeezing your thighs a little bit. she perked up a little bit, her nose smelling a slight change in you. you eyed you for a second while the woman she was talking to got held up by a phone call.

“i was fine, you didnt have to come over here.” she grunts as she ashes the joint before taking another hit, still leaning against the counter top. you couldnt focus on much of anything other than the way she was looking at you, how her musk was invading your senses by being this close. you could swear she could hear your heartbeat in your chest harder when her eyes gloss over your figure once before back to your gaze.

“ive seen how many drinks youve ordered. youre getting drunk.” she says matter of factly before bringing the joint up to your lips to hit. you felt a shiver run through your body at the action before taking a hit and exhaling it, the smoke wrapping around her face. her gaze darkens before she takes another hit and ashing it out, and grabbing your discarded drink. she tosses it back and finishes it, before gripping your hand and pulling you off the chair at the bar.

“come with me.” her tone is heavy, angry. you can tell that you over did it, but you can’t think of anything other than her strong grasp she has on your hand, her fingers big and soft. you feel your pussy throb at the thought of them stuffing you full.

she grips your wrist, trying to ignore the way your blood pulses under her touch, how good you smell combined with the faint scent of your slick. turned on already and nothing has even happened has her huffing out of her nose in jealousy.

“you think you can just walk around the office in those short skirts, these tight blouses and get away with it?” she grunts against your ear as she corners you in a dark hallway, the sounds of the gala going on, on the other sides of the wall. it was all around you, but you could only focus on the heat that radiated off of sevika. her thick thigh was snug against your heat, and you could feel her cock throb through her slacks as she presses against you. you couldn’t really think straight at this point, having four flutes of champagne along with the shared joint the two of you just had, your head was empty.

you were officially thinking with your pussy.

fuck.

“what is it, little omega? can’t think straight already? look how easy you are, how small you are…” her mech hand comes up to your chest, the sharp end of her pointer finger trailing a thin line up your skin, right in the divet of your cleavage. you let out a soft whine at the sensation, your cunt throbbing with the lightest touch of hers. she smiles softly, before hooking her metal finger under the band of pearls that were resting peacefully on your throat.

“i know of something that will look better than these around this perfect neck of yours…” her voice is low, moving a shudder through your body as you register how dark and heady her tone is. you inhale as she tugs on the string of pearls and tugs, the string snapping and sending the pearls flying around the two of you, rolling against the ceramic flooring.

her right hand comes up from your hip, her hips rocking ever so slowly into your body. her fingers trailed up the slit of your dress over your skin, catching the edge of the slit and pulling up to reveal the plush parts of your nude hips.

“nothing underneath? while your dripping? you were asking to get someones knot, weren’t you?” you blush darkly at her words, your heat throbbing at the thought of not just anyone giving you their knot.

“not anyone…yours, sev…” her grip on your dress tightens and you swore you could hear it tear. your eyes flicker up from her lips up to her eyes, the darkened gaze she gives you as you whine underneath her. her flesh hand comes to cup your neck, fingers wrapping tightly around you making you gasp out with want. she chuckles darkly at the sound, shaking her head.

“you’re so easy, you know what?” she shakes her head again as she positions her thigh firmly against your heat, moving the fabric of your dress out of the way to reveal to her your cunt snug against the fabric of her slacks. she feels her mouth water as she leans back enough to look at you, then back down to your hips. she squeezes your neck just a smidge before pushing her thigh harder against your cunt. “ride my thigh, baby. get that pussy for me, hm?”

you let out a soft whine as your hips move instinctively to the command, and she cant help but curse our a soft ‘fuck’ as you move. youre so wet, your cunt moves easily over her silk slacks, creating a damp spot on her thigh instantly. her hand around her throat tightens a bit, and you let out a bated moan at the action, grinding your hips harder down on her in response.

“such a fucking dirty omega. who woulda thought, huh?” she grunts as you smile softly in response. she growls deeply, taking her hard from around your neck to move her thigh and cup your heat. she lets out a low moan as her fingers run through your wet folds. she cages you against the wall, her face hiding into your neck as she nips your jaw.

“sev…” you whine out, moving your hips against the feather light touch of her fingers on you, not moving inside of you, but not not touching you. she groans against you as she deeply inhales your omega scent, her brain fighting with everything in her to not let her rut over take this moment.

“fuck, princess. what do you want, hm? use your words.” you let out a soft huff as your head falls back, biting your lip and moving your hips needily for friction. she smiles against her neck, nosing the spot where an alpha could claim you. you let out a soft whimper at the action, more slick gushing onto her fingers. “oh little omega…” she grunts against you, slipping her two fingers easily into your dripping hole, moaning into your ear. her cock was throbbing in her slacks, a damp spot on the fabric making her groan as she grinds her hips into you as she fucks you with her fingers.

her fingers stretch you, the sting quickly turning into pleasure an you can help but moan at the thought of it being her cock stretching you out like this.

your hands come to wrap around her neck, letting her frame hold you off the ground and against the wall with her mech hand anchoring the two of you steady. the sound of your slick against her fingers made you shutter, the sounds of her breathy moans against your neck had you squeezing her digits. “more…” you moan softly into her ear, your finger nails digging into the fabric of her shirt in need. you needed her closer, you needed to feel her deep inside of you.

you needed her knot.

“what is that, omega?” she heard you the first time, but she just couldnt bare to stop fucking you in her fingers like this, feeling your body slack against hers and moving with each stroke on her digits in your weeping pussy. she loved the feeling of you submitting to her, even if its only on her fingers for now.

“more, please, sev…” you let out a wanton moan as she pushes her fingers deep into your cunt, curling them slowly as her thumb presses firmling against your clit. your hips jolt in response, the oversensitivity clouding your brain and making your body react without thinking. she loved having you this pliable in her hands.

“more what, baby?” she wanted you to beg for her knot. she wanted to hear the desperate moans fall from your lips, she wanted to see you fall apart for her. it’s what you and her deserved. she kept her thumb firmly on your clit, moving it in slow circles while your body twitches in her hold. “so responsive,” she mumbles more to herself, before she pulls her head from your neck to look down at your debauched body. your body thrums at the touch, at the praise she gives you and how hungrily she looks up and down your body.

your hands come to grip her shoulders as your brows furrow with want, the look in your eye softening as you stare up at her. she rocks against you, her fingers moving slowly inside of you as her thumb brushes your clit. “your knot…need it…” your cheeks darken at the admission, her smile showing on her lips, showing the gap in her teeth that you love so much..

“that’s what you need, huh?” her fingers speed up as so does her thumb on your clit, a moan falling from your lips as her fingers curl inside of you. “cum on my fingers first, show me how bad this pussy needs my knot.” she grunts as she picks up the pace, your slick running down her wrist and falling onto her slacks. her cock is painful at this point, her knot throbbing as she hears each whine and moan fall from your lips in the empty hallway. she was so lucky everything was louder than the sound of your moans or how wet your pussy was with her finger stuffed inside of you.

your moans turn into sharp whines as you feel your stomach clenches, her hips pushing into you and her fingers curling deep. your nails dig into her dress suit as you shut your eyes and lick your lips. “that’s it baby. cum on my fingers. give it to me.” you let out a sharp moan as your cunt clenches around her fingers, slick gushing from your cunt as you cum. she groans into your ear as she pushes her body weight against you, nibbing the sensitive skin at your exposed collarbone.

you whine softly, feeling her fingers come to a slow movement, thumb slowing down before stopping and pressing firmly against it just to feel your clit throb under the pad of her thumb. she softly removes her fingers from your dripping cunt, before taking both her hands and cupping them under your ass.

“youre so fucking pretty when you cum, omega.” she murmurs against you, and you cant help but let out a satisfied sigh, wrapping your legs around her waist and letting her heavy body fall against you. your body is light to the touch, and you can feel her cock throb against your core. it makes your cunt cry.

“sev…” you mumble against her neck, your arms wrapped around her neck as she groans when you push your hips against her. she nips your skin a bit harder as she pushes her hips harder into you. her scent was overpowering — musk was invading your senses and you could smell something sour, nothing to make you turn your nose but it made you wonder if she was starving off a rut.

the thought alone made your mouth water.

she groans against you as she inhales you, her nose pushing into your neck as her tongue darts out and licks a small stripe on your skin. she moans against your skin, tasting your musk, your perfume and sweat. her cock throbs at the thought of you cumming on her face, her tongue.

she whimpers into your skin, actually fucking whimpers, which makes your cunt throb in response. “fuck, omega…i…we can’t, not in here anyway,” she mumbles into you, and you feel your heart rate spike at her saying ‘anyway’. has she thought about taking you home and making you hers as much as you have thought about it?

you tug her closer, your left hand coming down to trail to her slacks zipper then her fingers grazing over sevika’s bulge. she moans into your skin, hips bucking into your touch. she needs this, needs you — but shes better than that. she knows how to treat a lady and she does not want the first time you take her knot to be at some random gala work event.

fuck, the event.

“don’t,” she warns softly, nosing your neck as she kisses your skin. your fingers halt against her bulge, but her hips still rock softly into your touch. she needs you, but she needs to see you laid out for her.

she pulls her head away from your neck, feeling a loss at not having your scent directly into her nostrils and instead having to be mixed with other scents. she takes her flesh hand from under your ass to come to cup your face. you lean into her touch, nuzzling your cheek into the palm of her hand.

“i don’t want the first time you take my knot here. i want it somewhere comfortable, okay?” herr grey eyes dazzle in the low light, and you can see how sincere her gaze is under the lust invading her scenes. you melt into her touch, taking your hand from her bulge to wrap around her neck again, she pushes her hips one last time against your core, and you let out a soft whine at the contact.

“lets finish this event, then let me take you home. feed you, fuck you, care for you.” you let out a soft whimper at her admission before nodding and nuzzling deeper into her palm.

“what about my pearls?” you ask with a soft smile looking up at her. she chuckles and shakes her head before dipping her head down, brushing her lips softly against yours.

“i’ll buy you all the pearl necklaces and more, mi amor.” she says softly before pressing her lips firmly against yours.

[hyunsuloves]

omg girl I'd just seen your "squid game women with a timid s/o" , could you do the same but for men? thanksss 💖

super shy.

synopsis … squid game men with a timid s/o ꨄ︎. (or a part two to this.)

pairings … myung-gi, dae-ho, jun-ho, thanos, nam-gyu, min-su x fem!reader (separately)

warnings … fem reader, non game au, some may be ooc but what else is new, i apologize for any typos !!

lovely notes … the post i did with the female characters did surprisingly well omg..

꩜ [ 857 words ]

myung-gi / player 333 is so similar yet so different from you. he’s not a candid person, but he doesn’t always keep to himself.

he tends to keep under wraps but isn’t opposed to speaking out around others.

he encourages you to speak up for yourself, though he’s joking the majority of the time. he likes to tease you way too often for comfort.

“you know you can speak up for yourself, right?” “myung-gi, leave me the hell alone.” “this is what happens when i try to help you. so ungrateful.”

he orders for the both of you, so even if you weren’t so shy, he’d take upon the task himself either way.

he makes fun of people in awkward social settings to ease your worries. he’ll whisper the dumbest jokes ever to make you feel less awkward around the large crowd of bodies.

the both of you just stay near one another while in public. there’s nothing better than the proximity of a loved one when in the worst possible social setting.

dae-ho / player 388 is your polar opposite. he’s very social, energetic, and forthright.

he’s a social butterfly wherever he goes, and you have the misfortune of constantly being dragged along.

he’s always ready to go when you are. even if he isn’t finished socializing, he’s saying his farewells as soon as you tell him that you’re ready to leave.

“hey, you ready to go?” “we’ve only been here a few hours. go have fun, baby.” “no, let’s go. i wanna go home with you.”

despite dragging you to every social event ever, he’ll speak for you without even thinking about it. even if you can speak for yourself, he talks for you. he always feels slightly guilty for dragging you out of your humble abode to accompany him to his affairs.

he speaks up for you every time, without fail. he defends you, orders your food for you, the whole deal.

jun-ho is your contrast, as he’s far from shy. he isn’t always outspoken.

while he has a more free-spoken personality than yours, he has moments when he’s just as reserved as you are.

he’s the first to your defense when he sees someone troubling you. even if you weren’t his partner, he’d rush to your defense nonetheless.

“hey, tell me if they say anything else to you.” “of course. thank you, jun-ho.”

the way this man is so protective over you is so nonsensical. he’d be defensive nonetheless, but especially with your timid nature.

thanos / player 230 couldn’t be more different from you. he’s the most eccentric and outgoing person you have ever met.

from social gatherings to parties, to any get-together he can find, you’ll find him there. of course, he drags you along to wherever he’s going.

he urges you to speak for yourself more often than not. although he doesn’t mind speaking for you, a lot of the time he’ll put you in situations in which you have no choice but to verbalize.

“señorita, learn how to speak for yourself.” “stop talking to me, su-bong.”

to no one’s surprise, he’d fight over you if needed. if you’re being targeted, he’d attack the individual without a second thought.

his favorite thing to do is fluster you. compliments upon compliments is all you hear from this man, and it’s all to see you act all diffident.

nam-gyu / player 124 is, like thanos, your polar. he’s a very extroverted person, opposite your timid demeanor.

he’s a very lax, social type of person. he likes to relax when he’s at get-togethers, similar to you.

he loves to flatter you. it’s not even to fluster you, he just wants you to be so conscious of how much he loves you all the time.

“you look so pretty, baby.” “leave me alone, nam-gyu.” “what? i mean it.”

he’s the first person to come to your defense, as expected. even though he’s the type to let himself be belittled, he’d never let it happen to you.

he’s the kind of person you can sit in silence with and not have it be awkward. silence with him is quite comforting.

min-su / player 126 is literally your twin. the both of you are the most reserved people known to man.

the amount of times you’ve just sat in silence, enjoying the other's presences is too much to count. the two of you simply sit in quietness.

if it comes to something like ordering food, you often take the initiative because min-su is way too shy for his own good.

“can you order for me?” “of course, love. i got it.” “thank you so much. where would i be without you?”

the only person either of you is comfortable around is the other. you’re a wreck around others, but it’s absolute tranquility when you’re with one another.

if it came to defending one another, you’d come to his defense without hesitance. he’s more tentative to defend either one of you, so it usually comes down to you doing it.

the both of you are a shy pairing and a very likely couple that surprised no one.

[chahnniesroom]

coming up roses

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: most of the time, you're grateful to have such a good relationship with your older brother, minho. but when you find yourself falling for his best friend, chan, you can't help but be worried how he'll react when he finds out. you soon find yourself struggling with the unexpected consequences of keeping your feelings a secret.

word count: 10.2k

tags/warnings: hanahaki!au (read a/n), brother's best friend!au, hurt/comfort, angst, lots of fluffy sibling dynamics between minho and y/n, bad communication by the reader, mentions of: coughing, blood, and vomiting

read it on ao3 | masterlist

a/n: i have finally written my hanahaki au!!! this took me ages, but i really really wanted to write a fic based on how this post describes hanahaki because i love this interpretation (hanahaki is from supressing feelings instead of unrequited love) a lot more than how it's usually written (not that that version is bad!). i actually wish i could have drawn this out more, but didn't have it in me haha

the phrase "it's all coming up roses" means that everything is going well with someone and i thought it was so perfectly ironic for a hanahaki fic where a character actually has roses coming up in the literal sense.

Minho has always been protective. You had felt cool and invincible as a child, having an older brother that was willing to have your back and scare away anybody that teased you. 

You’re grateful that he cares enough to be so involved in your life, but now that you’re in university, you can’t help but feel a little stifled. Minho takes his role as an older brother very seriously, especially since the two of you have moved out of your family home and are sharing an apartment closer to campus. It's a mixture of doting and enough teasing to drive you crazy.

Growing up, your family home had been the regular haunt of Minho and his friends. It was more common than not to get home from cram school and find the boys either lingering in the nearest convenience store or hanging out in your apartment. You wouldn't say that you were friends with the boys, but you were at least familiar enough that you would say hi to them if you saw them in the hallways and they would offer to walk home with you if you were ever leaving school at the same time.

Starting university had been hard for you, most of your friends had ended up moving to other cities or even going abroad. You, however, had decided to stick closer to home. Your program had a good reputation and your parents had promised that they would help you and Minho get an apartment close to campus as long as you lived together. Minho had readily agreed, he had commuted for his first year and had always complained about how long it took.

It was a difficult adjustment, moving out of your family home, balancing your course load, and making friends. Unlike Minho, who had used dance to find his close group of friends, you didn't have any hobbies that you were particularly passionate about and you weren't naturally outgoing or charismatic.

Especially in the first few weeks of classes, it feels like such a relief whenever you see one of Minho's friends that you latch onto them. It’s kind of awkward at first, especially because you don’t know his friends well enough to speak with them casually, but they get used to your presence. You would even consider some of them to be your friend, especially Seungmin, who shares a class with you, and Chan who usually has his lunch break at the same time as you.

You make your own friends eventually, slowly getting to know some of the people that share your program, but you’re definitely a lot closer to the boys than you were prior to university. While you spent most of your childhood calling Minho and his friends lame, you can now admit that you enjoy spending time with them, although you’d never say it to Minho’s face.

Still, Minho doesn’t always approve of who or where you hang out. Sometimes he’s even nosier than your parents were, always asking you about your schedule and calling when you’re out late. He warns you about spending time one-on-one with men and makes sure that you always have your location shared with him. You tolerate it for the most part, knowing that it’s his way of showing that he cares about you, but sometimes you just find him overbearing.

—

“I’m going out next Saturday,” Minho tells you one evening as you step out of your room to get a glass of water. “You’ll have to figure out something for dinner on your own.”

“Oh,” you say, suddenly a little nervous. “I uh- I also have plans that night.”

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “What are you going to be doing?”

“There’s a party that I was invited to,” you say, biting your lip when you see Minho freeze. You turn your gaze to the ground, but you can still feel Minho's stare intensify. 

“What party,” he demands, not even bothering to frame it as a question.

“Does it matter?” you whine, annoyed by how protective Minho is. It’s even worse that you have an audience, Chan is over and you can see out of the corner of your eye that he’s watching your conversation curiously.

“Yes.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

“I think it's at Taehoon's,” your voice is barely a whisper. Minho hears you anyway.

“Taehoon?” He repeats in disbelief. You glance up briefly. Minho's ears are flushed bright red and the tendons in his neck are standing out. He's furious. “Taehoon, who is four years older than you? Taehoon, who holds off-campus parties?”

You grimace and don't respond. There’s no way that he’s going to let you go, you resign yourself to a weekend stuck in your room watching dramas while your friends enjoy themselves. 

It’s bad enough that you had to mention Taehoon, who doesn’t have the best reputation, but you’ve forgotten that Minho would easily be able to recognize the type of party that he throws. You haven’t been to many university parties, but even you know that without the dorm restrictions, off-campus parties are often the wildest and were harder to get invited to. It’s not that you particularly care to attend this party in specific, you just don’t want to miss out since all of your friends will be there.

“Minho,” Chan steps in, clasping a heavy hand on your brother's shoulder.

“Who invited you,” Minho seethes, shaking Chan off.

“Just one of my friends,” you deflect.

“Minho,” Chan says again, this time jostling Minho enough that he turns his attention away from you finally. Your body sags in relief. “Chill, we're going to Taehoon's next weekend. It's just a party.”

“Yes, we are going. Not my baby sister! Y/n-ah, the answer is no.”

“Oppa!” you complain. “I'm not a baby anymore!”

“You don't know anything,” Minho hisses at you. 

“We were going to way crazier parties when we were Y/n's age,” Chan interrupts one more time. “Come on, at least we'd be able to keep an eye on her.”

Minho is about to reply when he stops and tilts his head in thought.

“Okay,” he says slowly, turning back to you with a gleam in his eye. “You can go, Y/n.”

“Really?” you brighten instantly even though you’re a little bit suspicious of his sudden change in heart.

Your breath catches in your throat as you excitedly make eye contact with Chan. He winks at you teasingly before turning his full attention back to Minho, who thankfully hadn’t noticed.

“You're coming with us,” Minho says, nodding decisively.

“Are you kidding me,” you reply flatly, all enthusiasm vanishing instantly.

“Yes. I'll make sure that everybody knows not to mess with you and you still can have fun with your silly little friends. Unless you don't want to go anymore?” Minho raises an eyebrow at you.

“Fine, I'll go with you,” you grumble.

“It'll be fun, Y/n! I promise that I won’t let Minho embarrass you,” Chan says, slinging an arm around your shoulder. You try not to shiver as he leans in to whisper to you, close enough that you can almost feel his lips touching your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to find something or someone to distract him enough that he’ll forget you’re even there.”

“Okay,” you breathe shakily.

“Hey!” Minho pulls Chan off of you and into a headlock. “Whatever you’re scheming, cut it out. Y/nnie, don’t listen to a single thing this idiot tells you.”

“I try not to listen to idiots,” you say. “That’s why I never follow any of the advice that you give me!”

“Y/n-ah-” Minho starts.

You stick out your tongue at him childishly then dart to your room, slamming the door and locking it behind you so that Minho can’t follow you. The sound of Chan’s resulting laugh echoes through your head for the rest of the day.

—

By the time the weekend rolls around, you're a little worried that you’ve caught a cold. Your throat is achy and talking too much makes you cough, but you're not feeling any other symptoms so you don't think you're actually sick. Minho wasn't exactly pleased when you told him you were still planning on going, but he kept his word and didn't try to convince you otherwise.

Your friends are all getting ready together at one of their dorms, but your brother was adamant that he wanted you to go to the party with him and his friends. You're more comfortable getting changed and doing your makeup at home anyway, so it's not a big deal, but it's still not the same. 

Conversation pauses when you finally exit your room. Only Chan, Hyunjin, and Minho are still in the living area since most of Minho's friends are crowded around your apartment's entryway, shuffling to get their jackets and put on their shoes. Their eyes widen and you see Hyunjin choke on the drink he had just taken a sip of. You tug at the hem of your skirt slightly, suddenly feeling self conscious. 

You've worn this outfit before with friends and while it's definitely not the most conservative option in your closet, it's nowhere near as revealing as what you expect other girls will be wearing. It's just that you're not used to being around Minho's friends when you've put so much effort into your appearance and are showing off a bit of skin. They’ve seen you at your worst and are most familiar with the comfortable sweats and hoodies that you usually wear around your home.

Minho recovers the fastest. In a flash, he's made his way to you and has a death grip on your arm, trying to drag you back into your room. You resist, digging your heels in to try and make it harder for him, but it barely even slows him down.

“Oppa!”

“You are not leaving looking like this,” Minho huffs through gritted teeth.

“Minho-ya, come on. We're going to be late if you make her change,” Chan calls out. It draws the attention of the rest of the boys, who turn to look at the commotion. You hear Jisung wolf-whistle teasingly which only makes things worse. Minho's hand tightens even more around you, hard enough that you're sure it's going to bruise, and he whips around to glare at Jisung.

“Hyung, it's fine. Y/n-ah looks good,” Seungmin chimes in, before winking at you. You groan internally, knowing from the look in his eye that you're not going to like what he says next. “Is there a boy that you're trying to impress tonight?”

“No!” you deny immediately, still trying to pull your arm from your brother's grip to no avail. Your chest tightens at the idea of being forced to stay at home. Minho immediately latches onto the idea that Seungmin has thrown out, his expression darkening even further.

“Is it true?” he questions you.

“Oppa, I promise, I'm just matching with my friends. Which you would know if we actually go to the party!”

“If there is, you better tell me,” he warns.

“Yes, yes,” you groan. “If there was, which there isn't! You're just wasting time now.”

“At least put on a jacket, you’re going to be cold.”

“Fine.” You wrench your arm out of Minho's grasp and stalk to your room. You grab the first jacket you see, intent on ditching it the second that you get to the party, then head straight to the door, breezing past Minho on your way. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled,” he says in a flat voice that says he is anything but.

—

Your apartment is not too far away from the party, so it’s not long before everyone is unloading from their cars and approaching the party. You can hear the bass pounding even from outside the building and you’re sure that there will be a number of neighbours that file noise complaints by the end of the night.

When you make it in, your friends greet you enthusiastically, but are all a little bit weird, fixing their hair more than usual and giggling nervously. You’re not close with all of the girls that are in the group, some of them you can’t even recall if you’ve met before, but you can still tell that everyone is acting strangely. 

It's not until you turn around that you realise that Minho has practically stationed himself behind you and is glowering at anybody who looks your way too long. After years of being on the receiving end of his glares, you’ve grown immune, but everybody else is clearly at least a little intimidated.

“Oppa,” you hiss. He barely spares you a glance. “You're not seriously going to babysit me all night, are you?”

“I'm letting you do what you want so you should let me do whatever I want,” he replies primly. 

You know there's no convincing him on your own. From across the room, you manage to catch Chan's eye and nod your head in Minho's direction. Luckily, he knows exactly what you're trying to say and makes his way over quickly to stand beside Minho.

“Minho-ya, you don't have a drink yet?” he asks, before pointedly taking a sip of his own cup.

“I asked Yongbokkie and Seungmin to make me one,” he replies, unphased.

“And you trust them that much?”

At the same time, the two of them glance over to the kitchen. You follow their gaze to find Felix, Seungmin, as well as Jisung mixing together a concoction that looks not only toxic, but also disgusting. You want to gag when you see them add in soju, hot sauce, milk, and maraschino cherries in quick succession. That’s not even considering whatever they’ve already put into the cup before you looked over. There's no way they actually think the combination could taste good and Minho must agree because he stands up and starts stalking towards them, swearing to himself the whole time.

After Minho leaves, Chan wanders a bit closer to you and brushes a hand against your shoulder lightly. You have to fight the urge to lean into his touch.

“I told you, I got you tonight. Don't worry about your brother breathing down your neck,” he says lowly. Just like when he first promised to distract your brother, Chan winks at you, then follows after Minho.

You force yourself not to stare after him, cheeks flushing as the rest of the girls squeal. Some of your friends have met Minho in passing a couple times, but not any of his friends. Your brother's dance crew has become wildly popular this year, but luckily it's not widely known that you are close with them. You prefer to keep it that way, but it seems like revealing your relation to them is unavoidable tonight. It's just your luck that some of these girls are among the ‘fans’ that your brother has somehow amassed.

“Y/nnie,” a girl beside you pouts. “How come you've never mentioned you know Lee Minho and Bang Chan before? I can't believe you've never introduced him to us!”

“I-” you splutter, still flustered by how close Chan was to you.

“I saw you show up with all eight of them,” another girl interupts. Someone else gasps as if you've committed a serious crime. “You actually know them?”

“Well, yeah-”

“I heard that you called Minho oppa, are you two dating?” the first girl asks.

“What? No!” you quickly deny, disgusted by the very thought of that.

“Oh come on, you don't think that they're ridiculously attractive?” someone else chimes in. The whole group murmurs in agreement. They have more and more questions for you and start to talk over each other.

“Minho's my brother! As in, we share the same parents, that’s why I call him oppa.” you exclaim, before things can spiral further. “And ew, he is definitely not attractive!”

The group is stunned into silence for a moment before exploding in noise. There are girls offended on Minho’s behalf, some asking what him and his friends are like, and others who beg you to introduce them.

Your best friend chooses that moment to speak up, reminding you why she is one of your favourite people in the world.

“Let’s play a drinking game!” she exclaims loudly. She holds up a couple bottles of soju that you’re not sure where she’s been hiding and starts filling up everyone’s cup. Luckily the girls are easily distracted by alcohol, enough that the topic is changed without too much of a fuss. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

—

After a few drinks, you eventually excuse yourself to the bathroom. You’re definitely on your way to being tipsy, but not enough that you feel unsteady on your feet. The loud music makes it a bit difficult to focus and people have filled every corner of the house, but you’re somehow able to find an unoccupied bathroom.

You take an extra moment to splash yourself with water before you leave, you’re feeling a bit sticky from sweating and when one of your friends spilled a bit of their drink on you. When you finish, you swing open the door and immediately apologise when you narrowly miss hitting a guy who has been waiting in the hall. He waves it off, but doesn’t make a move to enter the bathroom, instead stepping a bit closer to you. 

“What’s a pretty little girl like you doing here all on her own?” he slurs, crowding further into your personal space. It’s dark, but you can still tell that his eyes are red and unfocused and hair is matted to his forehead. He's drunk. 

You swallow hard, trying not to panic. You have to treat this situation delicately and somehow make your disinterest clear without provoking or offending him.

“I’m not alone.” You can’t help but laugh nervously, taking a step back. Your stomach churns when your shoulder knocks into the wall behind you and you realise you have nowhere else to go. “My friends are actually probably wondering what’s taking me so long, I’ll just-”

“S’okay, I’m sure they wouldn’t notice if you were gone a little longer.” He leans in until he’s close enough that you can smell the sourness of his sweat and the alcohol on his breath. “I just wanna get t’know you a bit better.”

He smiles down at you in a way that he must think is attractive. It makes you want to vomit.

“No thanks, I’m just going to head-” Your voice is shrill with panic, you can barely recognize it.

You try to shuffle to the side, but the guy slaps his hand against the wall, trapping you even more. Your heartbeat pounds in your chest. He reaches out and traces one of your cheeks with a clumsy hand, ignoring the way that you cringe away.

“Aww c’mon darling, don’t be like that. I can promise you a good time.”

You know a bit of self defense, but this is far from a fair fight. This guy is significantly taller than you and probably double your weight. Even drunk, he can likely overpower you without even trying.

Before you can make a move, an arm slings around the drunk guy’s shoulder, jostling him to the side. Your heart sinks. There was a small chance that you’d have been able to escape, but not if you’re outnumbered.

“Hey mate,” the new person says. Your head shoots up at the familiar voice. Chan. “You seem pretty sloshed.”

Chan nudges the guy again, this time creating a little space that makes you feel less trapped. His body language is loose and relaxed, but the expression on his face is another story. His gaze is intense as he scans you, softening by a fraction when you nod that you’re fine.

“M’not,” the guy argues. He squints up at Chan. “Do I even know you? Get lost, I’m busy right now.”

“Why don’t you go outside and get some air? It’s gotten pretty stuffy in here.” It’s not a suggestion. Chan’s words are friendly, but the tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

The guy opens his mouth, likely to protest, but promptly shuts it when he sees the look on Chan’s face. The two of you watch as he stumbles away without a fight, bumping into a few other people in his haste to leave. Now that you’re alone, Chan backs up, giving you more space to breathe.

“Sorry about that,” Chan says, hand scratching at the back of his neck nervously. “Didn't want to be too aggressive. It just- you looked like you needed some help.”

“Some people just don’t know how to take no for an answer,” you say quietly. It’s just another thing to be grateful for when Chan doesn’t comment on the shakiness of your voice. Instead, his expression darkens further before he composes himself.

“Are you okay?” he asks tentatively. 

“Yeah, you came at just the right time.” You look away, a bit embarrassed that he had to step in and rescue you, but he puts a finger under your chin and uses it to turn your face back to him. It feels so different from when the drunk guy touched you that you don’t want him to stop. His eyes search yours for a moment and whatever he finds must satisfy him.

“You should probably rejoin your friends.” Chan starts to step away, but you reach out and snag his sleeve before he can go. 

“Chan-oppa.”

He pauses, turning back to look at you again.

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt to his voice, although you’re not sure what he’s hoping you say.

“Please don’t tell my brother about this,” you plead. Chan’s expression drops a little, clearly that’s not what he wanted to hear, but he’s still quick to reassure you.

“No, yeah, of course. I won’t say anything.”

“I don’t want him to worry about me.”

“Of course,” Chan repeats.

“And… thank you.” You rise up on your toes and kiss his cheek quickly, then slip away towards where your friends are before you can see what his reaction is. 

—

It takes a few days for you to recover from the party. You hadn’t drunk enough to be hungover, but just remembering your interaction with Chan makes you want to bury yourself in your bed and never leave. Luckily Minho hasn't questioned your change in behaviour much, but you can tell that he's getting sick of your wallowing, even if he doesn't know the reason behind it. 

“Yah, Y/n-ah!” Minho bangs on your door. “We’re heading out for gukbap in 5 minutes, are you coming?”

He doesn’t specify who the ‘we’ is, you know who to expect. Of course, Chan is included. It’s easy to make a decision.

“Go without me!” you yell back.

“Eh? Open up.”

“Just come in, it’s unlocked.”

You hear the door open and Minho approaches. He prods at your prone form with one of his feet.

“What’s up with you? You never say no to gukbap.”

“Nothing!” you groan.

“You’ve been acting strange since that stupid party, what are you hiding?” He pokes at you again, this time a bit harder.

“Oppa,” you complain, lifting yourself out of your blankets to swat at his foot. “I promise that I have nothing to hide, I just don’t feel like hanging out with your friends today.”

“They haven’t done anything, have they?” Minho asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Channie-hyung asked me if you were doing okay.”

“No! I-” you choke on your spit in your haste to answer, leading to a coughing fit that leaves you with tears gathering in your eyes. You clear your throat roughly then continue. “No, Chan-oppa and the rest of your friends have all been nice to me.”

“Oppa?” 

Whoops, you hadn’t meant for that to slip out.

“What?” you whine. “You’re the one who forces me to hang out with them all the time! You told me to stop being so formal around them. They kept telling me too, it got really annoying.”

“Hmm,” Minho huffs, not quite convinced.

“Really,” you insist. “I just don’t want to go out today, I promise.”

“Okay,” Minho says reluctantly before he gets uncharacteristically serious. “But you know, you're my little sister, you can always come to me if something or someone is bothering you right?”

“I- yeah of course, oppa.” You feel kind of touched, not used to Minho openly showing that he cares about you, even though you know he does. It's enough that your throat feels tight with emotion, but you force yourself to speak through it. “Thank you. I always know that I can count on you.”

“I'm the only one allowed to mess with you,” he says sweetly, ruffling your hair so that it sticks up the way he knows you hate. “If anyone else does, I'll make sure that they regret the day that they were born.”

You try to ignore the guilt that curls in your stomach as you watch Minho leave. You hate hiding things from him, but you're still confused by your own emotions and you're worried by how he'll react.  Minho has always been your biggest supporter in everything except for your love life, which he is strictly against no matter how much you try to reason with him. 

You can’t imagine how much worse it would be if he found out that the person you’re interested in is one of his friends. You’ve heard him warn the whole group that you were off limits. He’d use a joking tone, but everyone knew that he was actually serious about it.

In the end, it doesn’t even matter because you’re almost certain that nothing will ever come of your feelings, Chan is way out of your league so there’s no point in even imagining a relationship together.

—

Unsurprisingly, your attempts to avoid Chan fail pretty much instantly. You're not sure how the stars aligned exactly opposite to what you were hoping, but the studio that Minho's (and therefore Chan's) dance crew uses had a schedule conflict that ended up shifting their practice times.

To your dismay, it works out so that multiple times a week, you're leaving campus at the exact same time as your brother. That in itself is not much of an issue, it's the fact that Chan lives close enough to you that the three of you commute back together. To make matters worse, Minho always invites Chan over to have dinner and Chan always accepts.

You can't fault Minho though, you know that he invites him over partly because he wants to hang out with Chan and partly because he knows that Chan might end up working throughout the night in an empty apartment and completely forget to eat. It does also bring you comfort, knowing that Chan is being cared for, that he's eating well and taking time in his day to not worry about school or dance. It's also nice for you, you've grown so used to preparing and eating dinner on your own that it's started to feel more like a chore than something to look forward to.

It's just hard. You haven't had a private conversation with Chan since the party, but you know that he wants to talk to you. 

You were so sure that he would never reciprocate your feelings, but now, you're starting to doubt yourself.

While you're on the bus home, listening to your music, you sometimes glance over to find Chan staring at you, though he's quick to look away. When the three of you are cooking in the kitchen, he's more affectionate, resting a light hand on your waist or back when he passes behind you or nudging your shoulder playfully after he makes a joke. During dinner, he makes sure that you're also engaged in conversation, asking about your classes or the few clubs that you're involved in. He sometimes brings you and Minho little treats from the convenience store and they're always in your favourite flavours.

The thing is, Chan is friendly and generous to everyone that he meets. It's hard to tell if you're reading too much into your interactions with him or if he's actually paying you more interest than usual. You've never heard of Chan dating, actually you can't recall if any of the boys in Minho's dance crew have ever had partners, but it's not for a lack of interested parties.

At times, it feels so impossible that you're embarrassed to even admit to yourself how much you like Chan. You're not blind, you know that there's a fair share of girls who are just as delusional as you are, giggling when he looks over and insisting to their friends that he's interested in them because he helped open the door for them or waved as he walked past.

In fact, some of the very moments that you keep closest to your heart sound so similar to experiences that you've heard other girls gushing about that you hate yourself for having hope that Chan would be interested in you of all people.

It's easier to pretend that there's nothing going on between the two of you. You know that if you were to confess your feelings to Chan, something you would never do, that he would be nice about it. You can almost imagine it, how flustered he would be, making up some kind of excuse about not being interested in dating because he was too devoted to school and dance. He would promise not to tell your brother about it and assure you that it wouldn't change the way that he treats you.

You've run through this hypothetical situation so many times that not only have you experienced enough mortification for a lifetime, but you've convinced yourself even further to lock your feelings up inside of you. There's no point in confessing when you're so sure that nothing will ever come from it.

—

One day, Chan is over as usual and the three of you are cooking in your tiny kitchen, elbows bumping and arms reaching over as everyone tries to make do with the small space available. 

The food is almost ready when Minho's phone rings, the special song that he has saved for Jisung. He picks it up instantly, shoving the pair of chopsticks that he's using into your hands in his haste. You can't hear what Jisung says, but Minho rolls his eyes and leaves to his bedroom, lecturing Jisung about something the whole way there.

“Hey,” Chan says softly. You try to keep yourself busy, picking up dishes and putting them into the sink for washing, but he tugs at your wrist lightly so that you face him. “Is everything good with you?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding quickly. 

“You just seem, I don't know, distracted or something these days.”

“No, it's-” You take a deep breath to collect yourself. “Thank you for asking, really. But I'm fine.”

“Okay,” Chan says, still looking concerned. “Listen, I know we haven't-”

You've never been so glad to hear Minho re-enter the room. 

“Eh? You guys haven't even finished with the food?” he complains in a whiny voice that he only really uses around Chan. “What have you guys been doing this whole time? Come on, Y/n-ah, go set the table. Hyung, I know you can't cook to save your life, but at least scoop out the rice into our bowls. I'm hungry!”

Chan drops the subject for the rest of the night, but you know that you’ve only delayed the conversation. 

—

The next day, you wake up to a dry and achy throat. This isn’t that unusual, you suffer from seasonal allergies that sometimes block your nose and force you to breathe through your mouth as you sleep. This time, it feels different. Your throat has been bothering you more than usual the past couple of weeks and while drinking a glass of water does help you wake up, it doesn’t dull the pain that persists. 

You shuffle out of bed to wash up, then head straight to the kitchen, brewing yourself a steaming mug of yuja tea. The taste is comforting, but doesn't help as much as you hoped it would. 

You get ready for school quickly, hoping to leave before Minho wakes up. You know that your classes start before him today, but he's always been an early riser, preferring to work out or spend time in the dance studio before it gets too busy.

“Y/n-ah,” Minho calls out, right as you're starting to put on your shoes. “You were going to leave without saying bye?”

“I didn’t know if you were awake,” you say, wincing when your voice still sounds rough.

“You didn’t even check.” Minho steps out of his room and unlocks the front door for you as you pull on your backpack.

“I was in a rush-” you start to say, but the rest of your sentence doesn’t manage to make its way out. Clearing your throat only irritates it further, triggering a cough that you can’t contain.

“Y/n,” Minho says, genuine concern shining in his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”

He raises a hand to your forehead, but you slap it away weakly before he can check your temperature.

“I'm fine, I just have this stupid sore throat that won’t go away,” you reassure him. “I don’t think I’m sick though. The air has been so dry lately, I think I need a humidifier in my room while I sleep.”

“Aww.” Minho pinches your cheek and goes straight back to teasing you. “My delicate baby sister.”

“Ugh, forget I said anything.” You push your brother away. “Now let me go, I'm going to be late for class.”

Minho doesn't say anything in response, but the next night when you go to sleep, a new humidifier has been installed on your bedside table. 

—

In the next few weeks you find that the discomfort in your throat that has been plaguing you has evolved into something else. There’s a persistent feeling of something caught in your throat and you find yourself with a lingering dry cough that no amount of tea or medication can relieve.

One night, you wake up feeling like you can't breathe. In a panic, you untangle yourself from your sheets and get yourself into a sitting position. The change in position allows a deep cough to rattle through you, enough that you’re finally able to suck in a breath. 

Instead of phlegm or maybe a piece of food that could have been stuck in your throat, you feel something velvety in your mouth. You blindly reach for your bedside table to turn on your lamp and wonder if you’re still asleep when you find a single, dark red rose petal in the palm of your hand.

You squeeze your eyes shut and pinch yourself, hard, but when your eyes open, nothing has changed.

Suddenly, you’re wide awake and a cold sweat starts to form, making your pyjamas stick to your back.

You’ve heard of hanahaki disease, of course you have, but you’ve never known someone who has suffered from it. 

It makes sense, you’ve had a sore, scratchy throat and dry cough for weeks now with no other cold symptoms.

You can’t believe it though. 

Hanahaki disease was almost like an urban legend at this point, having been exaggerated and twisted so much in media that you’ve almost forgotten the reality of it. While most of the shows and books that cover this have a somewhat romantic take on it, declaring that it's caused by unrequited love, you know the real cause is your refusal to admit your feelings.

You knew that lying, to Chan, to your brother, to yourself, would have consequences. You had heard stories about how people who kept their feelings a secret were slowly choked by them, petals and leaves representing every time you had held yourself back. 

You just never thought it would happen to you.

Sure, you were interested in Chan. You found him kind, hard-working, funny, and attractive, but it's not like you were in love with him.

You crumple the petal in your hand and throw it into your garbage can. If this is your first time finding petals, you still have months until things progress to be more serious. A part of you hopes that this was some sort of one-off, that this would be the first and last time your body creates any flowers.

You turn off the light and pull the covers tightly over your body, praying that you'll wake up in the morning and find that this was all some crazy stress-related dream.

You don’t fall asleep for the rest of the night.

—

You had thought that you were pretty good at covering up your tracks, but it doesn’t take long before Minho starts piecing things together. It doesn't help over the past few days, your symptoms have steadily worsened. You’ve found yourself coughing up petals every day, enough that you're starting to grow concerned about how quickly things are progressing.

It starts when he calls you into your shared bathroom one evening. You don’t think much of it, until you find him staring at something on the ground.

“What’s this?” he asks. 

“It’s a rose petal,” you say easily, stooping down to pinch it between two fingers and dangle it in front of his face. “You’ve never seen one before?”

Minho rolls his eyes at that, swatting at you half-heartedly. You manage to dodge out of the way, but lose your grip on the petal. It flutters to the floor, but Minho swipes it out of the air.

“What’s it from? Is a boy giving you flowers?” he asks warningly, crushing the petal in his grip.

“Oppa, stop jumping to conclusions!” you groan. “It’s from a bath bomb that I tried out, I guess I missed this one when I was cleaning up.”

“Since when do you take baths?” 

“Since I got a bunch of bath bombs on sale. I thought it would be relaxing.” This time you’re the one rolling your eyes. “But if I knew that it would lead to you interrogating me, I wouldn’t have bothered buying them in the first place.”

“Fine, sorry, just- just clean up next time you’re going to make a mess in the bathroom,” Minho says, before throwing the petal at you and leaving you alone.

You watch as the petal falls onto the tiles, crumpled into a little ball from being in Minho’s fist. When you reach out to pick it up, your fingers are trembling. You’ve never been a good liar, but it seems that at least this time, your acting skills have been good enough to fool Minho.

You hear the front door close and you finally give in to the cough that you've been trying to suppress the whole conversation. 

Tears spring to your eyes, but you can't stop the coughs that wrack your body. This time, even after you spit out a couple of petals, it still feels like there’s something stuck in your throat. After what feels like forever, that something dislodges and you find yourself holding a tiny rosebud complete with a short stem.

You stare at it in horror, you haven’t had more than petals until now. There’s a deep sense of dread that fills you. You thought that you’d have more time, it hasn’t even been a month since you had started coughing up anything.

You throw the flower into the toilet, flushing quickly so that the red petals swirl out of sight. Even after you rinse your mouth, there’s a tinge of iron that lingers.

—

You don't often visit the boys when they're at dance practice, in fact you actively avoid going to the studio. It's one thing to know that their dance crew is quite popular and another to experience it yourself.

But today you don't have much of a choice, in your rush to leave for an early lab, you completely forgot to pack an assignment that was due the same morning and had begged Minho to bring it to campus for you. You were lucky that he hadn't left the apartment yet, but he only brought it on the condition that you brought him coffee and picked your assignment up from him directly. 

It's just before 10am when you head over, which means that there's a lot of students waiting for their dance class to start, but it still surprises you to find a fairly significant crowd outside of the studio that Minho had texted you to go to. You can hear music faintly from the closed door and, as you push your way closer, find that there's a large horizontal window that has caught everyone's attention.

You get more than a fair share of dirty looks as you squeeze through the crowd and one girl even stops you as you move to open the door. 

“Sorry, excuse me,” you say politely.

“You're not allowed in,” she says in a haughty voice. Her acrylic nails bite into your arm, surprisingly strong for how thin she is. “Their practice isn't over.”

“You're not allowed in, I don’t need an invitation,” you say under your breath, rolling your eyes. You must not have said it quietly enough because she gasps dramatically.

“Please, you think you're special?” She looks you up and down dismissively. “You wish any of the boys would talk to someone like you.”

“You must be referring to yourself, they would never want to have to associate with someone as desperate and pathetic as you,” you snap, shouldering your way past her. She squeals, but finally lets go of you, maybe hoping that you'll get in trouble for interrupting.

You open the door just enough to slide through and carefully close it behind you so that you don’t disturb them. It’s mesmerizing, watching them all dance. They’ve been together for so long that it looks so natural for them to move in sync, although you know it’s more to do with long hours of practice and Minho’s eagle eyes pointing out any mistakes. 

None of the boys notice you at first, caught up in the chorus of the song that they're practicing, but Jeongin catches sight of you after a moment.

“Noona!” he says excitedly, abandoning the dance to run over to you. “Is that coffee for me?”

“Innie if you drink that coffee you will not survive long enough for the caffeine to make it into your bloodstream,” your brother warns from across the room. 

Jeongin falters at that, but when you shake the cup enticingly in front of him, he throws caution to the wind and takes a sip.

“Yah! What did I say, Yang Jeongin?” Is the only warning Jeongin gets before he’s chased around the room by an angry Minho. The familiar chaos is almost enough to lift your mood and make you forget about the terrible interaction you had outside.

“You look annoyed, did something happen?” Chan asks, approaching you from where he had gone to turn off the music on his laptop. You curse how observant he is, you thought you had done a pretty good job of hiding how you felt.

“Nothing, just had a weird encounter with a defensive fan out there. It's like you guys are idols or something” you joke, nodding your head towards the window where people are watching curiously. You can still feel the sting from the girl’s nails digging into your wrist and when you lift it up to examine it more closely, see a little bit of blood beading at the deepest crescents.

“They’re not fans,” Chan says in disgust, before he does a double take. “I- you’re bleeding?”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, wiping at the wounds but only succeeding at smudging the blood so that it looks even worse. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Come here, we have a first aid kit somewhere. We don’t want it to get infected.” 

Chan takes your hand delicately, making sure to avoid the inflamed areas, and leads you over to the bench closest to where all their bags are piled up. You sneak a glance over to the girl that stopped you and can’t help but feel smug when you find her, pale and slack-jawed. Chan sits you down, only leaving your side to pull the blinds down on the window and dig around until he finds the first aid kit.

“Sorry, it might sting a bit,” Chan apologises as he pulls out the disinfectant wipes.

You peek at Chan and your breath catches in your throat at how concentrated he looks, brows slightly furrowed as he tries to gently dab at the scratches. Most of his hair is hidden under a baseball cap, but you can see a little duck tail forming at the base of his neck which draws attention to the trails of sweat that disappear under the collar of his shirt. You must make some kind of noise, because Chan looks up, eyes wide with concern.

“Sorry, does it hurt a lot?”

“No, you're good,” you say, cheeks flushing.

“I’m almost done,” he says, searching around for a bandage. He’s just finished applying it, tongue sticking out in concentration, when you hear someone else approach.

“What's going on here?” Minho asks.

“Nothing!” you say at the same time that Chan says, “I was just helping Y/n put on a bandage.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Minho's eyes widen and he reaches out to take a look at your wrist, even though he won't be able to see anything under the bandage. You pull your sleeve down and stand up in a rush.

“It’s nothing, really oppa! I'm sorry, I have to go, my class is starting soon!” you call out, lying through your teeth as you run out of the room, clutching your assignment. “Thank you, Channie-oppa!”

You rush into the nearest bathroom, not even caring that there are people in the other stalls, and throw up an explosion of petals. By the time that you finally make it to class, just in time, your throat stings more than the wound on your wrist.

—

You start trying to avoid Minho and well, you never really stopped in your attempts to avoid Chan.

You leave early in the morning, only come back well after the sun has set, and do everything in your power to contain your cough when you're at home.

You know you're not solving the problem, only prolonging it, but every conversation, every lie, seems to accelerate the growth of the roses that have taken up residence in your lungs. You know that it's not helping, that keeping this secret is just strengthening the flowers that are slowly choking you. It's just that no matter how many conversations you've rehearsed in your head or texts that you've drafted, something seems to stop you.

You're just so so scared that waking up with a mouthful of petals and thorns, bloody coughing fits that you can't prevent, and the raspy tone of your voice that has developed is preferrable. 

As much as you hate him sometimes, you've looked up to your brother for your whole life. You don't know what you would do without him and the thought of losing him terrifies you beyond belief.

You don't always get what you want, though. It's not long until Minho confronts you again.

It's not really a surprise, when you look in the mirror these days, you're shocked by your appearance. Your face is pale and drawn, you have deep bags from not being able to sleep at night, and you've lost weight since most solid food irritates your throat enough to trigger a coughing fit. Add that to the fact that you know your apartment's walls are paper thin which means it's impossible that your brother can't hear you coughing at all hours of the day.

“Y/n-ah. I know that you're not doing well right now. Don't even try to deny it,” Minho says. He closes his eyes for a moment before seemingly deciding something. “I- you don't have to tell me what it is. I would prefer it if you did, but just- what can I do to help?”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to reassure him that you're fine, but regret it when you start choking instead. You lurch upright and head directly to the bathroom, Minho trailing behind you worriedly. 

“I-” Trying to talk just makes it worse. You're used to it now, the way that the thorns seem to claw at your throat on their way up, how even the brush of soft petals against the raw flesh hurts, the metallic taste that you can't seem to get rid of no matter how many times you wash your mouth. Still, it doesn't make it easier.

Minho watches in silence as you heave over the toilet. He puts a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles to try and soothe some of your pain. Your eyes water, partially from coughing and partly because you're mortified that your brother is finally witnessing this.

You throw up finally, mostly petals and blood, which is a relief. The stems have been the most painful by far, each thorn digging into the already abused flesh of your throat.

When you finally finish rinsing your mouth, he's holding out a tissue which you accept gratefully. Minho doesn't comment until you've finally caught your breath.

“Y/n-ah-”

“Yeah,” you say miserably, tearing at the leftover tissue in your hand. Your voice both sounds and feels like you've been swallowing gravel. “Hanahaki, who would have guessed that I'd be a romantic at heart?”

You laugh weakly. Minho doesn't.

“I knew it. All those times you locked yourself in the bathroom with the water running… That stupid bath bomb story you told me… I hear you up at all hours, coughing your lungs out… You’ve been hiding it this whole time, haven’t you?” he accuses you.

“I can explain-”

“Go on then,” Minho says impatiently.

“I- It's-” You bury your face in your hands, unable to get the words out. “It's stupid.”

“Y/n-ah, it's obviously not stupid. Whatever it is, it's bothering you enough that it's hurting you physically.”

“I like someone,” you say in a small voice. “Okay? That's it.”

“Why won't you tell them?” Minho demands. “Why won't you tell me who it is?”

“No, I can't. There’s no point, it wouldn't work out,” you insist, shaking your head.

“What are you talking about? No point? Y/n, can't you see it's killing you.” You've never heard Minho sound so desperate. He's angry, he's frustrated, but most of all, he's scared, you realise.

“Oppa-” you say cautiously, but you're interrupted by yet another coughing fit. You can't hide it from your brother when the tissue that you've used to cover your mouth is tinged red by the time you're done. You can feel there's still something lodged in your throat, it takes everything in you to ignore the urge to continue coughing to try and get it out.

“I can't lose you, Y/n,” he whispers. Your eyes widen when you realise his are filled with tears. You don't think you've ever seen Minho cry. “I can't let you do this to yourself, please.”

“I need more time-”

“You don’t have time!” Minho interrupts frantically. “Have you even seen a doctor about this?”

You look away guiltily at the question.

“No, but-”

“Are you kidding me?” Minho says exasperatedly. “We’re booking you an appointment right now.”

“Is it going to make a difference? I know what’s wrong-” As if to prove your point, you can’t stop yourself from coughing again. “It's not that bad yet, oppa,” you lie, the croakiness of your voice giving you away.

“Y/n-”

“I promise! I promise that I am trying my best. I- if it doesn't get better, I'll see a doctor in two weeks.” 

“Not good enough, Y/n-ah. If you can't tell me, at least talk to whoever you like,” he pleads. 

“Fine,” you say. “I- I'll talk to him in the next few days. And if the flowers don't go away, then I will see a doctor.”

Minho lets out a heavy sigh of relief, pulling you into his arms for a tight hug. You try your best to sink into his embrace, but just can't ignore the guilt that seems to consume you.

—

Chan catches you outside your last lecture that night. You're not sure how exactly he found out your schedule, but you exit the lecture hall to find him leaning against the wall directly across from the doors.

It could just be that he knows someone else taking this course or that he has a class in the same room, but somehow you know that he's waiting for you. Not ready for this conversation, you try to keep your head down to pass by unnoticed, but you know that he's spotted you when he calls out your name.

“Hey.” Chan reaches out, tugging on your sleeve without actually touching you. You turn around, stomach sinking slightly. Yes, you had promised your brother that you'd confess to Chan, but you didn't think it would happen so soon. “You're heading home right?”

“Yeah,” you say warily. “What's up?”

“I'm going back too, can we walk together?”

“Sure,” you agree slowly, not able to think of a way to get out of this situation. 

The two of you walk in silence towards your bus stop. Chan's being uncharacteristically awkward and you're not sure what to expect.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says suddenly.

“Okay?”

Chan stays quiet for so long that you’re about to ask if he’s okay.

“I like you,” he blurts out, right as you open your mouth to speak.

“What?” Of everything he could have said, this is what you're expecting the least. There’s no way that you heard him correctly, you must need to get your ears checked.

“I like you,” Chan repeats. You blink up at him, stunned. “But if you don't feel the same way, it's- don't worry about it. I promise that I'll respect it. I'll back off and everything will stay the same. I just wanted to get it off my chest. And maybe, I don't know if I was just making things up, but I thought that you liked me too?”

“You can't,” is all that escapes your mouth.

“I… can't like you?” Chan asks, baffled.

“No, it's- you can't- we can't,” you stammer. “My brother-"

“What, you think I'm afraid of Minho-ya?” Chan asks cockily, raising an eyebrow in a way that you can't help but find attractive.

“I just- he always said-”

“Y/n-ah,” Chan says gently. ���I like you and I don't care what your dumb brother thinks. He can complain all he wants, but as long as you're happy, I'm happy. And-”

“You actually like me?” you interrupt.

“Yes, is it really so hard to believe?”

“I just always thought, you only saw me as Minho-oppa's baby sister,” you say glumly, kicking at the ground.

“I did when you were younger for sure,” Chan laughs. “But since university, I feel like I've actually gotten to know the real you, to see how funny, talented, kind, and thoughtful you are. I like you for you, not because I'm friends with your brother.” 

“But there's so many other girls you could choose from that are much prettier or smarter than me,” you argue, still not wanting to get your hopes up.

“Y/n-ah, are you actually trying to convince me not to like you?” Chan pouts. “If you don't feel the same way, just say so, it's okay.”

“No! I-” you trail off, suddenly feeling incredibly shy.

“You what?” Chan prompts you gently.

“I like you too.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you know that he's heard you from the smile that grows on his face.

“What was that?” Chan asks cheekily.

“I said I like you too!” you say louder this time, before hiding your face in your hands so that you don't have to look at Chan. 

Even though you're beyond embarrassed, you feel better than you have in a long time, giddy with the idea that Chan actually reciprocates your feelings.

But when you breathe in, instead of relief, there's still that familiar tightness in your chest. 

You have to talk to Minho, you realise. As much as you've been keeping it a secret from Chan, you know that a majority of your inner turmoil stems from hiding our feelings from the closest person in your life. You had hoped that talking to Chan would instantly cure your hanahaki, but clearly you were wrong.

—

For the first time in weeks, you purposely seek out Minho. Luckily, you don't have to look far, when you get home, Minho is stretched out on the couch watching anime.

“I told him,” you say. Minho immediately sits upright, turning his attention to you. “The guy I like. But it didn’t help, the flowers are still-”

“And he feels the same way?” Minho interrupts you.

“I- yes, he’s the one that confessed first.”

“Wow,” Minho whistles. “Who’s crazy enough to have feelings for you?”

You had already made up your mind that you had to tell your brother, but his reaction makes you even more confident in your decision. Maybe it's the way that Minho is treating this so lightly, but you’re no longer nervous to say it out loud.

“It's Chan-oppa,” you say, bracing yourself. 

“Chan?” Minho repeats, shell shocked.

“Channie-hyung? Like-” he takes out his phone and pulls up the photo he has of Chan in his contacts.

Chan has the craziest bedhead and his face is puffy from sleep in the photo. He's squinting up at the camera, a hand coming up to try and block his face. He looks adorable.

Minho watches your face carefully as you visibly melt a bit looking at the picture.

“You really do like him, huh,” he says in a quiet voice, no longer joking around. “This whole time?”

“Yeah.” You look down. “I'm sorry.”

“That's it? That's the person you've been so scared of telling me that you liked?"

“I- yes? You don't think it's weird?” you ask tentatively, looking back up at your brother. “The two of us being together? He's one of your best friends.”

“Oh no, it’s definitely weird.” Minho laughs. “I do not understand it at all. But Y/n, Channie-hyung is one of the few people in my life that I trust. Do I want him to be dating my baby sister? Of course not! I don't want you to be dating anyone. Do I think he’s out of his mind for being interested in you? Definitely.”

“Hey!” you interject. Minho carries on like he can’t hear you.

“Do I think he fully understands that if he hurts you in any way, directly or indirectly, on purpose or on accident, that I will hunt him down and make him regret the fact that he ever existed in the first place? Yes, I think he knows.”

“Oppa,” you say in horror. “You will not give your best friend the shovel talk.”

“I don’t have to.” Minho smiles brightly, a picture of innocence if you didn’t know him. “My reputation precedes me. Channie-hyung's one of my closest friends, he would never expect anything less from me.”

“Oppa-”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho softens his voice. “I also know that of all the people that I've ever met, Channie-hyung is one that is least likely to ever hurt you. I trust him, but I also want you to know that I trust your judgement.”

You look away, sniffing. You never could have imagined that Minho would accept your relationship so easily that it's making you feel emotional.

“Aigoo, Y/nnie,” Minho coos. He pulls you into a tight hug, ignoring the way that tears finally escape from you and stain his shirt. “You were really worried about this, weren't you?”

You nod into his shoulder, unable to provide a verbal response.

“I'm sorry that I made you feel like you couldn't tell me about this. It's definitely going to take a bit of time to get used to it, but I'm happy for you, really. I know I can seem overbearing sometimes, but I just worry.”

“I didn't want you to be upset at Channie-oppa or me,” you murmur. “I didn't want to do anything to hurt your friendship. I didn't want to hurt our relationship.”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho says gently, but firmly. “I want you to know that there is nothing that could hurt our relationship. You're my baby sister, I'm always going to love you.”

After months of keeping all your feelings bottled up, of denying your feelings for Chan, of dreading Minho’s reaction, you’ve felt a constant dread, guilt filling your insides. Now, you’re just filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s as if an enormous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

It feels like you can breathe again.

read it on ao3 | masterlist

[littlefluu]

E N H Y P E N F I C R E C S

FEBRUARY 25nd, 2025 RECOMMENDATIONS ⤷ GO BACK TO THE MAIN ENHYPEN MASTER LIST WITH EVEN MORE RECOMMENDATIONS ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

a. angst f. fluff sug. suggestive s. smut h. horror c. crack ★. please dear publishers I want this on my bookshelf

₊˚⊹꒷ ALL OF THE MEMBERS / UNITS

★ !! SAFE & SOUND by @thatfeelinwhenyou Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive. ᝰ dystopian, post-apocalyptic survival, horror/thriller, slow burn, ANGST , FUCK THIS IS SO GOOD. EVERY TIME A UPDATE COMES OUT I LITERALLY STOP EVERYTHING I AM DOING.ᐟ₊ ⊹

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WHEN YOU ACCIDENTLY TEXT THEM "WANNA BANG" by @jayparked c. ᝰ best friend enhypen x gender neutral reader / text au .ᐟ₊ ⊹

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₊˚⊹꒷ LEE HEESEUNG ꒷⊹˚₊

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CROSS THE LINE by @heegyukeluv s, f. “How do you know if someone is flirting with you?”  It was Heeseung’s question to you, and you were left with no option other than to show how you do it. ᝰ childhood best friends to lovers / fluff / kinda miscomunication? / smut .ᐟ₊ ⊹

SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW by @stllmnstr a. MC and Heeseung meet again at Jays wedding years after their break up and they have some unresolved feelings because they still love each other ᝰ angst / Exes to ?? .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ PARK JAY ꒷⊹˚₊

FAST FORWARD by @asahicore f. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems. ᝰ high school au / the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with .ᐟ₊ ⊹

MUSIC TO MY EARS by @jayparked s. "Ride me." Jay huffs. It's a command, not a request. He moves back to the head of the bed, adjusting the pillows before leaning back against them. Lifting the covers away from his body, he removes his boxers slowly. looking into your eyes as he does so. ᝰ music producer jay / established relationship / thunder and lightning storms / cigarette smoking / early morning sex .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★ !! THE ART & SCIENCE OF PARENTING 101 by @jakesimfromstatefarm f, c. the art & science of parenting 101 (PSY1009)— in this interactive course, students will explore the psychological, social, and biological foundations of parenthood. through a mix of theory and hands-on practice, you'll master the art of raising a simulated baby—aka the 'robot child'. late-night feedings, tantrum taming, and crisis control are all part of the deal.   what you didn't expect to be part of the deal? getting paired with jay park—the last person you'd trust to raise, well, anything. you’re pretty sure he couldn’t even take care of a pet rock. now, you’re stuck co-parenting this robot baby together for 40% of your final grade.  ᝰ fluff / comedy / e2l!au / college!au /(fake)parenting!au / he fell first, she fell harder type beat/ Such a banger .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! SUN KEEPS RISING (LIKE IT TENDS TO DO) by @zreamy f, s, a. being the mum friend is rewarding, if not a little tricky—you would know. it wouldn't hurt to let someone look after you for once, would it? ᝰ summer au / strangers to lovers, / friends-in-law to lovers really / smut / fluff / angst / GUYS THEY WAY ZO PORTRAYS JAY? UGH. PERFECTION .ᐟ₊ ⊹

AS THE EARTH BURNS TO THE GROUND, LAY HERE WITH ME by @fleuryuns a. it takes an asteroid hurdling toward earth for you and jay to be pulled apart, and then brought back together—but it's worth it ᝰ wealthy (ex)bf!jay x scientist!femreader / end of the world au / exes to lovers / arguments / some platonic!jake thrown in there / ambiguous ending / elements from the movie don't look up / inaccurate portrayal of astrophysics and high school debate clubs .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ SIM JAKE ꒷⊹˚₊

OOPS, JUNO by @moonheecore f, s. Getting accidentally pregnant was the last thing you ever imagined. You were still in school, with so many plans for the future ahead of you. Yet, you felt certain that keeping the baby was the decision you wanted to make. What would your aloof mother think? and, perhaps most importantly, you wonder if Jake would feel the same way? ᝰ college AU / established relationship / baby daddy Jake / toxic mother trope / abortion mentioned / frat parties / body changes during pregnancy mentioned .ᐟ₊ ⊹

KISSES SHARED WITH JAKE by @elikajinnie f, sugg. jake watching you do your makeup and cant ressist kissing you

★!! THE TATTOO ON MY RING FINGER by @thatfeelinwhenyou His neglect wasn’t an accident—it was a choice, one you kept excusing as “busy” while swallowing your hurt and waiting for him to care enough to show up. The harsh truth? He simply didn't care enough to make the effort. Remember this, ladies: if he truly wanted to, he would. "Busy" is just another word for “asshole.” And “asshole” is another word for the man you’re married to. ᝰ marriage of convenience / slow burn romance / enemies to lovers (kinda) / second chance romance / angst .ᐟ₊ ⊹

THE LOVE RIDE by @whjluv SMAU. after your mutual breakup, your ex disappears from the public eye for almost a year, only to comeback with a deeply emotional album entirely about you, sending fans into a frenzy. they analyze every lyric and link it to your past relationship, causing your breakup to become once again the talk of the internet. upset and surprised that the so private Jake preferred to deal with his emotions publicly instead of talking it out with you, you drop a single in response, highlighting the parts of your breakup he left out. ᝰ smau with some writing / singer au / exes to lovers / second chance / miscommunication trope / angst / fluff / humor .ᐟ₊ ⊹

NO DOUBT by @jakesimfromstatefarm f, a. struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you. ᝰ idol/jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon / bestfriends!enha / friends to lovers!au / angstttt / fluff / crack .ᐟ₊ ⊹

ᝰ.ᐟ THE TRUTH UNTOLD & PT. 2 by @just-nc-tea f, a, sugg. Jake’s world takes a nosedive when he gets a wedding invitation from his high school ex—the same ex who cheated on him—with your ex. Desperate to avoid showing up alone Jake ropes you into a fake relationship, just for the evening. Originally. But if you’re going to sell the lie, you have to make it convincing. That means dates, inside jokes, learning the little details about each other that real couples would know. By the time the wedding arrives, neither of you are sure where the act ends and the truth begins. ᝰ Hockeyplayer! Jake / college sports / angst / hurt / comfort / slow burn/ fluff / suggestive / fake dating / he fell first and he fell harder.ᐟ₊

₊˚⊹꒷ PARK SUNGHOON ꒷⊹˚₊

★!! CAPTAIN'S LOG by @peachenle sugg. "If you’re trying to be subtle about checking me out, it’s really not working.” You were too drunk to care, and met his eyes, “Yeah, yeah you caught me. Life’s more fun without subtlety. ᝰ hockey college!au / fratboy!au / sexual themes .ᐟ₊ ⊹ Guys I am so in love with this story! Defintely check it out!!

★!! DOWN THE HATCH by @peachenle f, sugg. a collection of moments with sunghoon, shared over meals, snacks, and drinks. a riff off of timestamps. not in chronological order. a continuation/epilogue of captain’s log. ᝰ college!au / fratboy!au / fluff / established relationship / some suggestive content .ᐟ₊ ⊹

THE LIGHTHOUSE by @jjunieworld (deactivated) f, a, h, s. the land has always been something you desperately wished you could walk on. be like the humans and walk among them. one dark and stormy night, you are granted your wish—but, it comes with a deadly price. and you only have one month to decide if you’re willing to pay it. ᝰ strangers to lovers / kinda love at first sight /mermaid!reader / lighthouse keeper!sunghoon /fantasy / slow burn / slice of life / forced proximity / classic story of a mermaid washing up on shore with a twist / slight smidge of horror elements .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WE'LL ALWAYS HAVE THIS SUMMER by @asahicore f, s, a. Your mom ruins your summer plans by sending you to the equestrian center your grandmother owns in the south of France, wanting you to spend some time away from the city and take a break from your med studies. Although you’d been determined to spend the worst time ever there, you soon find out that maybe the cold but cute horse nerd next door who doesn’t want to talk to you might actually turn this summer into the best one of your life. ᝰ summer au / strangers to mutual dislike to friends to lovers ig / city girl x country boy type beat .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! SPF 23 by @zreamy f, s. for as long as you can remember, your summers have been much the same, largely spent in your hometown, relaxing by the local pool. when you get back home this summer, things seem like they'll go the same way, until you get to the pool that is — when did the lifeguard get so hot? ᝰ smut, fluff, people that kinda know each other to lovers, summer au, lifeguard au, sunghoon is buff and shy and ugh guys its SO good .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! THE DOLLMAKER by @jjunbug a,f,h. you were sunghoon’s muse, his flawless, perfect wife that he dresses in frilly dresses and makes sure you always looked like the idealized woman. that much was evident from all the dolls he made of you that sat proudly throughout your home. but, when sunghoon isn’t there, the dolls move and show you things that would otherwise be hidden in the shadows. one day, they show you something so frightening, something completely sinister that you force yourself to believe that it isn’t real. your beloved husband wouldn’t do something like that, would he? you weren’t so sure about your answer anymore. ᝰ established relationship / angsty & mature themes / smut / some fluff / husband & dollmaker!sunghoon / gothic vibes /supernatural elements / THIS WAS SO SCARY BUT SO GOOD OH MY GOD .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WHY by @hoonieyun a. breaking up with your boyfriend means losing a lover but what happens when your boyfriend was also your best friend, meaning you lost both and now have to face him for a popular youtube show ᝰ angst / heartbreak / exes reunited / exes to ..? .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ NISHIMURA RIKI ꒷⊹˚₊

RUINED MAKE OUT SESSIONS by @rose-petles sugg.

TEXTING BF!NI-KI by @jaeyunluvbot SMAU, c.

YOU'RE NO GOOD FOR ME, BUT BABY I WANT YOU by @purinfelix f. after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ᝰ delinquent Niki x class president reader .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ AMAZING AUTHORS ꒷⊹˚₊

@zreamy @jjunbug @thatfeelinwhenyou @jakesimfromstatefarm

[zyafics]

MASTERLIST: RAFE CAMERON

ᯓৎ୭ mood boards

✦ ethnic gfs | all east asian ༯˖. south asian ༯˖. middle eastern ༯˖. west african ༯˖. southeast asian ༯˖. filipina ༯˖. albanian ༯˖. east african ༯˖. brazilian ༯˖. mexican ༯˖. spaniard ༯˖. syrian ༯˖. afrolatina ༯˖. tongan ༯˖. wasian ༯˖. moroccan ༯˖. armenian ༯˖. egyptian ༯˖. algerian ༯˖. greek ༯˖.

✦ finish line | fic, blurb, oneshot

✦ all american sinners, pt. 2 | fic, blurb, series

✦ good girl gone wild | fic, blurb, series

✦ angry god | fic, blurb, series

ᯓৎ୭ readers

✦ LOOKBOOK: biker!maybank!reader

✦ LOOKBOOK: mermaid!reader

ᯓৎ୭ social medias aus

✦ MASTERLIST: heartbreak: live | sfw

[fluff, angst] – radio host!reader, ex-lovers, second chance┆after a mysterious breakup, you went offline. when you're pulled back to the spotlight to host a radio show, rafe wants you back.

✦ MASTERLIST: red ferrari chase | sfw

[angst] – high school sweetheart!reader, second chance ┆ when new management takes over his team, rafe learns that you're part of it. but after years of returning back to the circuit (and him), you return engaged to his boss.

best kept secret | sfw

kildarewatch.com | sfw

[angst] – love triangle ┆ returning to kildare, you join an anonymous chatroom. the person you’re talking to? one of your ex-best friends. who? you have no clue.

01 -> 02 -> 03 ->

ᯓৎ୭ imagines

✦ tlc | sfw

[fluff] – rafe hollering at you from the passenger side of his friend's car.

✦ i love you so | sfw

[angst] – rafe learns you got engaged to someone else.

ᯓৎ୭ blurbs

✦ headspace | sfw

[fluff] – established relationship, academic weapon!reader┆stressed about your upcoming exam, when rafe comforts you.

✦ proofs | sfw

[fluff] – established relationship, academic weapon!reader┆when you need rafe's help to finish math homework.

✦ mangos | sfw

[fluff] – established relationship, vietnamese!reader┆when your spice tolerance is different from your boyfriend's.

✦ white picket fence | sfw

[fluff] – established relationship, dad!rafe ┆ when your baby daughter wakes rafe up, he goes to comfort her.

✦ someone new | {REQUEST} | sfw

[fluff] – best friend's brother!rafe ┆ when you don't like rafe anymore, he doesn't know how to take it.

✦ real or not real | {REQUEST} | sfw

[fluff] – best friend!reader ┆ when you're afraid rafe doesn't really want you.

✦ girl of the sea | sfw

[fluff] – mermaid!reader ┆ rafe didn’t expect to find a mermaid on the beach.

✦ girl without a tail | sfw

[fluff] – mermaid!reader ┆ rafe asks sarah for help about what to do with you.

✦ girl with the siren song | sfw

[fluff] – mermaid!reader ┆ rafe gets jealous when you get attention from singing.

girl versus cat | sfw

[fluff] – mermaid!reader ┆wheezie’s cat doesn’t like you.

ᯓৎ୭ oneshots

✦ stay the night | nsfw

[smut] – fwb to lovers┆if rafe sees you as a fuck buddy, then you're going to remind him what that truly means.

✦ reality check | {REQUEST} | nsfw

[fluff, smut] – bsf to lovers┆when rafe gets a buzzcut, it changes how you view your best friend.

✦ finish line | nsfw

[smut] – older sister maybank!reader, racing rivals┆when your little brother has to forfeit a race against rafe, he seeks your help to replace him and win.

✦ dirty air | nsfw

[smut] – older sister maybank!reader, fuck buddies┆if rafe wants you as a booty call, you're going to make him work for it.

✦ te amo | nsfw

[fluff, smut] – mexican!reader┆after a fight with his father, rafe shows up to your door for comfort.

✦ all for the game | {REQUEST} | sfw

[angst] – reporter!reader, basketball player!rafe┆when you get the chance to interview your first athlete, it turns out to be none other than your ex-boyfriend, rafe.

✦ whatever she wants | {REQUEST} | nsfw

[smut] – bitchy!kook!reader┆you always wanted rafe, and when he finally came to you, you expected nothing but the best experience.

✦ shotgun wedding | nsfw

[fluff, smut] – maybank!reader, fuck buddies┆when rafe suddenly has the idea to get married.

✦ girl under the moonlight | sfw

[fluff] – mermaid!reader┆ rafe takes you out on the druthers.

ᯓৎ୭ series

✦ brother's rival | in progress, nsfw

brother's rival, secret romance┆when your brother is determined to steal something important from the king of kooks, rafe is going to return the favor.

01 -> 02 -> 03 ->

✦ play fake | in progress, nsfw

fake dating┆when rafe needs to secure a girlfriend, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

01 -> 02 -> 03 -> 04 -> 05 -> 06 -> 07 -> 08 -> 09 -> 10 -> 11 -> 12 -> 13 -> 14 -> 15 -> 16 -> 17

— extras: 3.5 • 5.5

✦ angry god | in progress, sfw -> nsfw

twin flames┆when rafe discovers you're more like him than he realizes, he'll do anything to have you.

01 -> 02 -> 03

✦ dead man walking | hiatus, nsfw

mafia boss!rafe, reluctant allies ┆ when a shootout injury is more life-threatening than it appears, you have to save rafe or lose your life.

01 •

✦ MASTERLIST: all american sinners | nsfw

coke addict!rafe, sex addict!reader ┆ when two addicts fall in love, what's the worst that could happen?