#Things like posture or a head tilt or where he chooses to place his hands

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Part 15

Meeting Soap

(Pic: https://pin.it/UvKInkIsj)

The tension between Ghost and your husband was suffocating. You couldn’t stand it—the pressure, the expectation, the weight of their stares. You had to get out.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, taking a step back. Neither man moved to stop you.

You turned and bolted.

The cool evening air hit your face as you pushed open the hospital doors, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You weren’t sure where you were going—just away. Away from the confrontation, the impossible decision, the life that seemed to be closing in on you from all sides.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you rounded a corner, not paying attention to where you were going. And then, you slammed into someone.

“Whoa there, lass,” a thick Scottish accent greeted you as a pair of strong hands steadied your shoulders.

You looked up, startled, to see a man with a buzz cut and a kind, curious face. His blue eyes sparkled with warmth, and he had a slight smirk playing on his lips. He was built like a soldier, his presence commanding but not intimidating.

“I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to step around him.

“Hey, slow down,” he said, gently blocking your path. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf. What’s goin’ on?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, tears welling in your eyes. “I just need to get away.”

His expression softened, and he looked over your shoulder, his gaze narrowing. “You runnin’ from Ghost back there?”

The mention of Ghost’s name made your heart lurch. “You know him?”

“Better than most,” the man said with a chuckle. “Name’s John. John MacTavish. But most people call me Soap.”

You blinked, trying to process his calm demeanor in contrast to the storm raging inside you. “I… I don’t know what to do,” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I’ve ruined everything. My husband… Ghost… I can’t…”

Soap tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. “Come on,” he said, guiding you to a nearby bench. “Let’s sit, yeah? Sort through whatever’s eatin’ at ya.”

~~~

Sitting down, you buried your face in your hands, trying to steady your breathing. Soap waited patiently, his posture relaxed but attentive.

“Ghost and I… it’s complicated,” you began, hesitantly lifting your head. “I’m married. And I’ve been trying to fix things with my husband, but Ghost… he makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t in years. And now they’ve both made me choose, and I just…”

Your voice cracked, and you looked away, embarrassed.

Soap leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself in a right mess,” he said, not unkindly. “But let me tell ya somethin’. Ghost? He doesn’t let people in easily. If he’s fightin’ for ya, it’s because he sees somethin’ in you worth fightin’ for.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. “But it’s impossible,” you said. “Even if I choose him, his life is dangerous. He’s never in one place for long. How could we ever make it work?”

Soap shrugged. “Nothin’s easy with Ghost. He’s got his demons, aye, but he’s loyal to the bone. If you’re willin’ to fight for it, he will too. But you’ve gotta decide if that’s the life you want. It won’t be normal or simple. It’ll be bloody hard.”

You nodded slowly, his words sinking in. “And my husband?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Sounds like he’s a good man,” Soap said carefully. “But good doesn’t mean he’s the right one for ya. Only you can figure that out. And runnin’ from it won’t give you answers.”

You looked at him, surprised by the wisdom in his words. “Why are you helping me?”

Soap grinned. “Ghost’s my mate. And you seem like someone worth helpin’. Besides, I’ve been in my fair share of messy situations. Sometimes you just need someone to listen.”

~~~

After talking with Soap, you felt a strange sense of clarity, though the decision still loomed over you. He was right—you couldn’t keep running.

“Thanks,” you said, standing up. “For listening.”

“Anytime, lass,” he said, standing as well. “But before you go back, just ask yourself one thing—who makes you feel like the best version of yourself? That’s the one you fight for.”

With that, he gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder and disappeared into the night, leaving you to face your decision.

Part 16

[hulloitsdani]

Oh no. Drawing Grima is fun actually.

[achelouise]

my love, my muse —kaveh

fandom: genshin

pairing: kaveh x reader!

a/n: i just realized i hadn’t written for kaveh, which is a crime against humanity. also kaveh x muse!reader brainrot sjzjjwjzjqjjajajajh (also switching formats, iiiiiii have no idea what im doing, can you tell)

— student!kaveh, who, even though loathed and respected his project partner to bits, would rather die than ever try to draw him for an assignment. “don’t even think about it,” he hisses, just as alhaitham quirks an unimpressed eyebrow. he understands that he has many friends and acquaintances that are willing to pose for him, but a small voice in the back of his head needles at him- telling him that no, we cannot create art with them as our muse. and to him, nothing is more important than making sure every single artwork he produces is with the utmost sincerity.

— student!kaveh, whose resolve crumbles bit after bit as the deadline creeps up, with no model to look for in sight, and is starting to think perhaps he should turn to his volunteering friends after all. he cannot compromise his diligence for his passion as a scholar, and so he heads to pupsa café, hoping to buy some coffee to prepare for his all-nighter that night.

—student!kaveh, who doesn’t even realize he’s pouting until he hears a cheery, unfamiliar voice bring it up- and he tilts his head up to find that he spilled all the coffee in his mouth onto his shirt (much to your alarm).

“you,” he gurgles, “you’re the muse i’ve been looking for!”

“excuse me?”

— perhaps he was a bit sleep-deprived, which explained his lack of inhibition, but student!kaveh latches onto you like a moth to a flame, stars swirling in his eyes. are you a student of the akademiya? which darshan are you from? which nation were you from to bless you with such beautiful eyes? could you be his muse? he asks them all, because he has to know.

— student!kaveh, who only later apologizes for his overbearing first-impression, while swearing up and down he wasn’t like that usually, and explaining his current predicament. perhaps you pitied him, or found him quite charming- whichever it was, you accepted his proposal to be his muse in exchange for some funds, much to his delight.

“thank you, thank you, oh, thank you! my assignment won’t be so lifeless after all!”

— student!kaveh, who arranges a time and place for you at his dorm with a sense of bravery he has absolutely no idea where he picked up from. when you come in with the most random set of outfit he’s ever seen, he chooses to hold back his tongue over your enthusiastic participation.

“sit tight!” he says, holding comically large canvas whose shadow swallowed up the whole room, “relax, and do whatever your heart tells you to do.”

— student!kaveh, who usually simply sketches things out of pure photographic memory, starts simple and structured for once. where would the chair go? where would you sit? would you look too stretched out if the table properties next to you weren’t matching? where should he exaggerate? how would the chandelier be hanging to get the perfect lighting? how would the painting behind you affect the composition?

— student!kaveh, who usually lets his hand dance on his canvas, plans everything out this time, and lets his mind flourish under the guidance of your radiant beauty. your soft smile, your relaxed posture, and your twinkling eyes lets him have fun- and he finds joy in drawing backgrounds, especially the furniture, for once- to emphasize the way you pose.

— student!kaveh, who drinks an ungodly amount of coffee every night and lets his sheer will do the rest, stops by in the kitchen to make you some snacks. he worries for you; “are you alright? is this posture tiring you? do you want water? i can get some for you. do you want some snacks, too? we can take a break. i don’t have much here, but i can always make a quick trip to the market.”

— student!kaveh, who finds joy in conversation with you while he works. you seem to harbor a decent amount of knowledge fitting for a scholar. if you talk about other subjects, kaveh’s more than willing to listen. if you enjoy studying architecture, that’s fine too! whatever the topic is, you both seem to have an endless stream of opinions and discussions to open up about, and watching your mouth run off on any particular topic brings him much satisfaction. it is always fascinating to understand another person deeply interested in a subject.

— student!kaveh, who starts to explore other color schemes in order to find the perfect one for you. your radiance is something that should be brought out and emphasized on his canvas, something future generations can look at and admire. maybe a bit of pink for the shadow? how about purple to shade your hair instead of gray? would yellow compliment your shoes? he thinks of them all, dabbling in this and that, until his palette blooms in different smears of colors.

— student!kaveh, who is willing to go on a rant to explain how you were the perfect muse, how your smile made his hand itch to draw it out, how your eyes crinkled and held the weight of your soul, how- oh. did he say muse? would you like to be? kaveh doesn’t mind in the slightest if you could continue to. in fact, how about he treats you to a nice meal tonight? the sun is setting, anyway, and it’ll be his way of saying thank you. (please say yes.)

— student!kaveh, who, after half an hour of deliberation on whether parting his bangs in a certain angle would make him look more presentable or not, shows up that night at the venue with a small sketchbook in his hands, telling you not to worry about it. every time your lips turn a certain way, or when the light hits your hand just right, he frantically sketches it down underneath the table, much to your confusion.

“did you enjoy the meal? hm? that? oh, it’s nothing. please, go on. you said something about how your friend could aether-edit?”

it was a pleasant time, despite him constantly dodging your questions on what in teyvat’s name he’s doing, and believing the constant rush he feels inside his head whenever you laugh is perfectly normal. you’re his muse, aren’t you? it’s only natural.

(and if the dinner spreads any rumors- well, kaveh thinks it’s normal to feel giddy, too.)

— student!kaveh, who, when looking at his graded paper days later, is pleased to know it is graded with high praise. the professor even commented on how he is finally starting to get a firm grasp on studying basic anatomy of architecture. (hmph. he thinks he was pretty good at anatomy up until then as well, but okay.) good- he’s put a lot of effort into that painting.

— student!kaveh, who insists on thanking you for the high grade again, the next time you run into each other- only this time with a bouquet of flowers, and a blush on his face.

[unseededtoast]

Antedate | Bucky Barnes

Part 1/13 | Part Two

Summary: Sometimes making the right decision feels like the wrong one. That decision can stick with you for years and leave you wondering what would happen if you had chosen something else. But the alternatives likely lead to a much darker path; you'll never know for sure though. One thing is for certain, the decisions I have made will have lasting consequences.

Prequel to Rectify

Series Warnings: Discussion of human trafficking, physical and mental abuse, mention and description of death

a/n: Hi everyone, thank you for checking this out, I appreciate any and all support! This series is also posted on Ao3 and Wattpad if you prefer those formats/platforms! This is a completed series, and it's going to take some time for me to transfer it to Tumblr, so please bear with me!

"I trust you all will make her into Hydra's most effective scientist."

Snow falls in fluffy flakes and sticks to the ground in a thick white blanket. My toes have gone numb from the cold, but I can't bring myself to care. People walk back inside as I stare at the rectangle of freshly disturbed soil. Warm teardrops trail down my face and fall from the tip of my red nose.

Someone stands beside me, tucking their hands into their pockets. I bite my lip to keep from saying anything out of line and swallow the lump in my throat. The man beside me sighs, 

"Happens to us all at some point." The man pats my shoulder a few times as he leaves. The snow crunches under his footsteps as he retreats back into the building. I stand alone in the freezing temperatures. I don't want to go back in there. 

I kneel on the ground and place my fingertips on the cold dirt. A few more tears fall as I try to find the words I want to say. I sniffle and look to the sky, the grey clouds are causing a gloomy overcast. I clear my throat,

"Thank you for everything you've done, you were too good for this place. I'll always love you, mom. Rest easy." I whisper and stand up. I wipe my eyes of tears and take a few deep breaths. I know better than to walk in there crying. 

I gain my composure and walk back into the building. One of the guards opens the door for me and I give him a curt nod. The inside lights are fluorescent, the concrete dull and cold. Home sweet home. I set my jaw tightly and keep my head held high as I walk back to my room. 

As usual, the hallway is guarded by agents. I wish they weren't here, I'd like to have just one place where I can get away from everything. But after mom dying, I bet the security measures will only increase. I focus on the end of the hall, not making any sort of contact with the guards as I walk quickly to my door and open it. 

As it shuts behind me I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I relax and take my coat off, hanging it on the hook next to the door. I rub my hands together quickly to try and create some heat, my fingertips had turned blue from being out in the cold for so long. I turn to sit on my bed so I can undo my boots, but jump as I see my father sitting on the edge. What is he doing here?

I fix my posture and squints his eyes at me. I feel tension in the air and prepare myself to be reprimanded for something. I wonder what he'll choose to belittle me over today. My father's eyes scrutinize me, looking up and down. Suddenly, he stands from the bed and walks right in front of me. I tilt my head back to make eye contact with him. 

"You were quite an embarrassment out there, Adalyn. I expected you to hold yourself together. Remember what I said about being dignified. You're thirteen years old now, act like it. You're no longer a child. Remember, your training begins tomorrow and I expect you will not disappoint." He says and walks out of the room without another word. I stand still until I hear the door shut.

I unlace my boots and place them in their proper spot by the door. I look around my room and feel like something is missing, something is gone. I stare at the rundown, empty armchair by a small bookcase that mom used to read to me in. Something is gone alright.

I walk over and sit in the chair. The old fabric is torn in some places and the cushion sinks down in the middle, but it's the most comforting chair I've ever been in. I lean my head against the back cushion and run my hand over the material. It reminds me of her. 

My mind drifts off and I remember all the times she would read to me in this chair. When I was really little, she would hold me in her lap as she read me old stories. My favorite was always about the boy who was kidnapped by a wicked witch, but was saved by the brave and kind girl. She always finished that story by telling me that evil people will never prevail, and that we have a choice and duty to choose kindness and mercy. I never could understand how she ended up with my father. I don't know if I ever will. 

I choose to sleep in the chair for the night, and spend my last conscious thoughts reminiscing the sweet memories I have of her. Now that she's gone, there is no light in this place. There is no humanity. I know that since she's no longer here, there will be a power struggle. After all, someone has to take her spot and assume her duties. She was the second most powerful person in Hydra, and that position won't go unfilled for long. 

The morning comes too soon. The overhead alarm wakes me up from my uncomfortable sleep and I rub the soreness in my neck. I take a few moments to wake up and prepare my mind for the day. My father is making me start my specialty training today, he says I'm ready for it but I have my doubts. I only just took the placement test a few weeks ago and I've never seen them place the other children this quickly. 

I put on the clothes my father had picked out for me to wear. He said this first impression is vital, and that I must look properly put together. The last thing I want to do today is bring dishonor to my father. I take the time to make sure my hair is placed perfectly and out of my face. I put my shoes on and look over myself one more time to make sure everything is how it's supposed to be. 

I take a deep breath and fix my posture before I open the door. I keep my head held high as I walk down the cold hallway and to the science lab. My shoes echo through the hall and I stop in the doorway of the lab once I get there. It would be out of place for me to just walk in. 

I see my father already talking to one of the scientists and his eyes light up as he sees me. He smiles and alerts everyone, 

"Everyone, this is my daughter, Adalyn. I assure you that she is brilliant and you will have no trouble out of her. I trust you all will make her into Hydra's most effective scientist." He says, threatening the people with an overly cheerful tone. What he actually told them was to make sure I surpass their abilities or they'll lose their job, perhaps even their life. I watch as the scientists all nod their heads with wide smiles. They're all terrified. 

"Of course, Mr. Averina." The lead scientist steps forward and gives my father a courteous head bow. My father pats my shoulder and heads out of the room, leaving me with everyone. I've seen them all before, but I don't actually know any of them. I know they all know me, it's hard to find a person who doesn't know me in this place. 

"Miss Averina, let us start by showing you around." The man says and motions for me to follow him. Sticking to my father's orders, I nod my head and follow the man wordlessly and without emotion. I am to remain as professional and formal as possible at all times. 

The man shows me around the vast laboratory, pointing out different machines and what they do. It's all very fascinating to me. I watch as some scientists continue their work, putting fluids into clear glass beakers and looking at specimens under the microscope. I wonder what they're working on?

The man stops in front of a door that has the words "No Entry" plastered in bright red font across it. He points at the door and makes eye contact with me,

"Do not enter this room under any circumstances." His tone is not the cheerful one he had kept throughout the tour. I nod my head, curious about what's in there. The man clears his throat and shows me to an empty table. 

"This is where you will be conducting your work. You'll be training with us for a while before we let you go on your own." He says. 

"What exactly am I training for?" I ask. Nobody has told me what I'm going to be specializing in, just that I had been placed within the science division. The lead scientist scratches the back of his head and I notice some others pause their work to listen in. 

"You will be focusing on our neuroscience studies." I nod my head. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but, I guess I can't complain. I could've been placed in the soldier division.

Day after day I report for my duties, learning a little more each day. The days blur together, it feels like I'm trapped in a time loop. The scientist I'm training under, Leopold, is friendly enough, but there's something unsettling about him. Something sinister. 

Today he's teaching me more about the structures of the brain. He says that in order for me to be effective in this field, I have to understand this stuff like the back of my hand. And so I will. I pay close attention and take detailed notes as he points at different images on the page. I find it quite easy to remember this information, perhaps because it's fascinating to me. 

Every day after we're done in the laboratory I go back to my room and study. My father made it quite clear to me that I am to excel in this field. He mentioned something about a special project that he wants me to take control of once I'm ready. Maybe that's why Leopold is strange, he knows my father plans on replacing him with me in a few years.

"And the hippocampus, this one right here, stores the memories." Leopold says and points to a small image on the page. I nod and quickly scribble down what he says. I look up to him once I'm done writing and he shuts the book. He takes a seat on the edge of the table and cracks his knuckles. I scrunch my eyebrows together, what is he doing?

"Tomorrow you will be tested on this. If you pass you move on to the next lesson. If you fail we have to start over. You are free to go study, we're done for the day." I nod and close the book I take notes in. As I leave the laboratory I take quick glances to see what the others are doing. 

I notice on one of the tables that there is a brain floating in a glass. It startles me, seeing a brain just casually on display. I don't even want to begin pondering where they got it. I leave the lab and head to my father's office to tell him Leopold let me go early today. The last thing I need is my father reprimanding me for not telling him. 

I knock on my father's office door and he opens it. He looks down at me and steps away so I can enter. He takes his seat behind the desk and I stand in front of it.

"Leopold released me early today, he says I should study for the test tomorrow. I will pass it." I tell my father and he nods. 

"I expect nothing less from you. The quicker you master the information the quicker we can be rid of Leopold. He's done nothing for us. He's only here because his father was a genius. But I think it's time the Zola bloodline ends." I nod shortly. It makes my skin crawl to think that I will be responsible for Leopold's demise. My father dismisses me and I go back to my room, where I study for the rest of the night. 

[miyaagis]

oikawa is a handsome man, there’s no denying it. he might be twice your age but his trademark charm never fails to lure you in. too bad he’s your dad’s best friend

+ pairing. oikawa t. / fem reader

+ word c. 2,730

+ warnings. age gap, alcohol, mild degradation, mindbreak, noncon filming, squirting, watersports, mating press, one (1) slap in the ass, u call him uncle but he isn’t, so pseudo-cest? no beta we die like men

+ author n. my piece for the miki mouse whorehouse collab ♡ three weeks late, yes

the mid-afternoon sun burns above you, your exposed skin glowing under its blaze as you try to ignore the bickering of your dad’s friends.

oikawa’s playlist blasts through the speakers, the one with latin songs and that he’s been listening to since he went to argentina (according to uncle makki). you hum along with the beat unconsciously, so close to dozing off that you miss the sound of the approaching steps.

“a drink for the princess.”

flirty brown eyes meet yours through the tinted glass of your sunglasses, his handsome smile making your heart skip as you sit up and take the cold drink from his hands.

oikawa takes the seat next to you, handing his phone over to you to let you choose the next song. his fingers trace the rim of his beer bottle as he watches you type something on the screen before leaning back against the chair.

“my dad will yell at you for giving me alcohol,” you peer up at him, taking the straw between your lips.

he takes a long sip of his beer in hopes of calming down the myriad of thoughts swirling in his mind. it’s sinful how the wet fabric of your swimsuit clings onto your form while you lie under the sun—unbothered. but it’s even worse how the star of those thoughts it’s his best friend’s daughter.

“you’re an adult, you’re allowed to have fun.”

you scoff, “tell him that.”

iwaizumi has never been a strict parent but he likes to play the overprotective dad role every once in a while.

“he’s your dad. it’s kind of his job,” he tilts his head in his friend’s direction, his stare serious before switching into a playful one, “and mine is to be the cool uncle.”

you can’t help but snort, “who said you were cool?”

oikawa fake gasps at your statement, but his posture immediately tenses up as uneasiness takes over his body. 

he doesn’t have an idea when it all started, or when did the playful banter between you two turned into this unbearable sexual tension. many nights he has been haunted in his dreams by your cute but taunting smile, poking fun at him until his lips land on yours, and kissing you until you’re reduced to a pathetic whimpering mess.

“–kawa you asshole!”

hanamaki’s voice snaps him out of his trance, both of your heads turning to look at said man as he scolds matsukawa for spilling his drink on the table.

“don’t stay under the sun for too long,” oikawa suddenly stands up, shooting you a forced smirk, “or you’ll get wrinkles.”

you stick your tongue out at him and watch him walk away, staring at his back while a silly smile settles on your lips.

—

the sun has already set when you make your way inside.

you ignore the two drunk men passed out on the couch as you look around for your dad, but when you fail to catch sight of him, you decide to take a look in the kitchen.

oikawa’s shirtless back greets you, his muscles bulging under his tanned skin as he seems to be struggling with a bottle of wine.

“you’re doing it wrong.”

he immediately halts his movements and turns to look at you, “i’m sorry?”

you smirk, “you’re forgiven.”

he scoffs at your little joke, but when you see the hint of a smirk tugging his lips upwards you know he’s enjoying it as much as you are. with a push of your hips, you shove him aside and grab the corkscrew from his hands.

“this, is how you do it.”

he leans on the kitchen counter with his elbow as he observes you do your thing, “you’re being too awfully cocky lately.”

“not my fault you can’t open a wine bottle the right way,” you shrug before smiling triumphantly once it's open, taking a swig of the bottle.

it’s probably the way your eyes gleam under the dim lights, or how your lips look plump and glossy after drinking the wine. either way, the words leave oikawa’s mouth before he can think twice.

“oh? care to tell me what else i don’t do the right way?”

you watch as he takes the bottle from your hands and takes a sip, “you’d be surprised. i know more than what you may think.”

“i doubt it.”

“try me.”

the words hang in the air, the hidden meaning begging to be addressed but you stare at each other in silence, your chests heaving up as you wait for the other to make a move.

“do you know what’s been on my mind lately?” he’s the first one to break the silence, his figure looming above you while his hand moves to rest on your hip.

your breath hitches as you shake your head. gone is the playful gleam in your eyes, his stare feeling as if he’s a predator and you the helpless prey.

“you.”

he pauses, gauging your reaction while you feel your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

“oi!” 

you both jump at the sound of your dad’s voice. iwaizumi stands behind you with his car keys on hand, exhaustion evident in his posture.

“they’re hammered, i’m going to drive them home. you need a ride?”

the question’s directed at oikawa, who’s suddenly feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.

did he see anything? he wonders. but the tired look in his best friend’s face lets him know he doesn’t suspect a thing.

“nah, i’m good,” the odd look iwaizumi sends his way prompts him to come up with an excuse, “i’ll clean up and then i’ll be on my way out.”

on a normal day, iwaizumi would’ve refused. but if he could escape your mom’s wrath after the mess they made, then he’d take it in a heartbeat. good thing she’s out on her casino night.

“thanks, man. see you around.”

you both watch as he exits the kitchen, the tense atmosphere remaining even after hearing the front door close behind the three men.

you can’t help but deflate a bit, sensing the ‘moment’ between you is gone.

“where were we?”

your eyes widen and refuse to meet his, choosing to fiddle with your fingers as you repeat what he said earlier in a small voice, “you said… you said you were thinking of me.”

oikawa has to stop himself from cooing at your nervousness, humming instead as he takes one step in your direction.

“mhm, all day,” his hands snake around your waist to pull you flush against him, “i’ve been thinking about fucking you.” 

a small gasp leaves your mouth, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“you enjoyed teasing me, didn’t you? parading around in that slutty swimsuit of yours with your tits spilling out of your bra?”

he hauls you up by your waist and places you on the granite counter, settling himself between your legs, “i could see your nipples getting hard, begging to be kissed,” one of his hands leaves your waist and moves upwards to pinch your nipple. he can’t help but coo at the faint whimper that escapes your lips, “hmm, so cute.”

oikawa’s lips connect with yours, his other hand holding you by the back of your head while the other keeps rubbing the hardened nub. once his tongue glides into your mouth, breathless moans fill the kitchen.

“a-ah, uncle tooru,” you run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

he starts to make his way down, kissing your neck and collarbone before he reaches your chest. his teeth graze your hard nipple, toying with it while a large hand moves down between your legs and pushes the fabric covering your pussy aside.

two long fingers prod between your folds, sliding in easily and making you groan.

“naughty girl, so wet already,” he rasps in your ear, throat dry at the sight of your wet folds.

the wetness dripping from your hole immediately coats his digits, making it easier for him to tease your insides. the pads of his index and middle fingers curl upwards to touch the soft walls, massaging them in slow movements.

“mm, fuck–” it’s exhilarating how good he’s making you feel just with his fingers, pulling moans so effortlessly out of you.

“feels good, hm?”

“yes, yes, so so good–” your head falls limp against his shoulder, your hands resting on his biceps as you try to hold onto something, “please… faster.”

the pace of his hand picks up while his thumb brushes over your clit, watching you lose yourself in the pleasure. his cock hardens at the filthy sounds of your pussy sucking his fingers in and your wanton moans.

“so needy,” he murmurs, a breathless chuckle falling right in your ear, “be a doll and cum for me. will you? c’mon, baby. i know you can do it.”

your grip on his shoulders tightens, his encouraging words awakening something in you that has you cumming right after. warmth floods your body as you chant his name desperately, the friction of his finger against your clit prolonging your high and making it difficult to catch your breath.

it takes you a minute to recover from the daze, his body-heat overwhelming you and fogging up your mind.

it’s not until he takes his fingers out of your dripping core and has a taste of your juices when he truly feels the lust take over him.

oikawa immediately picks you up from the kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his torso as he blindly makes his way to your room.

his mouth moves hungrily against yours, your bodies occasionally colliding against the walls since you refuse to let go of each other. once you reach your bedroom, he pushes the door open and places you on the bed, climbing on top of you and latching his mouth onto your neck.

“baby, i need to– hmm,” the roll of your hips against his front causes his cock to twitch in his shorts, “need to fuck you.”

your eyes close when he moves your bra down and starts sucking on your nipple, one of your hands tangling in his hair and pushing his face onto your chest.

“want you so badly, please.”

“don’t worry, princess. i’ll make you cum again, so many times, and fill your needy cunt with my cum,” he murmurs against your chest, his tongue gliding over the sensitive skin while he rolls his hips against your core, “you’re gonna be a good little slut for me, right? bounce on my cock like a bitch in heat?”

you have never heard something so filthy leave his mouth, the promise of another orgasm sending a jolt down to your center.

“y-yes, i’ll do whatever you want! just please, fuck me.”

“yes, what?” his eyes glint with malice as he looks down at you, waiting for you to reply.

“yes... sir.”

a captivating smile graces his lips as he moves up from your chest to your face, his mouth hovering right above yours, “good girl.”

before you can process his words, he flips you on top of him, his hands going straight to your ass and squeezing the flesh. you notice the hardness underneath you and you have to stop yourself from bucking your hips against it.

with a tap on your butt, he signals you to lift your hips, taking off his shorts and turning to the side to place them somewhere. but in your drunken state, all you can focus on is on the cock in front of you, the flushed head glistening with pre-cum and causing your mouth to water.

he’s turning around when you wrap a hand around his girth, making him jolt under you before you lift your eyes to stare back at him.

“patience, baby. i’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles at the same time you rub his cock between your folds. his eyes stare intensely at you, watching you coat him with your juices before aligning him with your hole, “shit, i wish i could watch you like this forever.”

“you can have me whenever you want, sir. i’m yours.”

his cock parts your lower lips as you start sinking down, the vein on the underside of his shaft rubbing deliciously against your walls until he’s bottoming out. his hands rest on your hips, letting you get used to the stretch before he starts to rock you back and forth, slowly.

“feels so good… m-more.”

strong arms wrap around your waist, bringing your torso down until your breasts are pressed against his chest. his thrusts become intense, making you squeal as his laugh reverberates in his chest. he slaps your ass with one hand, groaning when your walls clamp down around him.

“tightest cunt i’ve ever fucked,” he groans.

“h-harder, fuck me harder,” you plead and, in a matter of seconds, he’s ramming his cock into you just like you asked. the friction of his length against your insides makes you dizzy, your mind wandering to how would it feel to be filled with his seed, “god– ugh, want your cum.”

“hm? my pretty little cumslut wants to milk me dry?”

he pushes you up as he slows down his pace, whines leaving your mouth in frustration. oikawa helps you bounce on top of him, his pelvic bone brushing against your swollen clit which causes your orgasm to approach faster than expected.

“‘m so close,” your rhythm falters, hips moving back and forth desperately in search of that delicious friction, “gonna cum, sir. please, make me cum.”

oikawa’s grip on your hips tightens, one of his hands moving down to your clit and rubbing it in fast circles, “shit– so tight,” he moans when you clench your muscles around his cock, feeling it twitch inside of you, “fuck, fuck, i’m cumming!”

he barely manages to rasp out before warm spurts of cum paint your walls, his cock throbbing against them while he keeps moving in and out of your hole. you follow suit, your pussy trembling around him as you both ride out your orgasms.

his cock visibly twitches once it's out of your cunt, lying flat on his stomach while white cum slowly drips on top of it. spreading your asscheeks, he stares at your glistening cunt and watches your juices coat him before flipping you onto your back. his entire weight rests on top of you, caging you in a mating press and entering your raw walls again.

“s-sir, no more! ‘m too sensitive– ah,” your legs are shaking at the overstimulation, his cock reaching so deep that you can feel it nudging at your cervix.

he grunts as he keeps thrusting into you, his balls slapping against your ass while you try to fight him, “one more, baby.”

“i-i can’t! no, no, no, please...” your nails dig in his muscles, a futile attempt to get him to slow down.

the slapping of skin on skin is loud, your cries encouraging him to drill harder into your pussy until he’s flooding it with his thick cum.

“shit, princess. of course you can. isn’t this what you wanted? you’re such a slut for me, i’ve known it all this time.”

you know you want to cum, but another tingling feeling settles on your belly and, after a perfectly directed thrust from his part, you gush around his cock.

“holy shit.”

everything seems to stop around you, drooling and babbling nonsense as you’re sent into a high that leaves your mind floating, your body growing limp under oikawa as he continues to fuck your hole until he’s filling it again.

the euphoria stops you from noticing when he pulls out, also missing how he remains above you with his softening cock in hand and pumping it slowly. a groan escapes your mouth when a sudden warmth soaks your sweaty skin, making you close your eyes and bask in it.

“fuck, baby,” he angles his cock in your direction, allowing his piss to pour down onto your ruined pussy and down your bedsheets, “look at you, my pretty little slut.

your craving for him was so powerful that you failed to notice the phone standing on your bedside table, angled directly at you. even when familiar moans blare through its speakers after oikawa picks it up, smiling down at it as he readies himself to enter you once more.

taglist. @newfriendjen @tsumue @cyb3rbab3​ @lets-go-datehoe @kageyamakock @oneholetickler​ @idiotgu​ @kageyama-i-want-tobiors​​ 

[deviouslittledoughnut]

love potion | Albedo x GN! Reader

Warnings: None.

Albedo hummed softly as he carefully examined the bubbling rose-colored liquid, concentrating with narrowed eyes as he took careful notes.          

It was the crunch of snow that caught his attention, but he didn’t lift his gaze, choosing to feign obliviousness. After a few minutes of examining the flask, he cracked a smile when a little distorted face gazed back at him through the glass.          

“It’s such a pretty color, Albedo,” they spoke. “What are you making this time?”          

He watched as you took a stand, straightening your posture from behind his table. Looking up, he saw it, that lazy smile spread upon your lips- that same one that made him hold his breath in anticipation and his heart lift from the cold of Dragonspine and to the touching warmth of sunlit rays.          

He averted his eyes, pretending to jot a few things onto his clipboard.          

“It’s just a simple concoction,” he says methodically. “There's a specific flower that blooms around this time of year on Dragonspine, and I wanted a chance to experiment with it.” 

You cocked your head to the side.         

 “I didn’t know flowers grew on Dragonspine. I thought it was too cold.” 

Albedo, continuing to pretend to jot down notes, examined your face.          

“Life sprouts out in the most surprising places. The snow will melt to provide nurture for a split-second of beauty, before shrouding the land back in cold. You can think of Dragonspine as a desert of morose beauty.” 

His heart stops as laughter echoes and reverberates around his small campsite, your bright eyes filled with mirth and amusement. 

“You’re always so poetic and elegant. As expected of Mondstat’s Resident Chief Alchemist, I guess haha…”

His eyes flutter at the compliment, cheeks flaring as his heart- his rapidly beating heart -pounds in his chest, threatening to explode in euphoria. Oh, what he would do to hear it again for every moment of his day.          

“Do you want any help with today’s experiment, Albedo?” He couldn’t take it. With every single thing that came out of your mouth, he couldn’t help but fall deeper and deeper into that aching longing. 

And he couldn’t help but enjoy the way his name rolled off your wet lips like a beautiful psalm. If you kept going at it, he was going to do something he was going to regret.  Oh, how he hated and craved it every time you chose to grace him with your presence.          

He clears his throat, shaking his head, realizing that he had taken too long gazing at you with what he could only assume as tenderness instead of responding to you. But he couldn’t help it; not when you had found the stairway into his dull heart.          

“No, you don’t need to help me today.” Your face sullens, and he almost regrets denying your help. Almost. Instead, he takes the time to watch you attentively as you furrow your brows, taking a deep breath in through your nose.          

“Huh.”          

“Is something wrong?” His hands continue to glide across the page as he so shamelessly stares. He can see it, the embarrassment that had begun to creep on your face and the way you coughed into your fist, hoping that it would diffuse the attention away from you. But he could never take his eyes off of you, and that was the undeniable truth.          

“It’s just, uhm-” He tilted his head, resting his chin on his clipboard as he watched you flail and struggle to form a sentence. “I don’t know if it’s supposed to be like this, but your potion smells a lot like… you.” 

The pen in his hand snaps.          

You gape at the crumbling pen with wide eyes. “I uh, sorry, wrong thing to say I guess. I’ll just ah, get going then.” 

Albedo could only stand dumbfounded as you rush out of his campsite.          

Curiosity filling his veins like a drug, he hovered over the glass flask containing the flower essence. Standing just where you stood, he sniffed the air. His cheeks flush as his mind clouded, fogging up with thoughts of you.         

Dear Celestia, your scent was so overpowering that he had to take a step back, but even then, the smell persisted to linger like his fluttering thoughts of you. He looked down at the pen he had broken on the floor, and then to the clipboard. Any piece of sanity he had left crumbled as he stared at what was supposed to be his notes.          

He had been so heavily focused that he didn’t even realize he began drawing. His hands shook as he gazed at everything: the eyes, the mouth, the way you smiled- the same smile he had been so caught upon.          

Albedo groaned, pressing a hand against his burning forehead. What was he doing, making a love potion? When did he get so lost that every single moral reason had been thrown out the window? But he supposes it didn’t matter. You already confirmed his suspicions

And now he was falling in fast and he hoped that you would catch him.

[folkwhorerain]

Jealousy, Jealousy (Wanda Maximoff x fem reader)

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem reader

Summary: reader is a shy and insecure Avenger whit a crush on Wanda, but she never made the first move on the sokovian. What if, during a party, finally something happens between the two of them?

Warnings: angst, reader being insecure, language (I think?), alcohol and sexual tension (feel free to tell me if I should add more).

English is not my first language, so bare with my grammar please, lol. This is my first fanfiction ever so forgive me if it's not anything special or it is lame.

I got inspired by "Jealousy, Jealousy" by Olivia Rodrigo, so I suggest you listen to it while reading, if you want.♥️

You hated them. You hated Tony's parties.

Don't get me wrong, you enjoyed the Avengers company, but parties were definitely not your thing. You always felt... out of place.

You were fine with chatting with the team during this day when you spent some time together, but when parties where that huge like tonight's one, all you wanted to do was staying in your room.

The fact is that you can't help but compare yourself to the others. You never felt enough and you were intimated by Tony's friends and the other heroes. You were just... You. No one special with no cool superpowers, you were good at hand to hand combat and you were really smart, but that was it; you always thought that was lame. Like that wasn't enough, you were the newest recruit in the team. The Avengers all welcomed you well and you grew attached to all of them, especially Natasha, but still, you didn't feel like that was enough for you to be considered "the cool Avenger", and you were still private about your feelings and emotions; when something was wrong the only answer that you had when they asked you what bothered you was "it's nothing". But it wasn't nothing. You felt an outsider in the team, you felt like you weren't enough for them and the worst part is that you knew it was all in your head, but you couldn't help it.

The first person that always comes to your mind when you think of someone cool is Wanda. Her powers affascinates you and you loved her determination. You can't say you two are close, but she always treated you well and she respected your boundaries, that's why now you have a crush on her and that's part of the reason you didn't want to go to the party. Seeing her well dressed while smiling to people who weren't you and while Vision was trying to get her attention would only make it worse.

You considered staying in your room while scrolling your social media, not having any strength to get up and get ready, especially when you were still in your bathrobe and your thoughts were only about a certain witch. However you knew Natasha would've dragged you out of the room if you wouldn't come so, after a few curses and annoyed groans, you threw your phone on the pillow and started to get dressed.

You didn't want to get the attention to you, people would start a conversation and tonight you weren't into it at all, so you opted for a green skirt and a black, cropped sweater and a little bit of makeup. Nothing more.

I'm already so sick of this bullshit, you thought to yourself, then you took a deep breath and went downstairs.

–

As you expected, the biggest room of the Stark Tower was filled with people you didn't know, but you were sure they were mostly Tony's friends.

They were all so confident with their drinks in hands, perfect combed hair and fancy dresses worth millions of dollars.

You weren't nothing like these people: you didn't get why people would spend millions for pieces of cloth. It was a waste of money, but how you wished you saw it differently, maybe you would be one of these apparently happy people with a lot of friends, and not the weirdo of the group with a lack of confidence so evident you couldn't even enjoy a relaxing event.

A few tears tried to escape your eyes, but you wouldn't let them. Steve was watching you and, from the look he was giving you, he already sensed something was off with you; so you did what was best and faked a smile, which he returned gladly before he went back to his conversation with Bucky.

You felt like a creep standing in the corner of the room doing nothing, so you started looking around searching for Nat. After a few second you saw her talking, or better, flirting with Bruce at the bar while she had a Martini on her hand.

You frowned sympathetically. Cute. He really likes her a lot, you thought seeing Bruce embarrassed and intimidated by the widow.

Suddenly a waiter asked you if you wanted a glass of wine and you accepted, maybe a little alcohol would help you get through this more easily. You took a sip and enjoyed the feeling of the wine in your throat.

“This is ridiculous.” you whispered.

“What is ridiculous?” you heard someone ask you.

You turned to see who it was and that's when you saw her: Wanda was smiling at you with a curious expression on her face.

You blinked a few times, amazed by the girl in front of you: she was wearing a short, black dress, and her ginger hair was loose on her shoulders. She decided to put on a little bit of makeup and a red lipstick. Not like her typical style, but you liked her anyway. She was always so beautiful.

You shook your head, realizing she was waiting for an answer. "Uhm, parties, I guess.” She nodded. “I mean, Tony's events are always too exaggerated.” you added before biting your lips, clearly embarrassed.

“I know how you feel.” Wanda agreed. “I always have to try so hard to fit in during things like these.” She chuckled while looking around the room.

“Well, at least you're trying.” You said before giving her a dry laugh, looking down at your glass.

The ginger tilted her head sympathetically. “Well, maybe that's the problem.”

You frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean... trying too hard is the problem.” She explained. “If you feel like you have to try so hard it becomes unbearable, maybe that means that the thing you're doing is not good for you.” She added before biting the inside of her cheek.

You simply hummed in agreement and took another sip of wine, too intimated by her beauty.

Don't think something awkward. She can read minds. Don't think how beautiful she is- shit. Stop thinking.

“If you'll excuse me, Vision is looking for me.” She said with a smirk on her face before leaving you alone again.

You watched her walk away, analizing her every move. God, how you wanted her to be yours. She was not, of course. Why would she be with someone like you? She could have Vision and every other man in this room, so why would she choose a girl like you? Speaking of the devil, Vision approached her with a few guys and she gave him her brightest smile.

You watched all the interaction, still in the corner of the room.

He was so confident with his perfect posture and his good manners. He would be the best for her. He's the kind of man, or synthezoid, or whatever, that could always reassure her and find the perfect words to make her feel better. He would try and cheer her up and find the better jokes to tell, just like he's probably doing right now. In fact the sokovian was laughing at something he said and her beautiful laugh echoed through the room.

You felt jealousy rush through your veins.

“I wanna be him so bad!”

All the people in the room turned to look at you with puzzled expression.

Your eyes went wide when you realized you practically yelled what you wanted was just a thought so, without a second thought, you rushed out of the party and went straight to your room.

You slammed the door and let the tears escape. You took off your make up and headed straight to bed, overthinking what just happened, screaming in your pillow.

I always ruin everything!

You didn't expect you would've said that out loud and right now you didn't expect to hear someone to knock on your door. You didn't answer, though, you kept your head buried in the pillow. It was probably Natasha who wanted to talk about what happened and you definitely weren't going to say a word.

The door opened anyway and you groaned in annoyance.

“Listen, Nat-” You started to say but stopped immediately when you saw it wasn't the russian spy, but Wanda.

“Hi.” She greeted you with a shy smile. “May I sit?” She asked pointing the bed.

You composed yourself and nodded shyly. “Yeah.”

Wanda gave you a swift smile and sat next to you, crossing her legs on the bed. Your breath itched when you felt your knees touching. You two have never been this close and the situation was making you nervous, thing that didn't go unnoticed by Wanda considering the fact that you were playing with the ring on your index finger.

You never noticed but Wanda knows you very well. She knows your moves, the way you play with your hands when you're nervous, the way your eyes shine when you talk about your interests or the way you are quieter than usual when you're sad.

The truth is that Wanda liked you very much and she knew you liked her too. She didn't want to tell you 'cause she wanted you to take courage and say it first and, to be fully honest, she was scared. What if your crush was temporary and you would eventually get bored? What if she loses you just like she lost her parents and Pietro? She would never, ever accept it.

“So... Why did you run away?” She asked like it wasn't obvious you just yelled in front of everyone.

“Are you seriously asking, Wanda?” You snapped before you could stop yourself.

She looked at you with sad eyes before looking down at her hands. “Sorry…”

“No, no... Don't apologize.” You whispered. “You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn't have… God, I'm pathetic.”

You threw your head in your hands and sighed. I'm so sick of myself!

“Why are you sick of yourself?” The sokovian asked you before placing a hand on your knee.

You looked at the hand and then at her.

“Sorry, I shouldn't have read your mind, but sometimes your thoughts are really loud.” she chuckled, starting to rub her thumb on your knee. You were speechless, all this interaction was making you crazy. You craved more of her touch and now, more than ever, you wanted to kiss her. However you pushed those feelings aways and started to open up to avoid thinking about something inappropriate. “I'm just… me. I mean, I'm not special.”

“Why do you think that?” She asked raising an eyebrow, her hand never leaving your skin.

You took a deep breath. “Wanda, come on! Tony's friends are so cool, he's loved by everyone, Natasha is a badass russian spy, you have these amazing superpower. Thor is literally a God, for fuck's sake!”

“You compare yourself to the others too much. It's not healthy, Y/N.” She sweetly stated wiping away a tear from you cheek.

You closed your eyes for a second, enjoying her touch, but then you came back to reality. “I know, but I can't help it. The others seem to be so confident and happy, and all the girls at the party... Fuck, they're so pretty-”

"Beauty is not your lack.” She interrupted you smirking, her hand still on your cheek.

“I- I just wish I was them... I wish I had the courage Vision has.” You admitted, looking down.

“Why him?” The ginger asked placing two fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at her in those piercing green eyes.

“Because I'm so jealous he gets all your attentions and I don't just because I'm too insecure.” You said it in a whisper, almost inaudible, but Wanda heard you and you knew judging by the smile on her face.

“You want my attentions?” She asked leaning in.

Her face was so close to yours that it was hard to breathe. You could smell her perfume and that alone was making you want her more. You had the urge to kiss her and touch her and taste her, but right now Wanda was waiting for a response so you simply nodded, not trusting your voice.

“You already have them.” She admitted, making you frown in confusion. “There might be a hundred people in the room, but I would always notice you and only you, Y/n.” You were speechless, partly because of her confession, partly because she was so damn close to your face it made your heart race fast, and before you could realise, she kissed you.

Her lips were so soft against yours and her hands were in the right places. However, after a few moments, you realized you froze and didn't reproached the kiss. Wanda broke the kiss, a disappointed look on her face.

“I'm sorry, I thought you liked me t-”

Before she could finish her sentence, you kissed her. You kissed her with so much confidence it surprised both you and Wanda.

Your right hand was on her neck and the other was on her waist, pulling her close.

You felt her smirk on the kiss and the hand that before was on your knee now was up your thigh.

“God, this skirt was making me crazy the whole night.” She breathed out, making the hand go higher and higher where you needed it the most.

Before you could realize you still had your party outfit on, Wanda started caressing slowly your inner thigh, making you gasp. Hearing the affect she had on you, the ginger bite your lobe before whispering something that made you shiver.

“Let me show you all the attentions I have for you, babygirl.”

alright, that was it. I know it's not good, but I had this idea the other night and I just had to write it.

Feedback is appreciated. <3

[secondhand-trash]

Tyrant

A/N: hi sorry to interrupt the event content but I just have to write this before I run out of motivation lol

Pairing: Fushiguro Toji x afab!reader

Description: You knew you were already conquered when he looked up with an uninterested gaze, and suddenly he did not look so uninterested anymore.

Warning: vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, degredation, daddy kink, Toji is not nice, yes I used the word “cunny”, breeding kink, he called you a good girl once, creampie, might give dubcon vibes at one point depending on how you interpret it (I don’t think it is but just putting it here to be safe)

Word count: 4018

-

The most subconscious, most primal base of your instinct told you to run when you met eyes with Fushiguro Toji for the first time. 

He wasn’t even doing anything, just his hands twirling the empty shot glass in his hand mindlessly as he stared at it aimlessly with boredom. You had been avoiding this particular patron of the ragged pub you worked at for as long as you could, risking the annoyed eye rolls from your coworkers just to find whatever excuse you could to not go up to him. 

They did not understand why you were so afraid of this man who was not even affiliated with any of the gangs that were a known danger in the city. You could not tell them why too, but you were convinced that some gut feelings were best to be trusted.

A sheep would know a wolf even if it had never seen one.

The other people who frequented this place was by no means the elite of the city, anyone who would choose to come into this shady bar shoved at the very center of one of the messiest neighborhoods of the city came because any other place would call on them the moment they even tried to walk through. They were all the same, same bunch from the same world and as a result, these people that were your customers had no issue talking about what they do for a living right in front of the bar table where many others could hear.

They knew that no one would rat them out, especially not the people that worked there, because it wouldn’t be very hard to trace back to exactly who it was that did it.

These people intimidated you, but the number of people from different walks all of the same field who gathered here also meant that none of these people would bother to hurt you and ruin the perfectly tipped balance of this safe spot. You could deal with the other customers just fine, they might be dangerous but most of them wouldn’t do anything but looking at the exposed skin of your short top far too directly when you put down their drinks. 

It was an unwritten rule for the staff to stay as impersonal towards the bar-goers as possible, but the people who did the same thing always managed to find their circle and after a while, you would have a blurry image of what they do. Gang leaders would always found another man of their rank from the corner of their eyes, snippers and hired guns had their own corner of the pub they crowd at. Fushiguro Toji was not the same as the rest of them. He always came along, slipping into the far end of the bar counter without a word and just stayed for hours until most others had already left. You had never seen him interacting with any other people at the bar, making what he did for him to come here instead of any other place still a mystery to you. He was not eager to tell people what he did, how many scars he had under the same black shirt he always wore. He had never gotten drunk, never raised his voice, never showed a hint of interest when brawls broke out between the other drunken men. And it seemed the neglect was mutual, you didn’t think you had seen anyone trying to slip into the empty seat next to his at the bar even when it was the only one left. He was in his own bubble, away from the other gangs and mobs.

He did not look like he cares about anything, and that was terrifying in a man

Running away was not really an option, not when he was always here and you could only excuse yourself so many times before you started to sense that if you run again, it wouldn’t be so long until you wouldn’t even have a job anymore. 

“Sir, your drink,” You were sure your voice was near shaking when you had to break him out of his daze as you put his usual shot in front of him. It was a Wednesday midnight and it was just you working at the front, and surely he was there on the day you finally had nowhere to hide. Heat drained from your face when you walked up to him, the feeling of the cooler’s wind fanning against your exposed skin beneath the skimpy uniform you were wearing made you feel all the more self-conscious. If he looked up, he would see the way your shirt rested just below your chest, the fabric taut against the curve of your bra. The cut of your jean shorts was almost meaningly, with the fray resting at the root of your thighs and barely below the roundness of your ass.

You knew you were already conquered when he looked up with an uninterested gaze, and suddenly he did not look so uninterested anymore.

Your body could not move when his eyes trailed down from your wide eyes to your nervously pursed lips, to your collarbone and your tits that were pushed out as you crossed your arms in front of you like a child, and down the skin of your stomach before going back up when he got to the flesh of your thighs. You gulped, feeling the fever that speeded through your veins and holding back the unknown urge to clench your legs tighter together out of reflex.  

He knew you were afraid of him, and your timid posture seemed to entertain him greatly when he picked up the shot glass that looked miniature in his large hand and brought it up to his scarred lips. He was smirking now, opening his back as he tilted the hard liquor into his mouth. The knot in his throat bobbed, and you almost let out a disgraced whimper when you saw the lines of his abdomen against his shirt when he let out a sigh.

“Waiter!”

You jumped when you heard the yell from the other side of the pub, frantically pulling your eyes away and swallowing down the chills on your scalp. You gave him a quick nod before you nearly stumbled away, and your heart pounded in your ear when you heard a grumbled chuckle ringing behind you.

He was gone by the time you gathered enough courage to look at his usual seat again, but you could not stop thinking about the way he looked at you even after you were alone in your bed that night.

-

“What had you done with the man who always sat at the corner?” your coworker asked you in the changing room when you came back from your day off.

Your hands that were zipping up your hot shorts froze in place. “Nothing,” you hid the fact that you felt your skin heating up just as the familiar image appeared in your head, tugging your shorts as low as you could to hide more of your skin as you followed up, sounding as nonchalant as you could, “why did you ask?”

“Really?”

You felt goosebumps exploding on your skin when they said the one thing you had feared they would say.

“Because he asked about you when you weren’t here yesterday.”

-

Once the wolf locked onto its target, it wouldn’t stop until the little lamb finally fell into right where he wanted it to be.

He started to request for you to serve his drinks. Your owner couldn’t wait to send you his way, because the man who usually ordered two shots max was now ordering repeatedly as long as you were the one walking up to him. The more you could not meet his gaze, the wilder he seemed to grin as he started coaxing you to stay with him for longer after you put down his drinks. The primal instinct to bow down to the dominant and the one that pushed you to run from the predator battled in your head when he asked for you to sit down with him, with the former winning when you realised you were nothing but a puddle of water as soon as he put his hand on your wrist.

That was the most dangerous part about him, because he seemed to have figured out that your body wanted to obey him.

One hand on the wrist eventually turned into his palm on your thigh. His touch always soft enough for you to flinch away, delighting him all the more when you didn’t. It was only a matter of time before he asked for your name, how old you were, what you do when you weren’t here serving beer to gangs.

You told him you need the money, and he looked very understanding when he nodded and gave your thigh a pat before taking his hand back. “No wonder,” you sat up straighter when you felt the chills running along your spine from his calloused finger brushing against your skin, “I was thinking why a little thing like you would be at a place like this.”

One night, Toji did not come into the pub like he used to. He was already there by the time you walked up to the backdoor, your mouth parting but nothing came out at why he was here at the staff entrance and so early too.

“When does your shift end?” he asked, long fingers picking out a cigarette from the packet before holding it between his teeth.

Your skin crawled, before the warmth stirring in your stomach won over.

He nodded when you answered him, the sharp click of his lighter followed by a spark as he dipped his head down.

The shivers were back when he exhaled, throwing his head back as he leaned against the brick wall. 

“Good,” he said, putting the lit cig back between his teeth when he made a gesture with his hand for you to go inside.

When you came out, he had just taken his last puff. There was a glint in his eyes when he saw you standing there in front of the door, your hands gripping onto the strap of your bag.

The half-burnt butt joined the several others on the floor when he pushed himself off the wall and walked up to you.

-

The wolf showed his claws once the lamb was in his lair.

Your head was hazy when Toji backed off of you for the first time after your back hit his mattress. A manic smile hung on his face when he looked down at the figure beneath him, shaking and panting as you were trapped between his knees. 

He had an image in his head of how you would look with your body sunk into his bed, and boy were you a fragile, pretty little thing when he finally got to put his hands on you.

Your lips were puffy from his nibbling and sucking, looking awfully like a pout as heavy breaths fell from the trembling petals. Your arms remained where he had pinned them down above your head even long after his hands wandered away, your face buried to the side of your upper arm as you tried to hide your expression away. His rampant lips had left your head light and with his weight off of you, you finally remembered to breathe. 

Toji licked his lips as his gaze burned into you, darting his tongue out to wet his lips as he racked his eyes all over your exposed torso. The first thing that he tore off of you was the flimsy crop top that he had always see as a pain in the eye, pulling it above your tits roughly right after he shoved you onto his bed. The gasp that fell from your lips had him hard in an instance when he yanked down your bra, your arms completely helpless from shielding your chest from him with him one step ahead of you and pinning them above your head. You made the most pathetic noises when he sucked on your nipples, licking and flicking the bud with his tongue as you writhed underneath him. Now they were hard and standing for attention as he groped the flesh while staring right into your face, the sheen left on your peaks from his saliva as he rolled it between the gap of his fingers.

Fragile, pretty little thing, and a sensitive one too, Toji sniggered to himself as he  palmed his erection over his pants, his cock already twitching when he thought of how he could train your body to react the way he wanted you to.

A wet patch had already formed at the crotch of your panties and you let out a broken moan when his thumb pressed down on where your clit would be. “Little slut, getting so wet just from having your tits played with...” he mused, hooking the strip of fabric under his index finger and watching you squirmed when it stuck between your folds. You whimpered when he tugged it back and forth, your juices gushing out when it rubbed against your clit.

Your body jerked when he snapped it against your cunt, and he laughed. Your arousal formed a string when he pulled your soaked panties off of you, shoving it in the pocket of his pants but not before bringing the fabric near his nose and took a hard sniff. Your face burnt with humiliation and arousal at the sharp noise, but the heat dropped when he shoved the band of his wide-legged pants down roughly and his hard cock sprung up against his abdomen.

His head was already leaking with pre and a thick, pulsing vein crawling all the way down to his base from the crown. Your eyes widened when he fisted it in his hand, giving the girth a few jerks before tapping it against your cunt. His fingers dug into your thighs as he hooked it around his waist, rolling his hips slowly as he slid his length along your wet folds.

The weight between your legs was hard to brush off. He was hot, heavy, and his tip was right below your naval when his balls tapped against your ass. A loud squelch echoed in your ear when he pulled back, your wetness coating his cock from top to bottom as he dragged it along.

The fuse in your head burnt to ashes when you felt his hardness lining up at your entrance.

“Wait, please-” 

Your blood curled when Toji froze in place, the drop in his lust-riddled gaze shifting from your cunt slowly to your face.

“Huh?” he huffed, the grumble sending shocks straight to your core as he hoisted your legs higher up his sides.

“Please, it’s not going to fit,” your voice was weak as you whimpered, feeling your nervous tears gathering at the corner of your eyes when something nudged at your pussy.

You hissed when he pushed his tip in. He let out a wolfish chuckle when your body shuddered, “It seems like it’ll fit in this needy hole just fine.”

“No, no...” the tears were pushed down your cheeks when you shook your head, “please, I’ve never had anything this big. I-”

The wolf, so hungry and ready to devour you, halted any of his movements. Your eyes widened when the grin on his face dropped, and a dark cloud hazed over his sharp eyes.

You had said the wrong thing, you realised that when a wide grin split on Toji’s face.

“Never had anything this big,” he repeated mockingly, staring at your watery eyes from above when he pulled his tip out of you, “I see how this is...”

You yelped when he suddenly pushed your knees all the way back until it was right against your chest. The pain at the sides of your thighs had you slamming your head back, arching yourself off the mattress as Toji licked his hips at the sight of your dripping cunt all out for his eyes to see.

“You are such a slut for me because no one has ever fucked you right before...” he mused, gripping you by the back of your knees as he positioned himself at your clenching hole.

“Tell daddy,” your face heated up when he purred, “how big were the other people that you’ve had before?”

A sharp mewl ripped from the back of your throat when he pushed in, not even halfway through but your hands were already clawing at the sheets beneath you at the stretch. Your walls clamped down at the newfound fullness, stretching apart by a girth you had never experienced before.

His cock pulsed in you when he laughed, his lips curling up at the way your toes pointed straight and your eyes rolling back. “This big?”

You could only whimper when he pushed more of his cock inside. “This big?” he asked again, his throat bobbing when your tight walls fluttered around him.

More. “This big?”

The laugh rumbled out from the back of his chest when your voice came out high pitched and broken. The painful hiss stuck at the back of your throat when he gave one final push, his heavy balls slapped against your ass when he was finally all the way in. Your body was being torn apart by the seams, treading between the line of pain and pleasure as your vision saw white from getting stretched. He was hot inside of you, and his cock sitting inside of you was impossible for you to ignore as every cell in your body was set aflame by the numbing feeling.

“Hu- ah!” you panted when he shifted his weight onto your body, nuzzling his tip deeper into you as if it was even possible.

“Let daddy show you how real men fuck their whores.”

Loud slaps echoed in the room when he started thrusting, holding your shaking legs tight as he pounded into your cunt with feverish intent. The crescent marks of his nails digging into your skin was painful, and your body did not feel like it was under your own control as he drilled in and out of your sloppy hole. Your ass jiggled under each slap of his thighs against your cheeks, everywhere his cock had dragged against feeling like it was set on fire as he fucked you at a frantic pace. Your mouth parted when the initial pain was taken over by an undeniable lust, your brain melting into mush with his cock bottoming out in you so hard you could not even think straight. 

“Hm- mm! ‘S good, feels so good- Daddy, please please please...” 

Toji laughed at your incoherent babbles. His chest pressing up against the back of your thighs as he thrust deep into you, there was nowhere for you to hide your lust-blown gaze from his eyes. Drool was rolling down your jaw as your mouth hung wide, your tongue almost lolling out with each slam of his hips against yours. Your vision was blurry and you could barely keep your eyes open, fighting against the urge to close them up under the stimulation your body was being put through.

He only went harder when aroused tears ran down your face, the wetness of his tongue licking away the salty droplet making you whimper. “Aw, what’s wrong?” the condescending tone made your face burn, his warm breath brushing against your cheek as he accentuated each word with a roll of his hips, “Crying because this is the first time someone has reached so deep into your cunny?”

You let out a loud whine. Cunny, how humiliating for him to talk to you like you were a thoughtless child when he knew you could barely breathe properly with how he was rearranging your guts. The tantalizing tuts of his tongue made your walls clench and he let out a beastly grunt at the sudden friction around his cock.

“Any of the men you always flaunt around would kill someone to trade places with me,” he grunted, nibbling at the sensitive skin of your neck as he dragged his teeth down. He chuckled and the vibration made you roll your head back, “A cock whore like you would love that, won’t you? People killing just for a chance to pound your naughty hole?”

“No, no-” you shook your head when he suddenly slowed down, every hair on your body standing up at the sudden drop and your hands flew to grab onto his shoulders just for a chance for him to keep going, “only want you. Only want daddy’s cock- Ah! Hng!”

Your pleas satisfied him greatly, even more so when your wanton moans rang loudly in his ears as he aimed each thrust right at the spongey spot deep inside of you. “I should just knock you up, huh?” he smirked when you clamped down around him the moment his words dropped, “fuck a baby inside of you so other men can’t ogle at your tits and ass in that fucking uniform anymore.”

You could not process a word of what he was saying, the only thought your head could generate was that you would do anything for him to keep going. One strong pound tipped you off the edge, and you could not stop the rambling from falling off your tongue as his cock kept driving in and out of you while the orgasmic waves rush over you.

“I’m not gonna stop fucking you until you’re nothing but daddy’s little cumdump, is that what you want?”

“Yes yes yes yes- fuck yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop-”

Toji cackled, and kissed you square on the lips.

“Good,” Thrust, “fucking,” Thrust, “girl...” Thrust. 

He kept going as his load spilt inside of you. You whined at the warmth that filled you up, the stickiness leaking out with each push of his fat cock out of your abused hole and running down where your bodies connected. Toji leaned his body back as he slowed down, his eyes gluing onto the mess between your legs as your juices mixed with his released dripped onto the sheets.

You whimpered at the soreness when he slipped his limp cock out, the fluttering of your folds pushing his cum out of you. “Ha...” you sucked in a deep breath when he put your legs down, the twitching not once stopping when he leaned down and kissed your puffy clit.

Your sensitive body jumped at the touch, and he kissed the nub again as he pushed the leaking cum back into your pussy. “Good girl.”

You were far too worn out to do anything when he took your top off of you and unhooked your bra that had been sitting uncomfortably under your chest. The things he had said to you while he was ravaging you finally sank into your skin when you had the breaths to think about it, and Toji gave your head a soft pat when your eyes followed him like a lost puppy when he got up.

“Sleep,” he kissed your temple, and it appeared you still couldn’t win over the want to listen to him as the tiredness in your lids took in.

Fushiguro Toji watched as you drifted away into slumber, the silence stirring in the air as he contemplated what to do with you. It had been a while since he had last wanted something but he had been quick to recognise the fume in his chest when he saw you walking around and forcefully smiling at people not less dangerous than himself the first time he went into that pub. 

The tyrant would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, and he had no plans to let go once he took his first bite.

You did not hear him, he took your sleepy whimper as an answer on his own when he whispered against your hair.

“We talk about you and that job when you wake up.”

[yeoldontknow]

smoked peaches ↣ jhs (M)

↝ A/N: a sequel to Molotov Cocktail | because i truly could not leave these two alone ugh i love them. happy valentines day! i hope you enjoy!     ↬ DISCLAIMER: absolutely, under no circumstances should alcohol or cocktails be used in a manner such as this. food play is fun only when its safe, and cocktails dont really have any place in the bedroom. furthermore, essential oils should be used safely! ↝ Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (oc; female) ↝ Genre: established relationship au; pwp; smut; romance; fluff ↝ Summary: Three years into your relationship with Hoseok, you have learned what it means to be truly happy. With him, you are seen, understood, and adored - and not once, even despite all your flaws, has Hoseok ever asked you to change. So when Hoseok starts to become withdrawn and quiet during the brief hours you have with him at night, you assume it’s down to stress at work. You never imagined it would be this, something so much bigger than any obstacle you’ve confronted before or will again. Something that will last forever. ↝ Rating: NC-17 ↝ Warnings: explicit language; explicit sex; dom!jhs; dirty talk; food play (cocktails); unprotected sex; heavy petting; dry humping; blindfolds; biting; marking; oral (f); breast play; use of sex toys; clit biting; clit spanking; creampie; overstimulation; multiple orgasms ↝ Word Count: 14.5K ↬ written for the bon appetit collab with @jamaisjoons​ @yoonia​ and @chillingkoo​ \\ thanks to @jenmyeons​ for reading parts of this and offering endless encouragement <3 

‘God, I’ve missed this.’

Pulling back from your lips, Hoseok whispers his affection with unprecedented conviction, the longing in his voice so tangible your chest tightens in the wake of it. 

Unwilling to open your eyes, you remain still, luxuriating in the feeling of his breath as it wanders over your cheeks. The cascade of warmth is a tickle that tugs at the corners of your lips, a smile of pleasure emerging at the feel of his closeness. Languidly, he presses his fingers into the nodes of your spine, seeking out the pressure points that always ignite colours behind your eyes, his touch alone giving birth to little fires beneath your skin. Eager and lonely, you lean up, searching for his lips, his mouth, his tongue; searching for more - so much more. 

Hungrily, he returns to you, proving that he had not drifted far - not really. Bumping his nose against yours, he is playful, sinful, a paradoxical combination of both that has your grip on his neck tightening as he nips gently at your bottom lip. He’s smiling, too, a beam of delight against your lips that grows wider with the strength evident in your touch. Feather light, he drops brief, teasing kisses to your lips, not nearly enough for you to feel satisfied, and so you huff in frustration, wiggling to get closer.

Amused by your needy enthusiasm, he chuckles to himself quietly, a rumble in his chest that reminds you of thunder. This laugh is one of your favorites, the sound of a man contented by your presence - by the way your legs are draped over his thighs; by the way you have pressed yourself against his chest; by the way you are utterly, impossibly insatiable, matching his thirst equally, earnest in your desire to be encompassed by his embrace. 

Slowly, you open your eyes, wanting to see him, to chastise him for separating from you so soon, but are instead left bereft. Hoseok consumes your vision, his adoring eyes, his wet lipped, unwavering smile the only thing you see - all yours, all for you, as he rubs the tip of his nose against your cheek. City lights pour through the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the pronounced length of his cheekbone. Even this late at night, the light still seeks him, his skin, nestling beneath his pores and offering him an otherworldly glow. The unnatural shades of the billboard signs, yellow fluorescent lights of the high rise apartment buildings, and the bright neon of the game arcades blend together, ensuring that he radiates with every colour and shape of the life you have built together among the clouds. 

Tonight, the billboard along the highway is a rich crimson, the persistent reminder that it is Valentine’s day flooding into the room. When you came home, Hoseok suggested leaving the blinds open, eyes full of mirth as he stated he to let the whole world in, tonight; with his arms around your waist, he said he wanted to show the world how love and romance really looks. Now, enveloped around you, you know he means it.

Tonight, he wants everyone to witness this - the possessive way his tongue explores your mouth, the unwavering grip he maintains around your waist as his hand drifts from your spine to the gaps between your ribs, and back again. Hoseok wants the world to see how years with the same person, the same body, the same routine diminishes nothing, perhaps, only causes the love within your souls to become insistent and ardent. It’s grown deeper these past few months, your yearning for him evolving into the very genetics of your DNA, a piece of your chemistry, eternally. 

Hoseok left the blinds open, and still he glows not unlike the rays of sun. Beneath your hands, he is resplendent, undiminished by the artificial radiance of neon. The moon hangs in the center of the sky, not yet at the height of her arch, but she has become washed out by the luminescence of the city. Hoseok is unmarred - late at night and still he outshines the universe, the brightest thing you have ever seen.

Your hand cups his cheek, thumb running over the bone to catch the light that clings to him. It hugs him in ways it does not hug you, a part of him that remains incandescent and unexplained. You’ve never been able to understand it, spent your days kissing and kissing at it in the hopes of sharing the luminescence he radiates. It never works, though he says you glow too, a radiance brought to life because he chose to love you in spite of all your incorrigible flaws.

Walking your hand along his cheek, you tilt your head and wind your fingers into the hair just behind his ears, heart stuttering in its rhythm as he sighs in pleasure. The dimples of his cheeks almost emerge, almost bloom to life, but he keeps them as a secret, choosing instead to rest his forehead against yours in devotion.

‘I’ve missed you,’ you murmur, not wanting to interrupt the peace that has come to occupy the four walls of your living room; the bone deep comfort that has blossomed between your chests.

Separating just slightly, he leans into your touch, craving more and more of your affectionate caress. ‘You’ve been busy with the auction.’

‘Not so busy.’ 

Shaking your head, your pout feels petulant, youthful in its disagreement. Letting your hand slip from his hair, you wiggle deeper into the hard muscles of his chest, blinking distractedly at him as his own fingers worm their way under your shirt. Gripping the collar of his black shirt, you sigh, a flush heating your cheeks as the simplest of his touches sends electricity down your synapses. To be touched by him, to be in love with him, is to feel and love absolutely everything, your awareness heightened to its peak.

Always, you prefer him this way - hair unkempt and eyes glossy with devotion; prefer the nights when has abandoned the suit and tie of his usual work clothes in favor of his old university shirts and grey sweatpants, discarding the persona of Jung Hoseok to unravel into your Hobi. It happens less and less these days, ever caged by the success and importance of Hopeworld, his chain, his business, as much a fixture at the Fairmont Hotel as the valet parking. 

When you met him, he was in a suit. When you fell in love with him, he was in a simple shirt and jeans, a smile tucked into the corner of his cheek that demanded you crave him, and now your yearning for him is relentless. 

Sustaining your childish pout, you drag your hand down his chest, tracing the shape of his pecs and ribs as you let the pads of your fingers find his arm, gliding against the vines of his tattoo. 

‘Sometimes,’ you mumble absentmindedly, watching the petals in his forearm disappear beneath your touch, ‘I come home and you’re not here. I’ve been busy with the auction, but it feels like I’m always missing you.’ 

Head tilting back against the couch, Hoseok sighs, lips downturned with regret. Still, his hold on you is unwavering, immovable, only tightening in the aftermath of your lament. 

‘I’m not mad,’ you say hurriedly, earnestly, voice thick with sincerity. ‘I just miss you.’ 

In truth, you are not angry, not even really upset at his long absences. If you’re honest with yourself, you couldn’t be more proud of the business he’s built with his own hands, relying on nothing other than the strength of his determination to succeed. Little distracts him from his purpose, unencumbered by the opinions of anyone other than himself. 

The lights of Le Bernardin seemed to dim as your father sat back in his seat, tapping the corner of his mouth with the expensive egyptian cotton napkin. Bitterness rose on your tongue, the flavor of your wine souring as you watched him posture the pretense of politeness for so long you wondered if he had even heard Hoseok’s announcement. 

‘I won’t help you,’ he announced, tone empty and expressionless save for the severity of the derision that swam in his eyes. 

From where you sat, you could feel the apathy, the admonishment and expectation that Hoseok would fail at opening, managing, and cultivating his own bar before he had even started. Thousands of arguments hung dangerously in the air, hovering above the table with threatening closeness. It was heavy, oppressive with reasoning and judgemental logic that he did not have a degree in business; that a mixologist was not a manager; that corporate holdings and the economic legalities that came with running a business were beyond him. It was not, you knew, that your father didn’t think he was smart enough - it was, you were certain, that he simply deemed Hoseok wasn’t worthy enough. 

Your father’s stare remained icy and unforgiving as you gripped Hoseok’s thigh, nails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his trousers as your tongue prepared to sever your father’s iron will. After years of this sort of combat, you were used to becoming venomous, used to shaping yourself into a creature of malcontent, the spitefulness of your contempt the armor you regularly wore. For so long, you had worn it like a second skin, felt most like yourself  under its scathing anguish. For Hoseok, you would become monstrous, ugly; would grow fangs and claws and teeth in the glory of your wrath, but he gripped your thigh in kind reassurance and smiled as though hardly anything had happened at all. 

Settling back against your seat, you scowled unforgivingly at your father’s passive expression. He cocked a tempestuous brow at you, a challenge though not necessarily a warning, which you mirrored, always so good at looking exactly like him. 

‘It’s ignorant to presume someone would ask help from a person who is not willing to even offer it,’ Hoseok said patiently, amiably, so much better at different tactics of aggression. 

You never had it in you to adorn the sickly sweetness of polite averice. You’d never wanted to be misunderstood. 

‘Besides,’ he continued, removing his hand from your thigh to cut into his filet mignon. ‘That bar will be mine, not yours. You have a habit of claiming possession over the things you let into your life, and I’d rather burn in hell than watch you claim my name as another wasteland for your empire.’

Head whipping to look at him, your eyes went wide, suddenly so aware of all the ways in which light gives way to shadows, of the way light reveals absolutely everything. You’d grown used to the way rage gave birth to ugliness within you, but he wore his anger like a tantalizing weapon. You were moved by him, arrested into an uncharacteristic silence around your father, but Hoseok continued, magnificent in his slow reveal of his true humanity. 

‘The bar will be mine,’ he pressed, glancing up from his plate and undeterred by your father’s scathing glare. ‘The money will be mine. I’m just telling you to be polite, because that’s what good sons do even if their fathers are worthless to them.’

Two years later, and the money is indeed his - the money, and the glory, and all the fame that comes with a chain centered in the lobby of the most expensive hotel conglomerate. Two years later, and he has a chain in his name, a business of his own, a life of his own making, even if it meant that there are countless, painful hours in which he is not, and cannot be, with you. 

‘I know.’ His sigh is deep, a long huff of breath through his nose in shame. Staring up at the ceiling, he considers his words carefully. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been...’ For a moment, he drifts, lost in thought as he lowers his gaze to search your face, though for what you cannot be sure. His scrutiny is heated, intense, eyes roaming over your features over and over until you’re certain he could paint your likeness if asked. ‘It’s just been frightening,’ he announces, finally. ‘I’m not worried, really, it’s just the Hotel’s name is wrapped up into it, too.’

Peering at you carefully through his eyelashes, his grip on your waist tightens, and you feel him everywhere he is not. Hoseok roots inside you for answers to questions left unvoiced, reacquainting himself with all your intimate details. You are not certain what he seeks, why his apology is quite so sincere, and so you let your hand return to his cheek, smoothing all the edges out of his features. 

Eyes fluttering closed, he holds your palm there, and you find yourself distracted both by the softness of his skin and the way the light illuminates the tattoo adorning his arm. Idly, you wish you could stay like this eternally - together, unencumbered, enraptured. Valentine’s Day has never been worth celebrating, not to you at least, but he is worth celebrating, and so you lean forward, kissing at his jaw to remind him of this sentiment.

‘It’s your first time with an inspection of this size.’ Your suggestion is soft, a soothing cadence you hope is evident in the lilt of your voice. Walking your hand up to his temple once more, your card your fingers through his hair, relishing the thickness of the strands, offering tenderness where your words might not. ‘Your license is on the line. Trust me, no one understands better than I do. You don’t have to apologize.’

Months of this, months of coming home to an empty bed only for Hoseok to climb in later, when the hours night drip into the morning. Government inspections are not new, but now with three bars under his belt, and all the inspections happening at the same time, he’s been distant. Not on purpose - never on purpose, but you feel his absence like a blade whenever the house, the bed, your life is empty of him. 

‘Yes I do.’ Falling forward, he buries his face into your neck and breathes in deep, taking the scent of you into his lungs. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you smile at the feeling, blood warmed with rapture. ‘I hate not being home with you, but I promise it will be worth it.’ 

Hoseok accentuates his words by grazing his teeth against the tendon in your neck, his favorite spot to bruise. Usually, your skin is purpled by him, consistently red and aching with the marks of his teeth and tongue, but lately the visible proof of his attachment to you has faded. You’ve missed the burn of it, the stinging delight that would last for days. Latching his teeth to your skin, you shiver into his hold, pressing your fingers into the muscles of his back. The wet texture of his tongue against your skin has you shivering, a quake that starts in your bones first until even your heart is trembling with it. 

‘I know it will,’ you hum, stroking his hair, unashamed of the way arousal pools at your groin. 

Since dinner finished, you’ve been here, with him, kissing and kissing to reacquaint yourself with his lips. Your underwear has been damp since the first stroke of his tongue against yours, and you’re certain he’s felt you clenching around nothing, craving and anticipating the feel of him between your thighs. 

‘But I hate how this one is making you so anxious and quiet.’ Slowly, you take your time guiding one of your hands to the back of his neck, nails scratching into the soft, thin hair at the base of his hairline. Holding him in place, you revel in the feel of his mouth moving against your skin, in the way his shoulders expand and retract as he breathes as if making way for wings. ‘I miss my sunshine boy.’

Hoseok chuckles against your neck, replacing his tongue with a cascade of warmth exhaled from his nose. ‘I’ll repeat that you’ve been busy, too.’

An impish smirk unfurls in your expression, and gathering the strands of hair at the crown of his head, you tug gently until he is pulled from your neck, blinking at you with an innocence you know can dissolve in an instant. His lips are swollen and wet from kissing your neck, the base of your jaw; all red and pink, smooth skin so enticing and the sight only serves to invigorate the thought that burns behind your teeth.

‘My love,’ you begin, sweely, ‘I’m sure I could regale you with the legalities of museum auctions, but I think we both can agree there is something far, far more worthy of our attention.’

The pads of your fingers trace idle patterns over the tendons in his neck, down to the base of his shoulders, around and into his ribs. Reaching between your bodies, your curious fingers seek the hardness of his erection, the evidence of his intense arousal pressing vigilantly against your thigh. Cupping the semi-hard girth of his cock, you offer a gentle stroke as you twist your hand. Darkness lives inside his groan, equal to the darkness that clouds his eyes, half lidded as he looks at you in warning. 

The thin material of his fleece sweatpants does little to conceal the way the movements of your hand send blood and heat directly into his cock. Beneath your palm, it gradually hardens, straining against the cloth to be reunited with the feeling of your bare palm. You’re confident he can feel the heat that emanates from your core, your folds starting to leak with wetness each time he breathes through his parted lips. Each stroke has his exhale filling the silence, raising the hairs along your arms, his hips starting to thrust upwards into your hand.

It’s a dangerous game to play with him, a test of his control and dominance that always ends with you at the mercy of his lust. Just as quickly as it started, he presses one hand to your hip and taps your thigh with the other, an unspoken signal that he wants your thighs straddled on either side of him, your core presses against the tip of his clothed erection, your body against his, an unstoppable force of desire that succumbs to his will, only.

Quickly you adjust, releasing his cock only to replace the pressure of your hand with the pressure of your core, the heat from your folds and the dampness of your legging having you both exhale in unison. 

‘Oh, fuck,’ he moans, easing your hips down roughly against the tip of his cock. ‘Come here.’

Once more, he works his hand beneath your shirt, warm palm journeying the length of your spine until it is gathered around his arm and your neck is gripped by the strength of his fingers. Cupping his face, you press your mouths together, grinding your hips downward as you run your tongue over the seam of his lips. Instantly, he opens for you, tugging at your hair in a gentle reminder he wants you to move slowly, to let yourself enjoy the feeling of being consumed by him. Hoseok is unhurried in the way he explores the cavern of your mouth, the tip of his tongue curious as he thrusts the wet muscle in time with the slow grind of his hips. 

Your responding whimper echoes deep into his open mouth, and your hands move slowly down to his shoulders where you brace yourself, clinging to the parts of him that exude strength. His physical presence alone is a keen reminder you are whole and not undone at your very seams. 

All sense of time disappears as you suck at his tongue, and only when he pulls away to catch his breath do you latch your teeth to his bottom lip, pulling back to you with greed. His lips still taste of the whiskey he had with dinner, whiskey and the flavor that is only him, so unique and rich, your favorite sort of honey. 

The tip of his cock moves in a rhythmic motion, over and over, a slow drag against your covered slit. Every third movement, he rocks upward, pressing against your folds hard enough you gasp into his open mouth, only for him to retreat a moment later. A high pitched keening whine spills from your chest, and he laughs into you, pulling his tongue back to relish the way he has complete control of your responses. Digging your nails into his muscles, your brow furrows, doing your best to gather your words, your thoughts, amongst the insistent teasing pleasure. 

Falling forward, your forehead rests against his, and with your eyes closed your senses become heightened. You can see it, imagining this very scene as though you are both completely present in your body and apart from it, watching him grind into you as your blood races to your chest, your cheeks, your cunt. The whiskey on his tongue has your mind fogged, and the graze of his cockhead against your slit has your limbs feeling weightless. He’s always been skilled at this, at rendering you needy, silent in the magnitude of your wanting. You thought pleasure was never meant to overwhelm a person like this, an addiction to sound and touch and taste that exceeds all realm of perception.

‘I’m glad we did this,’ he mumbles against your lips, using his thumbs to work bruises into the flesh of your hips. 

All you can manage is a mindless nod, the motion sending your nose bumping into his as you press yourself harder against him. Smirking, he angles his face downward, kissing at the spot just below your ear. Electricity saunters down your synapses, and you thug your bottom lip between your teeth, uncertain how much longer you will be able to maintain this teasing game. You, above all else, are an impatient woman, deciding that which you crave most and claiming it for yourself. 

Now, you want him. You want him to lay you on this couch and peel your clothes off with his teeth. You want him, his cock, so deep inside your cunt you can taste him on your tongue. You want him, his skin against yours, with no space for air to slip in between. 

You have always been impatient, but Hoseok is a master of his self control, always more composed if not patient; always in command of his expression of thirst, and he pulls back slightly as he feels your slow wiggle of restlessness against his thighs. 

‘Never thought we’d be a couple that has to make time for something like this,’ he comments, as though you have not soaked the very tip of his cock through his sweatpants, as though he cannot feel it at all.

With each rock of your hips, your underwear slides over your folds. Now coated with the slick substance of your juices, the thick juices spill out from the sides and onto your thighs. Your leggings, too, are drenched, a sensation that would otherwise be uncomfortable were it not for the way Hoseok rolls up into you in time with the movement of his tongue over your neck. Your sense of awareness has scattered, absconded to the parts of your body where only his touch exists. He is all you can focus on, all you want to focus on, the feel of him on and against you deemed the most important of all.

It takes work finding words to muster a reply, and you hate that he is so skilled at maintaining stability in his voice. You are best at sparring matches, at defending your worth and value, a tension you have become expertly accustomed to. From the moment you first kissed him, felt his tongue at the tip of yours, felt his muscles beneath your fingers, you have learned tension of this kind is your great unmaking. 

Frustrated you huff through your nose, a noise of annoyance diminished immediately by a moan of ecstasy as the tip of his cockhead presses roughly against your covered clit. Scratching your nails into his skin and hoping the marks will last, you struggle to gather your composure, wanting to play his game as well as he. Yet, when you open your eyes, you are confronted with the impenetrable black of his dilated pupils - his tell - that he is just as ravenous as you. Always, he wears the light as though it was born from him, made by his joy alone, but when he wears the sheer darkness of his appetite he becomes utterly exquisite, a sinister promise of his wish to unravel you.

Swallowing thickly, you tilt your head to the side in mock consideration. 

‘I think every couple is at some point,’ you muse, feigning a pensive tone as you grind roughly into his cock. Hoseok bucks upward, whispering quiet expletives as his eyes widen. Your smirk of victory is a tempest, an ignition of gasoline to the fire he keeps beneath his skin, and he holds you in place against him, preventing you from moving. ‘They just don’t talk about it.’

Hoseok hums in consideration as he moves his lips to the center of your throat, right over the place where your voice echoes. As he drags his teeth over the tendons, your head falls back, clenching your thighs around his. 

‘I’ve missed you.’

He presses the words into your skin, embedding the rich tenor of his cadence directly into your blood. Your pulse quickens, directly responding to the feel of him replacing the oxygen in your vessels. Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging him upward and hoping to ease him back to your hungry mouth, wanting to kiss him again. But he pulls back, regards you through the length of his eyelashes and shifts his hips, moving the tip of his cock down towards the center of your folds. He lingers there for a moment, and you curse the clothing that separates you with a whimper of annoyance. 

His hands move from your hips to the ample flesh of your ass, where he grips your cheeks with vigor and rolls your body forward. ‘I have half a mind to fuck you right on this couch.’

Eyes fluttering closed, you lick at your lips, all swollen and red, sighing in pleasure. ‘Then why don’t you.’

‘Because I have another surprise for you.’

Abruptly you open your eyes, feeling the mood shift as your arousal is put on pause. Lowering your gaze, you eye him conspicuously, pulling back enough you are not longer in the throes of his orbit. With each passing moment, the adrenaline in your veins shifts from the eroticism of your carnal longing to dazed confusion, blinking at him as you catch your breath. 

Years with him and not once have either of you felt it necessary to buy gifts on Valentine’s Day. You are not a gifting couple, choosing instead to share all the little things that make up the life you have built: your time, a meal, hours in bed together, or hours alone - somewhere special or nowhere at all; a restaurant or your couch, each a persistent reminder that you have chosen one another. The small simplicities of your life and daily routine are more about your love than a gift of chocolate, a card full of words you would rather hear him say. Your commitment to him extends beyond a social media post, beyond a tagged location and the withering petals of discarded roses. 

For him to suggest this, after he has already prepared a meal beside you, after you have stained the wine glasses with your lips, after you have told him, repeatedly and ardently, that you love him is a shock to your system.

‘I…’ Your voice fades, the guilt gripping your throat. A lump forms, not of woeful regret but of fear, the utter horror of ever seeing him disappointed. ‘I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry...we said we wouldn’t. We aren’t the type?’

‘No, no,’ he shakes his head quickly, removing his hands from your ass to rub at your arms. ‘I don’t want anything. I’ve had the world since you ordered a negroni in the middle of summer.’

Cocking your head back, you laugh loudly, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. ‘I swear, one day you will move past that.’

‘Never.’ The brilliance of his smile would almost overshadow the intensity of his disagreement, but you find it a compliment, a reassurance that your idiosyncrasies are the things that endear him to you the most. ‘Most beautiful person alive to ever order a negroni.’

‘You’re just saying that cause you weren’t alive in the forties,’ you scoff, though you match his smile, always moved to delight by the sight of him.

Hoseok shakes his head. ‘Even then.’

For a long while, you simply stare at one another, luxuriating in this closeness as you remember: the night you met, the orange peel on the rim, Namjoon - who has become one of your closest, dearest friends - ordering the drink with surprise on his cheeks; Hoseok, leaning over the bar, close enough he could smell you, and both of you, drawn to one another’s orbit, lonely moons fated to collide. 

‘But no,’ he sighs eventually, the weight of it changing the mood of intimacy you had cultivated. Not eradicating it, not entirely, but something about the way he looks at you has your nerves resting on edge. ‘It's not a gift. Not really. It’s a drink.’ 

Leaning back, you settle away from his cock and onto his lap, curious and cautious. ‘For the new menu?’

‘No.’ Once more, he shakes his head, slowly, seductively. The movement of his head, the way the hair falls into his eyes as he smiles and smiles dances over your heart, a thunder against your sternum. ‘No this one is just for you.’

‘All these years,’ you smirk, ‘and still you think you can pull me away from my negroni?’

Now, it is his turn to laugh, a hearty sound that has you moving back over his cock, victorious. 

‘Baby, trust me, I’ve long since given up that fight.’ Again, he regards you, though this time you catch traces of all the thoughts that race through his head, a glint of affection matched with a glimmer of something hopeful, though you cannot imagine why he finds a drink so serious. ‘This is different. This drink comes with a set of requirements.’

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you tilt your head to the side in question, but he says nothing. Instead, he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to your lips as he taps his hands on your thighs, a signal he wants you to get up. Swinging your leg over his thigh, you settle on the couch, folding your hands in your halp expectantly, but he does not linger beside you. Rising to a stand, Hoseok grabs both your hands and pulls you up to meet him. 

‘What’s going on?’ you ask, glancing around the room, bewildered. 

‘So many questions,’ he sing-songs, pressing his hands to your shoulders as he turns your body you are facing forward, away from him, and begins walking you through the living room. 

Turning to look over your shoulder, you do your best to regard his expression but he lifts one hand and taps your cheek gently, wordlessly advising you to face forward. His thumbs rubs slow circles into your shoulders as he walks you to your bedroom, where he lowers his hands to your hips and pulls you against him. 

Immediately, you recline into the toned muscles of his chest, resting your hands over his as you sigh in delight. Relishing the closeness, you breathe together for a moment, enjoying the silence and the air of romance he so easily rekindles. It’s always been like that with him, so simple, all your passion and all your ardor brough to the surface the moment he lays his hands on you. 

It’s different in this room, where the blinds are closed, where the world is cast out. In the living room, your longing had space, room to breathe and crevices to fill. Now, it clings to your skin, cloying in the way it moves through your pores and into your lungs. Every breath you take is filled with his cologne, every exhale is an utterance of your need, a whine at the back of your throat that threatens to disrupt the quiet way you take your time savoring his attention. Still, he does not give you the opportunity to consider the room beyond these feelings, nor does he allow you to turn and face him, to regard the face you long to kiss and kiss and kiss until he is a permanent fixture in your spirit. 

Easing your hair over your shoulder, making space and granting himself access to the supple skin that so often goes untouched, he kisses deftly at the back of your neck as he moves a silk blindfold over your eyes, blocking your vision. The silk cools your heated cheeks, and in this darkness the smooth texture feels almost forbidden, clandestine in the way he removes your senses and demands that you trust him, implicitly. Raising your hands to touch it, you slide your fingers over and over along the threads as he ties it securely at the back of your head. 

Furrowing your brow, you cannot help the chuckle that blossoms at your sudden realization. ‘Is this one of your ties?’

Burying his nose in the crown of your head, he nods, nestling it into your hair as he breathes in deep. ‘Looks better on you, in my opinion.’ 

Instantly your mental image of the bedroom dissolves, fading into nothingness until your senses are overwhelmed with all things Hoseok: the rich clove and bergamot of his cologne, the rhythm of his heart as it beats against your back, his lips as he wanders down and down to the shell of your ear. Even still, you see him with your whole spirit, his smile against your skin entering your heart, taking root and filling the nodes of your lungs with visions of his euphoria.

‘I want you to strip,’ he commands, voice low and full of gravel. A growl lingers at the back of his syllables, and your mouth runs dry. ‘Get undressed and stay silent. I want you naked and waiting on the bed for me.’

Against the blindfold your eyes open, and your eyelashes struggle against their confinement, another wave of arousal dripping through your folds at the sound of his voice. You are aware of absolutely everything, all the way down to the fibers of your clothes, senses brought to attention by the implication of his words. Hoseok has adopted the tone he only uses when he means to make you kneel in worship, exerting his dominance as a show of the magnitude of his affection. So rarely does he speak to you with such power and control, your muscles tense in willing obedience. 

His voice saunters through your very existence, your nipples erect and sensitive as they press against the cotton of your tee shirt bra. You hadn’t planned on wearing lingerie, haven’t needed to since your first Valentine’s together when he said it didn’t matter what you wore or how you dressed, all he wanted was you naked beneath him and anything else deterring this was viewed, in his eyes, as an obstacle. Had you known he was planning something, you’d have planned, too. 

‘Be good for me,’ he whispers, nipping at your earlobe before he departs from the room entirely, your body shivering in his absence. 

The seconds that pass feel like an eternity, your heart racing as you gather the strength of your senses, reigniting the muscle memory of your bedroom. All over your body, you sense the energy of things, objects, certain you are near the bed without even feeling it. Diligently, you begin to undress, hands shaking as you reach for the hem of your shirt. Careful not to shift or undo the blindfold, your slow removal of your clothing feels ceremonious, a ritual of preparation for something holy. In the darkness behind your eyes, this room becomes your sanctuary, each removal a prayer of obedience and commitment. 

As you ease your leggings down your legs, the strong scent of your arousal reaches your nose, and you part your lips from the intensity. You’ve been on edge from the very moment you felt the first stirrings of Hoseok’s cock within his sweatpants, from the very moment your tongue met his. When he returns to the room, he will smell how terribly wet you have become, how much of a mess you have made of yourself just for him, because of him. 

Stepping out of your leggings, you reach behind your back and undo the clasp of your bra, each touch of your own fingers sparking a new world of lust as colours bloom behind your eyes. Your hands tremble, but your heels press into the hardwood of the floor, rooting yourself within the gravity to ensure you do not drift from the force of your desire. 

Discarding your bra, the air hits your breasts and you move to cover yourself, only to ball your hands into fists and return your arms to your sides. Hoseok does not like it when you hide, a habit you have learned to unmake beneath the heated intensity of his unwavering, loving gaze. With him there, you have learned not to cover yourself, but when there is only nothing, you wonder now why your first instinct is to hide, why the vulnerability of such exposure has you feeling young, unfamiliar with the significance of such eroticism. 

Relying on muscle memory, you move towards the bed and perch carefully on the edge of the mattress. The air in the quiet room is wrought with unprecedented tension, your senses scattered to every surface as your hair stands on end.

Even though it’s unnecessary, even though the silk blindfold is heavy against the bridge of your nose, thick enough to block out all the light, you still keep your eyes closed. The silence of your bedroom is deafening, oppressive in its effort to intensify the eroticism of this darkness. Gnawing your bottom lip, you strain to hear just what he could be doing in the kitchen - what else there is to be done - but you hear nothing. All the quiet seems to accomplish is heightening the ever growing reverberation of his command in your mind, an echo control that haunts even the marrow of your bones. 

Like always, Hoseok inspired the full totality of your obedience with just one sentence, stripping his voice of all sunshine, all warmth, rendering you naked down to your nerves; the only one to ever live inside you, so deep. Your neck still burns, right above your pulse, right where he’d kissed his words, the fire of his open mouth removing all your clothes before your shaking hands could undo the rest. The fervent laughter that always nestles in the end of his syllables, in the corner of all his smiles, was absent, and now you are left anticipating him, craving him, hoping that you will be good for him - that you will be the wick he decides to ignite.

Rolling your shoulders back, you raise your breasts and keep your posture straight, poised, hoping that he will be pleased when he sees you. You cannot remember the last time you felt so exposed, so utterly raw in your nakedness. When you came home, the apartment felt too warm, the heat raised to a limit that always makes you feel uncomfortable. Now, you are trembling within it, skin and nerves tender, forced to acknowledge the full length of your body; the supple texture of your sinew, the voluptuous curve to your breasts, the slope of your hips, the dripping folds of your sex.

In this silent loneliness, you are left to contend with the reality of yourself - to recognize all the pieces of you he adores.

Still, the anticipation of his touch, his breath, has your hands fisting in the sheets, and you laugh. He’s changed them, the fabric of the duvet softer, smoother than the thick cotton you often prefer. The texture against your skin raises gooseflesh along your arms, a shiver taking its time to walk up the length of your spine. All of this softness, all these delicate fabrics against your skin, and all they create is a cage of your longing. Too long have you been left wanting him, missing him, and now he means to entrench you in it.

Now, he demands that you experience just how badly, how desperately, he has been wanting you, too.

The bedroom door pushes open, a sound usually so innocuous, so meaningless, causing your walls to clench around nothing. Grimacing, you take in a sharp breath to apologize or comment on the messiness of this reality, but you remember that he told you to remain silent, and so you force your lips to close. The sheets will be stained by the end of the night - of this you are certain. Nothing, you’re sure, will wash away the remnants of your desire. 

The further he walks into the room, you are overcome with the intense aroma of peach and cinnamon. Such delicate scents overtake the space, maximized in their power, wafting over and into you, until you’re certain you could taste it on your tongue. Hungrily you salivate, and so too does the wetness between your folds seep leisurely through your slit, as if motivated by the ghost of flavor within your mouth. 

Accompanying this scent is the light clinking of glass, and your ears perk up at the first trace of noise. Hoseok remains silent, but you can distinctly make out the silver swizzle stick he uses to mix drinks gliding along the rim of a glass. Recently you’ve heard it in the late hours of morning, before dawn has the opportunity to kiss the sky. He stirs and stirs, your bed empty and your hand resting on the space where his body had been, mattress still warm. Usually, this very sound eases you back to sleep, a comforting night song that kisses your sense when he cannot. 

Now, the high pitched rattle is a sting against your nerves, a call to attention and reverence. 

But this too does not maintain your attention for long. There are other noises, other clattering sounds of metal, plastic, and something else you cannot quite make out that alert you to an assortment of items - a tray, a selection, and, suddenly, mist. As Hoseok approaches where you sit, a gentle, cool fog passes over your skin, and you reach your hand forward to let it slip between your fingers. It sticks to the all the minute, normally unnoticeable crevices of your skin before dissolving, a whisper of sugar and honey that settles against you as if by magic. Before you, hidden behind a blindfold, a rich meal, a just dessert, has been laid out, while Hoseok views you in kind.

Tendrils of mist add to the moisture and heat in the room, the sweetness raising the temperature against your skin as your arousal swirls expectantly in your belly. The darkness that surrounds you has your skin feeling tender, ripe muscle taught with wanting, and you lean forward, seeking the relief of Hoseok’s lips against your soft, malleable pieces.

Reaching forward through the mist, you seek the tactile solidness of his touch. ‘Hoseok?’ 

You cannot help the exclamation of his name, an oath of allegiance and questioning of what mystery he has brought into the room, hoping he will say your name to fill the room with his voice. 

‘Ah, ah,’ he cautions, and though the commanding nature of his voice still lingers, the sound of something other than your beating heart in your ears is an extraordinary relief. ‘I said to remain silent. Only speak unless I tell you to.’ 

Pouting, the retraction of your hand is swift, and your fingers furl into the bed sheets as you acquiesce to his wishes.

Hoseok moves the swizzle stick through the glass, once, twice, before he hums pensively. ‘Do you know why I became a bartender?’

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you shake your head, certain that any answer you would give is not the one he is seeking. When you were new together and newly in love, you asked this question as you laid with him in bed, running your finger over his heartbeat. So much of your first start was centered around you, the war you waged with your father, your question of worth for things that chose you instead of you taking it as an act of defiance. You wanted to spend the rest of your days learning about him, learning his thoughts, his war, and his answer was a journey of money and consequence. 

Over time, you’ve learned the journey was one creation, of inspiration as much as necessity.

‘Do you have a guess?’

Parting your lips, you focus on finding your voice, the stimulation surrounding the darkness so potent all your words come slowly. ‘You like making things. You like pleasure.’

‘Good,’ he praises, and you preen delightedly, offering him a wide smile full of love and pride. ‘Do you know why I became a mixologist?’

Hoseok places the tray on what you presume is the top of your dresser across from where you sit, but you both feel and hear him move to the side where places something in the nightstand at his side of the bed. You focus your attention on these movements, letting your mind come to several of its own conclusions, all wholly unrelated to his question. 

Had he also stripped while he was away from you? Is the amber golden texture of his skin on display, concealed from you by a simple strip of fabric? How does his tattoo shift in this light, the blossom of the bird of paradise just as rich as the fruit that fills the room?

You imagine all of it - every color and texture and shape of his body, certain you have learned every nuance of his being down to the very bone. These thoughts entice you, but so too does the thought of another of his praises, an encouragement that has you hurriedly responding to not keep him waiting any longer. 

‘Passion.’

‘Close. Similar.’ Hoseok moves to the tray on the dresser, and you strain to discern the things he touches, unable to come up with anything beyond the obvious drink he had created. ‘It’s like perfumerie,’ he explains, shifting items along the tray and stirring the drink once more. ‘I think everyone, at some point, wants to bottle the thing they find most beautiful. They want to wear it, permanently. They want the smell to wet the tongue, to inspire the possibility of skin on skin, to provoke the curiosity of more. Mixology is like that, but you don’t wear the drink, you taste it. You have to hold it in your mouth, until it becomes a part of you.’

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you wait patiently for the closeness of his body in the ensuing silence and consider his explanation. He’s always been like this, passionate to a point of burning, his drive running deeper than you can ever comprehend. Every time you come close, it has changed, his every moment of creativity sparking a more enduring affection for his craft. 

Hoseok walks closer to you, but still chooses to remain just out of reach, far enough you can feel the magnetic chemistry of his closeness and your skin begins to ache. Childishly you raise one hand, reaching for him and hoping to pull him against your skin, but he does not move, only chuckles at your display of indignant neediness. Instead, he releases a slow hum of breath through his nose and taps the swizzle stick against the rim of the glass, delaying your reunion even further.

‘You’re like that,’ he continues, the rich intonation of his voice a thick syrup that molds over your skin. Placing the swizzle stick back on the tray, Hoseok inches ever closer, the pads of his feet against the floors a rhythm that incites a riot of excitement in your heart. With him, he brings more mist, more spice, more peach, all of it waftering onto your chest and mingling with the perspiration that has started to coat your sinew. A moan of thirst worms its way through your chest, a keening, tiny sound of impatient defeat.

Finally, when he is close enough the steady exhale of his breath joins the fog in tracing patterns over your sternum, your jaw, your lips; his presence, an instigation of juices that drip once more through your folds and onto the sheets. You want to say his name, want to talk, want to reach your hands out and cup his cheeks to bring his lips to yours, but with each continued speech, Hoseok sounds more and more serious, and you obediently remain quiet. 

‘That is what you are,’ he repeats softly. ‘A whisper that is always on my tongue. A taste I can’t seem to quit.’

He bumps against your legs, and immediately you spread them wide, luring him into your orbit. The act separates your folds, allowing more of your thick juices to drip into the bed and changing the scent that fills the room. The mist is persistent, a tingle of pleasure that walks down your nerves, and now with Hoseok between your thighs, the warmth that radiates from his aura overtakes your senses. He’s everywhere, nowhere, a ghost that haunts your bones and spirit, and you tilt your head back, looking upwards into the nothingness, waiting for his lips. 

‘I made this for you, because it is you,’ he murmurs, though the proximity of his voice is a wildfire. ‘I call this drink the Whisper Blend. It’s how you taste to me, how you make me feel. I wanted to bottle you for myself, to keep you with me, always.’

HIs hand comes to cup your chin, guiding you in a direction you imagine is perfectly poised to accept his tongue, his mouth, his soul.

‘I want you to taste yourself.’ All the gravel of his voice, arousal and seductive intent, reaches into the caverns of your heart, gripping you completely. ‘I want you to taste how you make me feel.’

Gripping the edge of the mattress tightly, you lean forward, pressing your chin into his fingers. Your nerves run haywire, electric and scattered, and you are certain that were it not for your bones your spirit would erupt absolutely everywhere to press itself against him. Hoseok takes a slow inhale, long and deep, and lowers his mouth to your lips. On instinct, you part for him, expectant and eager to experience the way he feels when that is all there is - no sight, no sound, just his touch, holding you because he can, and because he wants to. 

Still, he does not kiss you - not really. Gently, he exhales, and an abundance of peach fills the cavern of your waiting mouth, the rich flavor invading the crevices until it dissolves leaving only his breath. The cocktail smoke dissipates on your tongue, a sweet residue left behind that has you humming in pleasure. Pulling back, he breathes in again, the smoke shifting around your body as it is pulled into his mouth. When he returns to you, he presses his lips to yours, this time pausing in the contact of this kiss, before he exhales once again. 

Unable to help yourself, your hands come to cup his face, holding him there as you inhale, moving your lips in a slow, reverent motion. Again, the smoke dissolves into the ether, leaving just the distinct, sweet flavor of his mouth against yours. His fingers massage slow circles into the bones of your jaw and chin, his own sigh a waterfall down your open throat. When he pulls away, you suddenly feel disdainful of the tie that covers your eyes, wanting to take your time admiring him, the flush at his cheeks that you feel beneath your fingertips, the glimmer of hunger in his eyes.

The third time he returns to your lips after a full inhale of the mist, he comes to you and lets his tongue press languidly against yours amongst the smoke. You hadn’t expected the intrusion, moaning in utter satisfaction at the fulfillment of your desires. Idly, he strokes his tongue over yours as he kisses you, exploring the parts he had coated with sugar and peach. With each motion, your inner walls clench around nothing, folds slick with and sticky against the bed as your parted legs do their best to hold him in place. You’ve become utterly overcome with the intimacy of sharing breath, and sharing yourself, your heart racing to shatter the hard bone of your sternum.

Desperately, your cunt aches for this kind of attention, for the invasion of something solid and thick, stroking at the places that live deep inside of you. Focusing on the emptiness of your core, you moan dejectedly, walking your hands into his hair where you fist handfuls of the strands to deepen the kiss. This, he only allows for a moment, relinquishing his tongue only to bite at your lip before sucking eagerly at it. And all too quickly, he pulls away and guides your chin upward to carefully tilt your head.

‘Drink,’ he commands, pressing the cool glass to your swollen bottom lip.

With your eyes closed, it’s difficult to drink and anticipate the flood of liquid, but Hoseok maintains complete control, sustaining a slow flow of the cocktail into your waiting mouth. On impact with your tongue, colours blossom behind your eyes - rich crimson of cinnamon, pale yellow, purple for the floral of lavender, and clear white for the sharp bite of vodka that lingers after the sweetness fades. 

Hoseok has bottled a dessert, a warm summer that bleeds into the first chill of autumn. In a single glass, he has contained an aroma of life itself, a richness full of crisp dreams that refuse to fade over time, zeal and ardor, passion in a glass that overwhelms the difference between life and living. He said this was you, your taste, and you choke slightly on the drink as emotion wells in your chest, the action causing some of the cocktail to spill out from the corners of your lips, down your jaw as it drips onto your chest and breasts. 

Immediately, he pulls the glass away, and you catch your breath only for it to be swiftly taken away. Placing open mouthed kisses across your chest, he laps up the stray remnants of the cocktail, using the tip of his tongue to lave your skin clean. Your hands tremble where they hold his head, breath coming short and heavy in your lungs as he moves down, and down to the top of your breasts. He wastes no time in biting delicately at the supple flesh, leaving a mark against your body for only you both to see. 

Releasing his hand from your chin, his touch vanishes for just a moment before he swipes two fingers over your nipple, digits drenched with the cocktail. Swirling them over the sensitive, hardened bud, your body reacts instantly, invigorated by the sudden overwhelm of contact. Bucking your hips against the bed, you urge him for more, wanting his mouth where his fingers rest. Sensing your impatience, he drags his tongue down to the swollen bud and flicks it with the tip before rolling it between his teeth.

‘Lay back for me,’ he commands, pulling away from your breast, and this time you smirk. His voice is a rasp of taught strain, the edges of his control beginning to fray. ‘Lay back and spread yourself.’

Without any hesitation, you obey, releasing your grip on his hair to press your palms into the mattress, pushing yourself back and back until the thick cushion of the pillows presses into the base of your spine. Spreading your legs wide, wider than you could before and wide enough you are confident he can see the way your slit glistens with slick, you rest your head against the headboard and lower two fingers to your core. Knitting your brow, the contact with your neglected folds as you gasping in relief, the pads of your fingers gathering all the juices that have gathered, smeared over your thighs, and still leaking from your center. Quickly, they become coated, this likely the wettest you've ever been simply from his endless teasing. Taking two fingers, you rub them over your slit before parting your folds, forming your fingers into a wide ‘V.’ Clenching your inner walls, more juices drip from your core, down your ass and into the sheets, forming a new stain for you both to admire. 

As you expected, the sight of your spread cunt has Hoseok growling, and you feel the mattress dip beneath his weight as he joins you on the bed. Somehow, you sense that he crawls to you, a hunter on the prowl, and you imagine how he looks now based on the all the times you have seen him like this before.

With your insides still warmed from the cocktail, your skin begins to flare with heat, demanding the feel of his hands against your for fear of your bones coming undone. You can feel him between your thighs, the ripples of magnetic waves of his closeness sauntering through your muscles. So too does his breath tickle the supple sinew at the inside of your thighs, a cascade that seems to travel along your nerves and directly into your opened core. The texture of your fingers at the swollen flesh of your cunt is a tantalizing sensation, though it does not provide the relief you seek. 

This stretch is a display of your wanting, but it is not nearly enough to satisfy the ache that lurks in your belly, your core, all the way to the barrier of your cervix. Any other night, and you would demand he fill you completely, but even now you are uncertain you could gather enough strength to be so demanding. 

Impishly, Hoseok takes hold of your knee and bites at the inside of your thigh, so close to where you want him most, yet far enough you cry out in shock and frustration. Hands fisting in the sheets at the sensation of his teeth grazing over your skin, a feeling that travels all over your body, as though his teeth are everywhere all at once, your back arches off the bed, presenting your breasts to the open air. His name builds at the back of your throat, the only word you think you could manage, a short set of syllables full to the brim with your primal yearning. 

As if sensing your will to speak, always so aware and in tune with your needs and the responses he pulls from your body, Hoseok smiles against your skin, kissing and kissing.  

‘It’s okay.’ Your muscles clench, feeling his voice trickle into the marrow of your bones. He kisses his words into the apex of your thigh before running his nose up to your center, where he rests the tip at your parted folds. ‘Say my name.’

‘Hoseok,’ you exclaim, pressing your spine into the bed to shift your parted lips closer to his mouth. 

‘Fuck,’ he curses, releasing your thigh and pulling away. He shifts on the bed, reaching for something he unscrews not far from the bed. ‘My name sounds best coming from you.’

Rubbing his hands together, he returns to his position between your thighs, the blindfold preventing you from watching him. This is your favorite sight: him, between your legs, a hungry beast who regards you with his heart first. He looks good between your legs, even better with his lips covered in your juices, and so you wiggle your hips impatiently, running your fingers over your slit before pressing them inside, taunting him. 

‘I told you to be a good girl,’ he threatens darkly, pushing your hand away with his wrist. Settling between your legs, Hoseok finally holds your hips, fingers coated with an oil that sends a shiver down your spine. Through the aroma of peach and cinnamon, mint begins to blossom, clearing the air and sending tingles of excitement over your nerves, a winter on the brink of your bedroom’s autumn. 

‘Peppermint oil,’ he explains, rubbing his fingers into your muscles in a slow massage. Yet, there is no relaxation to be found. Lowering himself to your folds, he places a wet, open mouthed kiss at your slit, letting the tip of his tongue press at the seam of your drenched core before retreating. Crying out, you roll your hips forward, bucking up to seek his tongue once more. ‘I want you to tremble in it, the warmth and the chill. Do you know how often you unmake me? I want you to feel it.’

Again, he lowers his lips to your folds, stroking his tongue through your slit and against the sensitive walls of your core. A strangled cry rumbles through your throat, a moan of ecstasy at something thick and solid penetrating your core. Unfurling your hand from the sheets, you reach down and rest your hand at his head, intending to hold him there so you can rock your hips against his mouth, but he retreats immediately, clicking his tongue in derision. 

‘Are you trying to take control, baby?’ he sneers, his hold on your hips tightening as he rubs the oil deeply into your skin. ‘I know how much you hate to give it up, but tonight your job is to receive.’ You feel his eyes wander over your wanton form, studying the voluptuous curve of your breast, the part of your lips, the perspiration that has gathered at your neck and beneath your breasts. ‘You can touch me,’ he amends softly, ‘but no pressure. Just touch. I’m the one who dictates how hard and how fast tonight.’ 

With that, he returns his tongue to your slit, curling it inward to collect the juices that have gathered at your core. Returning your hand to his head, you card your fingers through his hair as your cry of ecstasy fills the room. Unable to keep yourself still, you roll your hips forward, into the stroke of his tongue to urge him deeper, and he growls, the vibration of his voice careening through your joints. 

‘Oh, fuck, Hoseok,’ you whimper. 

He sets a steady rhythm with his tongue, plunging your folds with a vigor that feels almost brutal. Having no real contact to your cunt for so long, wanting him for so long, and no longer being able to see him, you cannot remember the last time the feel of his tongue inside you was such an intense sensation. Warm and wet, the muscle explores your core, your walls clenching around it as a new wave of juices leaks from your cunt into his waiting mouth. It soaks the flesh of your ass, his lips, the bed. Over and over, he pushes his tongue into your cunt with unfettered ardor, thrusting ever deeper with piercing intensity, doing his best to collect every drop while simultaneously stroking every nerve that comprises your walls.

Tension builds in your muscles, thighs taught with the magnitude of your arousal as you drag one foot over his ribs, over the smooth muscles of his back. In silent praise, Hoseok removes a hand from your hip and walks it up your side to cup your breast. The oil at his fingers chills the swollen nub of your nipple, and you clench once more against his tongue, quivering with fervor. Between the knuckles of two fingers, he clinches your nipple, the slight pain of oversensitivity combatting the unbridled pleasure at your core so harshly you moan out his name, feeling tears beginning to prick at the corner of your eyes. 

Pulling his tongue from your folds, he moves it to your clit and begins the same attention, flicking it with his tongue. Shuddering, you fist one hand in your hair as your other clings to his for some semblance of sanity. But your Hoseok is always relentless in the way he delivers pleasure, in the way he chooses to pleasure you, and the remaining hand at your thigh drifts away for just one moment. The pressure does not leave the bed, and so you know he has not gone far, but against the blindfold your eyes widen into darkness at the sudden click of a vibrator.

Brows raising to your hairline, your breath catches. ‘Ho-Hoseok?’

Wordlessly, he simply rolls his tongue over your clit in time with the way his knuckles massage at your nipple. You hear the sound of the vibrator inching closer until, all at once, it is pressed to the barrier of your slit as he sucks harshly on your clit, nipping at it gently. The tremors from the toy ripple up into your thighs, juices spilling out from your slit as your arousal courses through the totality of your existence. You suppose you have always been in this state, have always been trapped in such a volatile state of craving, your spine pressing into the mattress to ground yourself to reality. 

Without any warning at all, Hoseok sucks deftly at your clit once again as he presses the head of the vibrator through your slit. Your walls part around the toy, its vibrations cascading even into your bones, and you clench around it, hoping to lure it deep inside of you. Biting your tongue, you keep yourself silent, wanting to say more than his name, more than just a few curses. Pleas for him to fuck you ruthlessly live and smolder to ash against your teeth, an impenetrable barrier of obedience you are unwilling to break. 

Palming your breast with the whole of his hand, he massages the oil into your skin, another shiver of frost against the bruising summer of your flesh that has you groaning. As you grind down against the toy, he proceeds to trace figure eights with the tip of his tongue against the hardened bud of your clit, thrusting the toy all the way into your cunt. The thick girth of the toy and the vibrations now filling the whole of your core have you releasing a scream of surprise, back arching off the bed once more as though preparing to sprout wings. 

Hoseok fucks the vibrator into your relentlessly, almost ruthless in the pace he maintains in time with the motions of his tongue and the hand at your breast. Your orgasm builds just as mercilessly, a tightening coil at the base of your spine that turns your muscles to steel. Juices spill over from your foils, the damp patch of sheets beneath your waist soaked, and you’re certain he must be soaked as well, the mental image of it inspiring a choked gasp within your lungs. 

He knows you like it this way, intense, unforgiving, each thrust bordering on painful to ensure that you will feel the ache deep within for days. Long after he is gone, you want to resonate with him, haunted by the ghost of his seductive prowess, unable to liberate yourself from his clutches. With each inward thrust of the vibrator, your walls clench, hoping to hold it in place as the whisper of your orgasm builds within your muscles. The heat is almost oppressive, your breath a heavy fire in your lungs, tongue slick with the embers of each howl of pleasure you have worked to contain. 

The vibrator is not set to a very high level, this toy one of your shared favorites. You have grown familiar with the sound and the shape and the feeling, but somehow no longer seeing the toy or seeing Hoseok as he uses it has every aspect of it feeling new, foreign, the level of this toy infinitely stronger than any other you might own. And, paired with Hoseok’s skilled mouth, you doubt anything could ever compare again.

The curl of your fingers into his hair is a give away, the muscles of your arm sore with the effort of not pressing him harder, deeper against you, and your hand quakes with the effort of remaining the pretense of passivity. Instead, you direct this motion into the roll of your hips, meeting the toy thrust for thrust as you rock against his open mouth, fucking both the toy and his tongue as he suck s your clit. Sensing your impending orgasm, Hoseok growls, the rumble joining the vibrator within your walls. 

‘Oh,’ you cry, soft enough you think it might be missed over the sound of his wet sucking and the thrum of the toy. But still this exclamation is a betrayal, and you are swiftly proven incorrect.

Releasing his lips from your clit, he rests his head against your bent thigh and breathes heavily. ‘Are you looking to cum?’

Unable to speak, you nod furiously against the pillow, the swell of your impending climax lurking just at the edge of your perception. Yet, he is dissatisfied with your silence, and abruptly turns the vibrator up to another level. The sudden increase in intensity sends a quake through your thighs, your hand releasing his hair as you slap the bed, groaning in response.

‘Talk to me,’ he urges, gentle yet still maintaining his tone of authority. ‘Use that pretty mouth of yours.’ 

‘Please, let me cum,’ you cry, caught in a battle of holding yourself back, panting into the open air and unashamed of how depraved you might look. ‘I need to cum.’

‘You know this is all for you, baby.’ Moving off your thigh, you feel his breath return to the wetness of your core, each exhale from his nose cooling the drenched spit and slick at your clit and slit. ‘Make sure to leave some for me though.’

Offering a rough flick of his tongue to your clit, he sucks at the bud and thrusts the vibrator into your cunt, turning up the notch one more time. The blunt head of the toy brushes against your spot, pulling a choked moan from your chest in surprise. Eyes wide, yet empty, you peer at the expanse of black in a daze, mouth opened in a silent scream. Your orgasm comes swiftly, violently, shattering all resolve you had managed to maintain. Rivulets of your juices spill from your cunt, and Hoseok’s lips suck diligently at your clit, occasionally letting his tongue drift downward to join the toy at collecting the traces of your cum. 

In the aftermath, you convulse into the bed, and Hoseok pulls the toy from your core. Crawling up the bed, lays his body over you and finally you can feel that he, too, has been naked this whole time. Skin against skin, he holds you against him, rubbing his hands over your ribs as you quake with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Limbs feeling boneless, heavy, you wrap your arms around his back and cling to him, tears drying against your cheeks. 

The head of his cock lingers at your entrance, threatening to breath through your sensitive folds. Burying his face in your neck, he breathes against you, tossing the toy to the other side of the bed.

‘I need you inside me,’ you announce, driven to a brink of insanity in the throes of your climax. Forgetting the rule to remain silent, you toss it aside, damning it, needing the girth of his cock bearing down at your cervix. 

‘Did I ask you to speak?’ he rasps into the tendons of your neck, where he bites.

‘No,’ you manage, ‘but I’m going to.’

Removing a hand from your side, he burrows his hand between your bodies and slaps at your clit. The sudden pain against your swollen, sensitive nub has you calling out his name. The sensation of your tenderness wanders all the way up into your throat, your lungs reverberating with the harshness of his slap.

‘You want me to fuck you?’ His words come with an impish smile, followed swiftly by a bite to your pulse that has your hips bucking up against his cock. 

The head of his cock protrudes deeper through your folds, but he pulls back and once more slaps your clit, a tap to the nub that has you groaning. 

‘Please,’ you whimper. ‘I can tell you want it, too.’

Gliding your hands down the expanse of his back, you palm the cheeks of his ass with your full fist, guiding him closer in the hopes of pressing him inside. Hoseok releases an expletive against the beat of your pulse, the flow of your blood rushing to his lips, hoping to be kissed. The feel of his teeth grazing over the thunder of your pulse has your legs widening to ease him deeper, muscles straining at their limit. Kissing down your neck to your breast, he sucks the erect nipple of your opposite breast into his mouth as the engorged head of his cock sinks deeper into your core.

‘Just fuck me already.’

Pushing down on his ass, you force him all the way into your cunt, pressing his head right against your cervix. His concentration snaps, his eyelashes grazing your skin as he squeezes them shut, shuddering against your hips and thighs. Feeling victorious, you smirk into the darkness, clenching your walls around his cock. Moaning your name, he rolls his hips forward in warning. Hoseok’s moan is an avalanche against your skin, an earthquake of violence that rumbles into your lungs. 

‘Don’t do that,’ he threatens. ‘I won’t last.’

Taking back control, you clench your walls again and meet the roll of his hips with yours, taking him deeper. ‘That’s the point.’ 

Bunching the sheets in his fist, Hoseok sets a punishing rhythm, thrusting abruptly against your cervix and ensuring your walls feel the veiny texture of him drag against the sensitive nerves. Unable to speak, you simply breathe together, sharing breath and sharing life, hoping that the smell of him remains on your skin for all eternity. Every thrust has your thighs shaking, the heavy sack of his balls slapping against your ass. The sound of it joins the moans you release with every press of his cock into your spot, your voice loud and unashamed. You don’t care who hears you, don’t care who you wake, you ensure the celebration of your voice rolls off his skin and into his heart with each gasp of his name. 

Hoseok moans in harmony with you, garbled and broken, as the vice grip of your walls clench his heavy cock. Pleasure ripples within and through you, spreading all the way from your core to the crown of your head, all your senses heightened. No trace of light penetrates the blindfold, and so your mind wanders to every fibre and sense of your body, aware of every texture of his cock, every press of his fingers into your skin, every burn of oxygen in the vessels of your blood. 

The wet sounds of your fucking only serve to reinvigorate the traces of your orgasm. It becomes impossible to focus on anything other than this - the rough pound of his hips against yours and the stretch of your walls around his heavy girth. The brutal pace of his hips sends the bed frame into the wall with each inward thrust, and you relish the pain that comes with his unrelenting force. 

‘Fuck, Hoseok,’ you cry out, digging your nails into strong flesh of his ass. You press crescent moons into the supple skin, leaving your mark against the sun. 

The perspiration that gathered at your hairline grows into beads of sweat, the exertion of meeting his pace causing your body to melt beneath his warmth. Hoseok pants his gasps into your skin, an added wetness as his saliva trickles from his open mouth and down your neck and chest. The liminal space of this fucking nearly unravels you, so used to the feel of his cock buried inside you while certain you have never experienced the totality of it quite this way. In the darkness, there is only this lust, only this passion, and the very weight of it consumes you from the inside, building your orgasm to new heights. 

Hoseok fucks you open, ensuring that no one will ever have you again - as if you would ever let them. Each brush of his cockhead against your cervix is a declaration of possession, a promise of an eternity with his marks against your skin and bones, and behind the blindfold you see your whole life stretch out before him from this moment up until the very last, when your atoms are scattered in their search for his. Reality beyond the border of your body dissolves, your universe beginning and ending where his hips meet yours, and the immensity of the love and lust you harbor for him nestles your impending climax directly at the center of your core. 

Thighs shaking, you clench around him again in warning. But as deeply as you know Hoseok, know the nuance and details of his very existence, he knows you too. Releasing his hand from the sheets, he scratches at your ribs before moving it between your joined bodies, using the blunt edge of his knuckle to massage your clit once more. Still raw and tender from your first orgasm, the contact sends a jolt of pain through your nerves, a yelp of shock bleeding into a cry. Your grip tightens on his ass, and your thighs close tightly around his sides, latching him in place. 

‘Let go of control,’ he says, pulling away from your neck to kiss at your lips with every word he speaks. ‘You’re close, I can feel it in the way you’re shaking.’ 

Certain that your reality is crumbling, your hands move from his ass to the middle of his back, clutching him as your whines increase in pitch and frequency. You feel yourself become dizzy, the scent of him, the scent of peach, the scent of mint, the scent of vodka all over your skin and all over him has your mind fogged with little other than the intense stimulation he provides. 

‘I’m gonna cum,’ you whisper, surprised by the sound of your own voice.

Your orgasm threatens to unmake your very existence, a silent revolution inside the marrow of your bones, and you fight it back just long enough to obey any of his possible commands. But still, it keeps you burning at the edge, a flame only the stroke of his cock against your cervix could coax into an inferno.

Pressing his knuckle deep into your clit, Hoseok urges you to cum without words, without encouragement or instigation from his authoritative tone, easing his tongue into your mouth. Stroking at the muscle, he swallows the scream of your orgasm as your release undoes your sense of reality. The world behind the blindfold erupts, a kaleidoscope of colour brought to life by the swirl of his hand against your clit and the piercing thrust he delivers to the barrier of your cervix, demanding entry to your womb. You want him there, want him inside you always, and you clench around him tightly as your orgasm overtakes your muscles. Your body is an earthquake caged in his arms. 

You, a perfume and a drink, a war and a victory, an earthquake and a hurricane, every season belonging to him alone. 

As you come down from your high, Hoseok only increases the pace of his thrusts, somehow gaining strength at the feel of your juices dripping around his cock. The stimulation stings, and he pulls his tongue from your mouth to let you both catch your breath, your whimpers of pain an echo of the intensity of his cock stretching your walls. The bulbous head of his cock is unforgiving, picking up speed as he breathes against your cheeks. Still, you can feel his own limbs begin to shake, and you attempt to soothe his tremors with tender massages of your fingers into the wings of his shoulders. 

Grunting with exertion, Hoseok becomes speechless as he chases his high, and the tingling pain that once lived at your core soon gives way to another orgasm within your belly. How starved have you been for him? How long have you wanted him? It does not matter, you think, the removal of distractions and the urge to focus only on him has your body pouring its lust into the feel of his cock at the entrance of your womb. Whining, you cling to him once more, joints taught in preparation for another, sudden orgasm. 

The feel of your walls gripping him so tightly causes his hips to stutter, and the incoordination of his impending climax overtakes the power of his movements. With your own orgasm readying in the base of your spine once more, you hold onto him tightly and roll up into his hips yet again, matching him thrust for thrust. 

Only three strokes more and you both come undone, the searing heat of Hoseoks’s cum filling your core as his body shudders in your arms.

‘Fuck, shit,’ he moans, burying his face into your neck as he thrusts each spurt of cum into your cunt. 

Wetness greets your cheeks, the tears from your eyes flowing freely, a surprise and a shock without any vision for them to blur. Together, you breathe in unison, riding the aftershocks of your orgasms until the walls of your cunt burn with the force of your clenching. He collapses against you, breathing heavily as your hand comes to stroke absentmindedly at his core. Every now and then, your walls clench, his cock presses deeper, his cum dripping from your walls to greet the mess you've made of the sheets. 

Time presses on, the world continues to turn, but behind your blindfold the universe is on pause, suspended in only this moment in which you are holding him, he is inside you - softening, but still yours - and there are no gaps between your bones for air to move between. Idly, you suppose this is the paradise many so often speak - an empty mind, a comfort in your limbs that comes only with immense peace, a contentment to your heart that says you are both seen and safe, with no difference to be found between the two.

Eventually, Hoseok removes his hand from your core, easing it up to the blindfold. You smell the traces of your juices on his fingers, and you part your lips, readying to taste yourself as he so often commands you to do. But he bypasses your mouth for the bone of your cheek, where he toys with the edge of the fold. Easing it away from your eyes, he pushes it back to the crown of your head, and you blink rapidly, readjusting to the world. Immediately, you lower your gaze to his face where he rests at your side. 

In unison, you smile at one another, everything looking precisely the same, yet wholly, irrevocably, different. 

‘Hello,’ he whispers, the intimacy of his quiet greeting causing your chest to swell.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you trace his brow with your thumb, smiling deliriously. ‘I missed you.’ 

This time, there is a difference to this missing, and he chuckles quietly at your joke. You luxuriate in the act of admiring him, taking in the depth of his features. Redness lives beneath his cheeks, a glistening sheen to his skin of perspiration; his hair has been mussed several times over by the fore of your hand and never, not once in the time you have known him, has he ever been so beautiful. Glancing down further, you regard his arm where it drapes over your waist, the tattoo that bleeds up his muscles and over into his back. 

All night you have pressed your fingers into the bird of paradise painted on his skin, but it was not what you saw or envisioned at all. It crosses your mind that perhaps what you envisioned was his spirit, the very essence of his soul - scatterings colours and energy that are both formless and yours.

Almost too soon, he looks away from you, turning to face to the right at the end table. With your vision obscured by the crown of his head, you cannot see what exactly he reaches for, and so you continue to admire the mess of his hair with a small chuckle. He takes his time gathering the item, grasping it tightly in his hand before turning to face you. Slowly, he eases his softening cock from your core, repositioning himself on the bed to linger at your side, legs sprawled carelessly over yours.

‘I don’t have a speech planned,’ he begins, suddenly sounding terribly disappointed. 

Furrowing your brow in worry, you regard him with confusion, cocking your head to the side patiently.

Hoseok raises his eyes to yours, his irises glassy with emotion. ‘We’re not the type, are we?’

Still uncertain what he means, you shrug in reassurance. ‘We’re not the type for a lot of things,’ you suggest, and he nods, seeming distant.

Moving his hand into your view, he reveals a small black box. Breath halting in your lungs, you regard it for a long moment, suddenly aware all over again of the weight that encapsulates the room. Using his thumb, he flicks it open, revealing a rich sapphire ring, dotted on either side with sparkling diamonds. 

‘Will you marry me?’ he asks, looking at you with an intensity you’re certain could rival the sun. 

He must expect you to be shocked, must expect you to have to gather your words, because your immediate, resounding yes, has him blinking wildly, in the same rapid fashion as when you were finally allowed to see again.

‘Yes,’ you repeat, sliding back against the bed to sit up. ‘Yes, yes.’ 

You don’t really think there’s anything else to say, not really. If the universe of your love could be contained in three simple letters, you would give them to him over and over again, until only they comprised your language, your alphabet. 

Wasting no time, he pulls the ring from the box and slides it over your finger, taking his time to let his fingers stroke over your skin. 

‘Mine,’ he mumbles to himself.

The word takes you all the back to the first time you slept with him, to a day when you had been burning with torment, wet from the rain and wet with a passion for a world you wanted to claim. That day, he asked you to be his, and you said yes, an echo of this moment in which you somehow knew it was the only choice to make. Your past self and yourself in this moment are one and the same, time becoming a construct that is meaningless when it comes to him.

‘I told you the first time I was,’ you tease.

‘I know,’ he says, leaning up to kiss deftly your jaw. ‘I just wanted to join you in the war.’

[pies-writes-and-more]

Hey I have a request!! Can you write a scenario with Bokuto, Tsukishima, and Sugawara where reader has a LOT of moles/beauty marks? I have 5 on my face alone, 3 in a line on my neck and more. It makes me insecure because it looks weird. Anyways, thank you sooo much! I absolutely love your writing!!!

Warnings: potential swearing as usual, insecurities about beauty marks/moles

Characters: Bokuto Kōtarō, Sugawara Kōshi, Tsukishima Kei, all with a Gender Neutral Reader (let me know if you find something gendered so I can fix it!)

A/N: thank you for the request darling! Sorry for the long wait!! Hope this is what you had in mind :) Also, all of them are right: you are beautiful!

Haikyū Masterlist

You didn’t understand why Bokuto seemed to only ever kiss your face exactly where you didn’t want him to.

You could stand in the mirror and point out things you didn’t like about yourself but your beauty marks were something you were self conscious about. You used to cover them up with light makeup every now and then but lately you hadn’t had the time or patience for it, so you just avoided looking at them.

But Bokuto, even after months of being together, seemed to somehow feel the opposite. He would press a kiss exactly on the moles on your face and when you were in private, he’d kiss the ones falling down your neck. He seemed so infatuated with them and you could never understand why.

One day he caught you trying to apply makeup again, finally sitting down and trying this new method that could cover up anything according to a makeup artist you’d seen on social media. His eyes wide and you could’ve sworn his hair drooped, “What’re you doing???” He screeched, immediately snatching your makeup from you.

“Bokuto!” You whined, huffing as you paused the YouTube video playing in front of you to pout up at him, “Give it back!”

He shook his head like a four year old, stomping his feet slightly, “Why’re you covering them?” He asked you, hands on his hips now.

There was no point avoiding the topic now. You sighed and glanced at yourself in the mirror, half of them covered and the other half just staring you in the face. “They’re ugly,” you whispered quietly, avoiding his eyes.

“Ugly?” Bokuto scoffed and sat down next to you, hugging his knees to his chest and setting your makeup down. “How could they be ugly?”

You had heard this before. All of your friends and family always went, “No Y/N, you’re perfect!” But it was always so fake. You knew they were just saying it to be nice.

But Bokuto just paused, watching you for a moment and handing you back your makeup. You blinked up at him in surprise, noting his small smile. “If it makes you feel better, go ahead. I want my love to always feel their best. But...” he let out a nervous sort of chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really like them,” he admitted sheepishly.

You knew he was being honest just because of the rosiness that was touching his cheeks. He squirmed in his spot, now avoiding your gaze. “Why?” You asked after a moment.

Bokuto straightened his posture for a moment before carefully choosing his words, “Someone once told me they were places your partner kissed you the most in your past lives. And...” he hesitated, cheeks glowing red now. “And I’d like to think I was with you in every one of our past lives so I want to keep kissing you there so you’ll love me in our next life too!” He blurted out quickly, rocking a little in his seated position.

You just stared at him. Sure you had heard of that little theory too, but you hadn’t ever had someone seriously retell it to you. But hearing it from him... you looked at yourself in your mirror again. It didn’t change how you felt about them. You still weren’t a huge fan. But hearing Bokuto genuinely love them... at least it lessened your insecurity about him hating them.

“I think you’re beautiful, Y/N,” Bokuto continued after a second, smiling at you and scooting closer to you. “If you need this makeup to help you see how beautiful you are, then go ahead! But I think you’re the most perfect human being out there!”

Your eyes teared up slightly, just hearing how sure he was. He smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before immediately looking through your makeup bag, “Can I try?” He asked excitedly, holding up a mascara tube and lipstick.

“You want to try wearing it or putting it on me?” You laughed, your face no longer feeling hot with embarrassment and shame.

“Both!” Bokuto grinned, begging you to teach him what each product was. He always knew just how to cheer you up, no matter what.

He knew you still disliked your marks, but Bokuto would continue to kiss them every chance he got unless you ever asked him to stop. He still wanted to recognize you in his next life, so even if those weren’t the marks you’d have, maybe he could give you some others you’d like more.

Sugawara’s fingers always traced over the beauty marks on your face, beaming when he pointed out that you two were twins for having moles together. He always had a smile on when he talked about it, always spoke about it so proudly like it was a mark of status or beauty.

But unlike Sugawara, you weren’t all that proud of it and you didn’t just have one. You often just gave him a smile and switched the topic, and though you always loved the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin, sometimes you’d pull away to do something or distract him with something else if you felt like he was touching your marks too much.

He hadn’t realized it before, but came to the realization that maybe you didn’t like your marks when he caught you editing a picture of the two of you, your fingers magically causing those little spots to just disappear.

“What’re you doing?” Sugawara frowned, hugging you from behind and peering from over your shoulder.

“Just editing that pic of us before I post it!” You told him happily - it was such a nice photo and with a few simple touches, it would be perfect.

Sugawara watched you for a little longer, confirming his suspicions before knocking you on the head with the side of his hand.

“Hey! Suga, what the hell?” You groaned, rubbing the top of your head slightly. “What was that for?”

“Stop erasing my baby!” He shouted at you loudly, making you laugh nervously at just how loud he was being.

“I’m not erasing your baby!” You insisted, shaking your hands in front of you. “Just... my marks.”

Sugawara’s frowned stayed on his face as firm as ever, “They’re a part of you. And I love all of you. I love every single inch of your skin, whether you have a mark or not. I love you because you’re not like a cookie cutter version of a person, you stand out in the most beautiful of ways. I want you to be different, I want you to draw all the attention so I can say that one is mine.”

You smiled a little at his words, hearing the conviction in his voice. But your eyes glanced sadly at the photo, just wishing you didn’t have them.

“Hey,” he spoke softer this time, touching your chin up to look at him, “If you really don’t like them, fine. We all have our insecurities after all. But please don’t tell yourself you’re less beautiful because of them.” His hand slipped your phone from your own, peering at your editing work. “You looked like a completely different person,” he admitted with a sort of sad smile. “Still beautiful. But different. I like the version I have here with me.”

Sugawara’s arms were suddenly wrapped around you in a rib-crushing hug, his voice telling you firmly all the things he loved about you and how much he wanted to scream to the world every single thing that made him crazy about you. Eventually you were practically unable to breathe in his arms as they just got tighter and tighter and the two of you fell on the floor laughing after wrestling for a bit.

The photo is eventually posted unedited like he wanted, and now when you look at it, you feel just a little bit more loved, regardless of your marks.

Tsukishima knew even before you two were going out that you were self conscious of your marks. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with them, to be honest, they made your face that much more attractive, but you hated them so he always pretended like they weren’t there for your sake.

But he had caught you picking at one of them, as if absentmindedly thinking you could tear it off and everything would be okay.

His eyes narrowed as he realized what you were doing, reaching over to swat at your hands, and glaring at you from across the library table where two of you were supposed to be studying.

“If you start bleeding, I’m not taking care of you,” he scolded you, though you knew for a fact that he had started keeping bandaids in his bags for you cause sometimes you were that clumsy.

“Sorry,” you responded sheepishly, folding your hands in front of you in an attempt to stop picking at them. Your eyes focused on the sheet of paper in front of you, but you weren’t able to actually pay attention to anything on it. It was like an itch you couldn’t get rid of, an obnoxious little bump in your otherwise relatively smooth skin. Why did it have to be there?

Tsukishima watched as your eyes stayed still on your homework, obviously not actually reading anything. He sighed and reached over again, poking at your nose, “If you think I’m going to let you destroy your grades and your perfect body, I’ll hit you harder than I have before,” he threatened. He meant to say it gentler, in a somewhat more supportive and comforting way but his words were still as harsh as ever.

You gave him another shy smile, trying not to show just how uncomfortable you were, “They just get annoying sometimes,” you told him after a moment when he didn’t immediately go back to his work. “I feel like if I could tear them all off... maybe I’d look better.”

Tsukishima’s nose scrunched up slightly in annoyance, tilting his head up so his eyes were glaring down at you, “Do you think I’m going to let anyone talk about my partner like that? Idiot, if I heard those words from anyone else I would have your head by now."

You laughed a little, thinking about how Tsukishima got upset if anyone even said something remotely mean about you (”The only one allowed to bully you is me, Y/N, forget anyone else’s opinions. They’re all beneath you anyways”), “I just feel so... spotted with them. I feel like everyone always looks at them and there’s so many of them I can’t even hide them all.”

Tsukishima listened, he really did. He didn’t wave you off like usual and tell you to forget your insecurities because you were definitely the most perfect person out there so you had nothing to be insecure about. He listened and then just sighed, leaning back in his seat slightly and watching you.

“I think you’re magnificent,” he stated quietly, his eyes dashing away from yours as a blush brushed over his cheeks and nose. “I don’t want you picking at them because you’re just going to hurt yourself and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He paused for a second and then finally met your eyes. “Yamaguchi used to hate his freckles, but it’s probably the thing that I notice the most about him. They fit him so well in a way that I can’t describe. He wouldn’t be the same without them, he’d just be... someone else. Without your marks, you’d be someone completely different. I’m in love with you and all of you.”

You watched him as Tsukishima actually told you his emotions and spilled his love for you, a smile gracing your lips eventually, “I love you too, Tsukishima,” you mumbled after he finished, playing with your fingers.

“You better. Now come over here and give me a kiss before we start studying again,” Tsukishima smirked a little and you just rolled your eyes. You were going to argue back that he could just lean over the table and kiss you but he refused so you ended up having to go over to him, where he just pulled you on your lap and placed a quick kiss on your lips then on all the marks on your face. “Now go study.”

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[angelicyoongie]

everything i brew, i brew it for you

⤷ 1.2k follower event request: Familiar!Seokjin x Witch!Reader + “I should’ve told you back then, but I didn’t want you to leave.” + Fluff/Angst ⤷ @softescapism​ said: seokjin x reader or OT7 x reader + prompt C8 + witch/familiar, fluff, sfw (hi! could you write a drabble/scenario/short fic for the follower event based on this, please? 💓) ⤷ word count: 2.1k ⤷ a/n: this is a little angsty in the beginning, but the ending is all fluff! i hope you like it!!

“There you are!” You grumble, snatching up a vial from the back of your cabinet. The little thing is covered with dust, the label yellowed with age and barely clinging on to the glass. But even then, there’s no mistaking the content. The shimmering pink powder inside makes you stomach flip uneasily, but you know it has to be done. You uncap the bottle before you can talk yourself out of it, carefully sprinkling the powder counter-clockwise into the boiling concoction in your pot. You can’t help but frown as it slowly turns from clear to bright pink, the stark colour mocking you as you throw in a pair of four leaf clovers with a little more force than necessary. The kitchen is quiet aside from the bubbling brew and the rhythmic tapping of your impatient fingers against the counter, your eyes resting nervously on the dark garden outside your window. You promised Seokjin years ago that you would never make this particular potion again, but you’ve run out of options.

You love being a potions witch, but truth be told, it’s probably the worst financial decision you could have made. All witches have to choose their niche the day they turn eighteen, and you, driven by the long list of potions witches in your ancestry, wanted to follow in their footsteps. What you didn’t account for however, is just how drastically the times have changed. Larger covens have started selling their potions online, making them in big batches to cut down on the cost and shipping them all across the country. There’s no longer a need for a town to have their own potions witch, not when you can get them delivered to your doorstep for a cheaper price. The mass produced potions are definitely not as potent as a singularly brewed ones, but it seems people care more about price than efficiency these days. Well, at least most people don’t care. And considering business has been dwindling so alarmingly fast over the last four months that you’re barely scraping by, there’s not a chance that you can lower your prices anymore than you already have.

You shake your head, trying your best to ignore the tendrils of guilt wrapping around your chest. As long as your familiar doesn’t find out about this order, there will be nothing for him to worry about. That's why you’re hunkered over the stove in the first place; desperately hoping that it will be done in time before he comes home. Tonight is Seokjin’s monthly familiar night with Hoseok and Namjoon, and the only window of alone time you have to make something like this. You murmur a quick incantation under your breath as you give the potion one last stir, watching as the pink brew slowly darkens to red. The sickly sweet smell that whiffs up from the cauldron almost makes you gag, but at least it tells you that the potion is almost complete.

You take a step back, throwing another glance towards the window as you count down the seconds in your head. Five minutes. That’s all you need. It’ll be finished, and you can finally hand over the love potion to your customer tomorrow. Despite your reservations and Seokjin’s hatred for that particular brew, it’s actually not that bad. It can’t force someone to fall in love, but it does make them more .. loose-lipped around their crush if they happen to have one. If anything, it’s honestly more of a rebranded truth serum. It does make you want to confess your feelings, and that’s also where the dubious morality of the potion comes in. Even if the person is already in love with someone, it still forces the recipient to act on emotions that they might not be ready to, or even want to share with their crush. You’ve turned down requests for this potion numerous times in the past, but this time, you truly can’t afford to. Seokjin might be older, but he’s still your familiar. Your responsibility. It’s not his fault that he decided to create a bond with you – a witch who can hardly sell enough potions to keep food on the table. You have honestly no idea how you managed to end up with a familiar like him, one that’s so utterly selfless and helpful. Seokjin’s guidance and assistance feels a little wasted on you, and you can’t help but think that your familiar should’ve ended up with a different witch. One that would actually be able to repay him properly for everything he does. You let out a deep sigh. You’ll just have to do better. Maybe you can try to set up one of those witchgram accounts Taehyung is doing so well on, after all, the ritual witch’s sales has been increasing.

The brew suddenly releases a puff of red smoke, signaling its completion. You hastily grab an empty bottle, scooping up as much as possible as you fill the vial to the brim. ”Shit, not yet,” You can suddenly feel the familiar itch behind your right ear, a telltale sign that Seokjin will be home soon. You scramble to turn off the oven as you hear your familiar open the back door, just about managing to shove in a cork at the top of the bottle and hide it behind your back as Seokjin steps into the kitchen.

”Hey! How was your night out?” You lean awkwardly against the counter, bottle digging into your back as you press it flush against your body.

”It was good,” Your heart flutters as Seokjin comes closer, the handsome features never failing to make your heart skip a treacherous beat. ”How was your night?” Your familiar raises an eyebrow as he takes in your awkward posture, the lingering scent of magic in the air betraying what you’ve been up to while he was gone.

”Boring! You know, just very normal and .. boring,” You wince. You breath hitches as Seokjin stalks closer, the frown tugging on his lips causing another wave of guilt to crash through you. You brain shuts down as he cages you in against the counter, and you swear you only blink before you find yourself staring at a red vial in front of your face, your hand grasping around air.

”I see,” Seokjin huffs, ”It’s so very boring and normal to brew a potion we agreed we wouldn’t sell.” As Seokjin stares down at the bottle with disdain before he places it on the counter, you can’t help but shrink against the wood, wracking your brain to figure out a good excuse. You can’t explain why you did it without exposing Seokjin to yourfinancial issues, and you have no plans of doing it – but, then you catch your familiar’s gaze, his kind eyes filled with saddened disappointment as he says, ”Y/n, why would you do this behind my back?”

The reason bubbles up your throat before you can stop it, the words bitter on your tongue as you blurt out a panicked, ”I had to! Business isn’t going well and we need the money, I couldn’t turn the customer away.” You register the flash of shock in Seokjin’s eyes, the purple tint around his brown irises brightening before he gets it under control. Your familiar runs a hand through his hair, leaving the dark locks messy and disheveled as he let out a deep sigh.

”For how long has this been going on?” You slump against the counter, adverting your eyes down to the floor as you mumble, ”Four months. I should’ve told you back then, but I didn’t want you to leave. I thought I could fix it before it became too much of a problem .. I just didn’t want to make you regret choosing me.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, an exasperated huff of air leaving his lips as he places his fingers under your chin, tilting your head back up. ”Y/n, I would never regret choosing you as my witch,” Your familiar keeps his gaze locked with yours, his eyes urging you to understand the sincerity behind his words. "I just wish you had told me, we could have worked this out together much earlier.”

”I didn’t want you to worry,” You frown. "You already do so much by making deliveries and gathering ingredients, and I didn’t want to burden you more." You feel your breath hitch as Seokjin’s hand moves from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch gentle as he runs his thumb across your skin.

“That’s what I’m supposed to do as your familiar, Y/n. I’m here to help you and guide you, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me when something’s wrong.” You know that, you really do, but it’s still hard to accept sometimes – the fact that you can’t solve everything on your own.

“I’m sorry,” You pout.

”I know,” Seokjin nods, a faint smile on his lips as he moves his hands to your back, pulling you into a hug. ”Just talk to me next time, yeah?”

”I will, I promise,” Your voice is muffled by the thick material of his sweater, but you know your familiar hears you as his arms tighten around your waist in response.

”Good,” Seokjin’s voice is fond as his fingers draw small patterns against your back. You feel yourself relaxing into Seokjin’s hold, your body melting against his as he rests his head on top of yours. ”How are we going to fix it though? I’ve tried almost everything I can think of. There’s nothing that beats low prices and convenience,” You sigh.

”Of course there is,” You pull back at the affronted tone in Seokjin’s voice, your familiar looking down at you like you personally offended him. Seokjin releases you from his hold, his hands flying up to cup his face as he says, ”I can beat that. This–” He points wildly at his face, ”–is sure to bring business in again. No one can resist the opportunity to glance upon this handsome face.” You snort at the expectant expression on his face, rolling your eyes so hard it feels like they’re close to popping out. As much as you like teasing Seokjin for his confidence, he’s not wrong. There’s no one in this town that can come close to Seokjin’s handsomeness, and well, everyone knows it. That’s the biggest reason you have Seokjin running errands and making deliveries, because it means he won’t have to deal with being ogled by all the customers that stop by. For all the banter and smiles he would flash at your customers, you could tell it made your familiar uncomfortable. You could see the way he gently tried to pull away when touches lingered a little too long on his arms, his ears stained a permanent red the days he worked out in the shop.

”Making money isn’t worth it if means you’ll have to do something that makes you uncomfortable,” You shake your head, ignoring the flutter in your chest as you grasp Seokjin’s hands, pulling them away from his face.

”I’ll be fine,” Seokjin says. It’s your familiar’s turn to roll his eyes as he sees the doubtful look on your face. ”I mean it. Please trust me just this once? I’ll let you know the moment it gets too much.”

You hesitate, using the extra seconds to search his face for any uncertainty. ”Fine,” You grumble. You owe it to your familiar to at least extend the trust he has given you back to him.

”Don’t look so sad Y/n, you know you’re the only witch that gets unlimited access to my handsome face,” Seokjin grins.

”Shut up,” You groan, pushing lightly at his chest. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck as Seokjin looks down at you, and you find yourself thankful that familiars don’t have enhanced hearing, otherwise your heart would’ve surely given you away years ago. Something flickers in Seokjin’s eyes, and your familiar’s grin turns heart wrenchingly soft as he ducks his head down.

”I do mean it Y/n, you really are the only witch for me.” You freeze as Seokjin leans in, your blood rushing in your ears as you feel your familiar’s plush lips press against the corner of your mouth. As your brain finally catches up to what just happened, Seokjin has already pulled back. The spot he kissed is burning against your skin, and you barely manage to make sense of Seokjin’s warm gaze lingering on your lips before his eyes flicker behind your back, eyebrow quirking as he says, ”Now, what should we do about that potion?”  

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[ventisehe]

being in a relationship with bennett and razor / genshin impact

i main these boys and they make such a great team, i love them so much. i had a lot of fun writing this hehe. again, all characters are aged up, 21 or older unless stated otherwise. this includes chongyun and xingqiu.

requested by: pastelpeachyposts

includes: bennett, razor

warning: unedited, not proofread

You, Bennett, and Razor were an unusual trio, and many will attest to this statement. You differ in personalities and ambitions, even favoring completely contrasting delicacies, and yet there will never be a more lively and iconic dynamic than the three of you.

You and Bennett were the first one to meet when he rescued you from a group of vicious Electro Slimes. He was successful in his intent, but you had to escort him back to Mondstadt where he can be healed by the Deaconess.

You met Razor the next after you grew comfortable with your friendship with Bennett. The latter excitedly told you about another friend of his who resided in Wolvendom and was quite well acquainted with the wolves. Your first encounter with Razor was rather tense, and understandably so. He was wary of you, watching your every move as you strolled around Wolvendom with a gleeful Bennett who was oblivious to the atmosphere between the two of you. Most of his experience with humans are less than ideal but as Bennett unknowingly forced the two of you to spend time together, his walls slowly broke and he accepted you as one of his Lupicals.

As time passed and the three of you grow closer and closer together, a revelation descended upon you, and a startling one at that. You acquired feelings for both boys. It wasn't difficult for you to understand why you grew to like both of them. They were so easy to fall in love with. Bennett is an adventurous and motivated boy who, although had a streak of bad luck in him, has a positive spirit and is very generous and caring towards everyone. Razor is a strong yet gentle soul who is protective over those dear to him, and will always go out of his way to show his affection with his uncommon but innocent gifts.

Unbeknownst to you, the two share the same feelings for you. Bennett knew he liked you when you refused to leave after he saved you, even after he insisted this was a normal occurrence for him. Razor took a while to understand what was that hammering in his chest after you took the responsibility of caring for the wolf pups his Lupicals gave birth to.

It was an awkward situation for the three of you when Bennett and Razor decided to confess to you at the same. When the two of them professed their love for you and offered their gifts with bowed heads and tightly closed eyes, they slowly turned to look at each other with puzzlement, heads tilted and eyebrows furrowed. You, however, stood in front if them with redness coating your face and a thundering heartbeat.

"You like ( Your Name ) too, Razor?" Questioned Bennett, gaping at him.

Razor nodded once. "Like her, very."

Normally, when two people discover that the a close friend of theirs holds the same affection to their person of interest, a quarrel will ensue, and estrangement will follow. But Bennett and Razor were very unlike such an example and instead of compromising their close friendship, the two came to an agreement that whoever you should choose - if you indeed have feelings for one of them - they will remain friends and accept your decision.

Imagine the surprise on their faces when you leaned forward and gave each one of them a small peck on their nose, admitting shyly that you have feelings for both of them.

It took some time for the three of you to get used to your relationship. After all, none of you have ever been in a relationship before, not to mention there was the three of you in it. You carefully treaded through uncertainties and tribulations of inexperience, and it took a while but the you, Bennett, and Razor got the hang of how to make your relationship work.

Bennett is always the one dragging you and Razor to adventures. He will come knocking at your door with a wide grin, Razor lingering behind him and giving you a small smile and a shy wave.

"We're going to Windrise today! I heard some adventurers saying they spotted a weird looking Hilichurl with a briefcase! Wanna join us?" Asked Bennett excitedly, eyes shimmering.

Razor glanced at the other boy before returning his gaze at you with firmness. "I will protect you both. No worry."

You can't ever say no to them, especially when both of them look so happy and thrilled.

Razor is the protector of the relationship. With the dangerous enviroment he grew up in and the training he took under the supervision of a human, it was to be expected. He was always on the prowl, prepared to draw out his claymore and defend you and Bennett from any enemies with an evil intent.

You and Bennett are never worried of being attacked out of nowhere with Razor around you.

Razor takes his responsibility as your protector seriously. The rare times he and Bennett come over at your place, he will never allow himself to fall asleep and would sit by the window where he can oversee your residence. You and Bennett would have to drag him to your bed and convince him that you were in a safe enviroment to make him ease down and actually take a rest.

You three share the same bed, and it's always you in the middle. Bennett will cling on to your slumbering form and would snore from time to time, but when you stroke his hair or when Razor softly nudge his head against his, Bennett will quiet down for a while and continue snoring again after. Razor was quite a sight to see when sleeping. Being raised and cared for by wolves, it was to be expected he would mimic their position in sleeping. He would curl up beside you or Bennett, always nuzzling his face against the crook of your necks. You and Bennett will never say it but he looks so adorable when sleeping like that.

You and Razor know of Bennett's unluckiness. Unfortunately, because you're in a relationship, you two are more involved in his bad luck. Bennett is always guilty of putting the both of you in difficult situations and will apologize profusely, even when the two of you insist that it wasn't his fault.

"It kind of sucks that I'm also giving bad luck to the two of you. I mean, you're one of the few good things that ever happened in my life." He admitted in a gentle whisper, a pout forming on his visage as tears begin to appear at tbe corners of his eyes.

You and Razor felt like an arrow shot through your hearts at what he said and you spend your time cheering up Bennett. Although his unluckiness always seemed to hinder your attempts, Bennett appreciated and loved your efforts, which is enough to bring back his big smile.

When the rare times come when one of you are busy and cannot find time for the other two, the latter pair will frequently visit the missing member, often with gifts.

Bennett loves giving you kisses. Not just on the lips, but all over your face. When your relationship was still at the early stages, Bennett would lean forward towards your face and pull back after an awkward amount of time of hesitation. But when you told him that he is allowed to give you kisses and you would love to receive them, Bennett will take all the chances to shower you with kisses. He loves giving kisses more than receiving because he has so much love to give, but when you do the same to him, his cheeks will be painted in a rich scarlet color and his tongue will be tied, unable to anything except stammering.

"A-Ah, ( Your Name ), please, stop - " Stuttered Bennett as he covered his blushing face with his gloved hands, embarrassment palpable in his posture.

You let out a giggle as you took his hands and tried to pry them off. "Aww, don't be like that, Benny. Let me see your cute face. And I know you love my kisses."

Bennett splutteted.

Razor prefers to give you hugs over kisses. His hugs are big, warm, and welcoming. You'll always feel safe when you're in his arms. When you're in his embrace and you're both comfortable, you won't be leaving his arms for a while. Sometimes Bennett will wiggle himself into the embrace and the three of you just cuddle.

"You're so warm, Razor." You whispered as you nestled yourself on his chest.

Razor showed you a small smile. "I make you feel safe?"

You let out a laugh. "And loved."

More often than not, Bennett and Razor will convene and think of something to surprise you. These boys are filled with love for you that even if there's no occassion, they'll come together to buy you a gift they thought of together.

Bennett gives you trinkets from his solo adventures, but even if most of the time they're broken or burnt, you heartily accept them. Razor always gives you items that are found in the wild such as sweet flowers, mushrooms, pinecones, windwheel asters, sometimes wolfhooks, and if he was lucky, an abundant amount of fowls. You mentioned once how you needed ingredients to make food while you're out adventuring alone, or some things for this thing you call ascension. You love their gifts and always make good use of them or take good care of them.

Bennett had long introduced Razor to his dads (a group of adventurers who saved Bennett long ago). When he introduced you to them, you were immediately flocked and you regaled with tales of their adventures back when they were young, and Bennett was just a wee baby then. You stayed with them for hours, just listening. All the while, Bennett just enjoyed watching you get along with his family so well. Since the adventurers were old, you visit them often and help Bennett take care of them.

Some would think meeting Razor's family would be difficult. They are wolves, after all, and they were known for being vicious. But they couldn't be more wrong Anyone Razor trusted, the wolves trusted so they immeditely accepted you in their pack and treated you the way they treated Razor. They surround you whenever they sense danger, ready to pounce on whatever enemy emerges. The wolves would stay close by and let you snuggle into their fur when the weather is cold. Razor really likes it when you play with the wolf pups and help in hunting dinner for his family.

Bennett and Razor talk about you with their families. Bennett's dads approved of you the very second they saw a glimmer in his eyes when he mentions you, and even though the wolves cannot understand Razor's human speech, they can sense the love in his voice and the frequent drop of your name makes them understand it was directed to you.

" - she and Razor helped me fight an Abyss Mage earlier!" Bennett exclaimed, beaming. "If it weren't for them, I would've probably returned back here with more injuries, hehe."

"( Your Name ) made Bennett and me flower bracelets." Razor then proceeded to lift his arms to show the wolf pups the bracelet he mentioned. "Now, Razor need to take care of it, so me not moving around much."

The three of you always walk hand in hand together, you in the middle. You will swing your linked hands together and Bennett will follow your lead. You and Bennett will have to encourage Razor do the same and have to explain the process of it. Razor will be a little confused at first but then begin enjoy the hand swinging once he get used to it.

Dates are frequent, and it'll always be with the three of you. You all promised never to have a date with someone missing. There will be times where the boys will want a private date with you, but most of the time, it's always you three.

Bennett's dates are adventurous - of course - and unique. He'll find some place you haven't seen before or find an activity you three can try. You'll experience a lot of things in his dates, this includes being attacked out of nowhere and having to save Bennett from time to time. Nonetheless, his dates are always fun and will your heart palpitating.

Razor's dates are simple and peaceful. He'll find a nice and safe place with a beautiful view and the three of you have a picnic there. He's always the one preparing the food for you to eat, but you and Bennett will always bring desserts for Razor to try. Razor insisted that he wanted to learn more human dishes and he can find motivation in doing so by having you and Bennett eat them. His cookings at first were not up to standards - or consumption - but the more dates he arrange, the better he becomes. You mentioned once you liked his hash brown shaped as a puppy paw print and strived to perfect it. If you're lucky, he'll even bring a wolf pup or two.

In your dates, you always make sure you cater to your partners interests. You will do something Bennett likes to do, and then what Razor likes, and then something the three of you can bond over. With that, your dates are always chaotic (not as chaotic as Bennett's dates though) but extremely fun.

Bennett and Razor are suckers for your compliments. They always love getting them from you. Although the two have different ways of accepting them.

Bennett cannot easily accept compliments. It was rare for him to receive one with his bad luck and whenever he does get one, he malfunctions. What more if it comes from you?

Bennett will shake his head vigorously as redness painted his cheeks, waving his arms as though denying your compliment.

"( Your Name ), y-you can't mean that! I-I'm not that great!"

"But Benny," You cooed, as you leaned closer to him, smiling. "You're one of the best person I've ever met! You're kind, sweet and - "

As you continue praising him, Bennett will slowly, slowly accept your compliments, and you might not know, but your compliments are building his confidence in himself. Bennett is a happy and positive boy but his bad luck caused him so much troubles and backlash that his self esteem plummeted. Continue supporting and praising this boy, you're making him super happy.

"I guess I do have some good qualities . . . thanks ( Your Name ). You're really cool, too. And very pretty." Bennett admits as he rubbed the back of his head.

Razor's compliments to Bennett are simple and straightforward, and somehow Bennett accepts them easier than yours. Probably because it's simple and straightforward.

Unlike Bennett, Razor accepts your compliments with a smile and always returns your compliments with one of his own. He doesn't know why some people are embarrassed being complimented. It was a nice thing to do, after all.

"You're really strong, Razor!" You exclaimed after watching the Cryo Abyss Mage he was battlinng evaporate in thin air.

Razor faced you, a smile gracing his briks as he wiped a sweat from his brow. "Thank you. You strong too."

"I can fight Hilichurls, but I'll need some backup if it's Abyss Mages." You laughed. "But thanks, Razor!"

Razor and Bennett insisted that they help you train. You have seen how they fought and trained, and you were a bit reluctant because of its harshness, but after contemplating over its benefits like being able to defend yourself, helping more in adventures, and being able to finally properly protect Bennett and Razor, you accepted.

Bennett is very eager to teach you what he knows and has brought you and Razor to a nearby Hilichurl camp to showcase his abilities and give you pointers after. You and Razor end up carrying him back to the Mondstadt with his arms over your shoulders, the Hilichurl camp up in flames behind you two.

"Did I . . . defeat them?" Questioned Bennett. He couldn't lift his head from the exhaustion and pain.

"Yes, you definitely did." You answered.

Razor's training was a bit more proper but you haven't learned much because his training required claymore, and you were far from being a claymore user. Razor demonstrsted how to pick up a claymore but you couldn't even lift it off the ground.

You pouted as your hands lets go of the handle of the claymore. "I couldn't do it."

Razor approached you and patted your head. "Good effort. Maybe claymore not for you."

Bennett and Razor now always goes to you when they need patching up. Now, they could go and visit Barbara like they used to but they preferred that you tend to their wounds for two reasons. One, they love you and love spending time with you. Two, they get kisses on each wound you cover.

Bennett has a habit of running towards you and Razor at full speed and tackling you both down to the ground, hugging the two of you. You and Razor don't mind it and actually enjoy this sort of thing.

Razor named wolf pups after you and Bennett. This causes confusion when you visit him at Wolvendom.

"Bennett, sit." Ordered Razor.

Bennett and wolf pup Bennett both sat down at the same time.

"( Your Name ), stop playing with food." Razor reprimanded sternly.

You looked down at your plate of neatly cut steak strips while wolf pup ( Your Name ) who sat by your feet poking at the meat it was eating whimpered.

When a fight ensues between you three, it won't take long before you relent and make amends. You three have soft hearts and can never stay angry at each other for too long. You apologize and promise to be better and more understanding.

But if a fight arises between only a pair, the one who isn't part of the fight courts the other two to make up already. If you and Bennett have an argument, Razor will push Bennett to talk things out with you. If you and Razor are the ones in the argument, Bennett will panic and will have a hard time choosing who to approach first. You and Razor make up after the two of you try to comfort Bennett at the same time. If Bennett and Razor were the ones in an argument, you can easily talk to them individually and the two will approach the other and apologize.

Bennett and Razor never compete to be your favorite. They know you love both of them equally, and they love you just as much. You have never felt unloved when you're with them. You three are content and happy.

The most wholesome relationship ever.

"And you two got ambushed by a Geovishap - wait a minute - " Your eyelids curtained your retinas as your digits delicately massaged your temples, trying to ease the pressure in your head as Razor and Bennett averted their guilty gazes from you. Their skis were marred in cuts and bruises, their hair disheveled, and clothes torn from what you suspect were large and sharp claws from a humongous creature. " - how did you two even encounter . . . what was it again - a Geovishap? I know there isn't one in Mondstadt."

Bennett reached out to rub a his hand of his over his neck as he tried to dismiss the mystery at hand with a chuckle. "Uh, well, we kinda . . . " He trailed off, clearly not fond of the idea of continuing his sentence.

Your eye fluttered open and you lifted a brow at Bennett. "You what?"

Bennett opened his mouth to answer but right when you thought he was about to speak, he nudged Razor with his elbow and whispered, "You tell her."

Razor turned to you and looked at you with reluctant eyes, shoulders slackening. "Me and Bennett," He began, " - went to Liyue."

You let out a deep at their answer, your hands slipping from your hips. "I knew it. I heard the two of you talking about doing a commission there. I just didn't think you'd go through with it, and without mentioning it to me." You stated. "Do you know how worried I was when the two of you didn't visit me earlier? I had to learn from Katheryne you took on a commission."

Bennett and Razor casted their gazes away, guilt crowning their expression.

You heaved out a sigh. "At least you two are back safely. And alive."

You approached the two boys who have yet to return their sights on you and assessed their forms, scrutinizing each of them carefully. "You poor things. Those look painful." You murmured. "Need me to patch you up?"

Bennett's and Razor's eyes shimmered at your offer, and the two nodded eagerly in response. Any traces of shame vanquished for they know your disappointment has evaporated and they were forgiven. "Yes, please." The two answered in unison.

You permitted a small laugh to escape your lips. "Alright, alright," You tittered. "Follow me, then."

Before you can even move, Bennett interjected. "W-Will we still get kisses . . . " The white haired adventurer turned completely red as he realized how silly his words were. " . . . you know what I mean . . . "

Razor looked down, a shy expression encompassing his features, to which surprised you. "Razor wants kisses too . . . from ( Your Name )."

Your heart jumped in your chest at the sight of their hopeful and coy expressions. Even if you wanted to tease them a little for this as payback, your heart couldn't. You shook your head at them and clasped their cheeks, one hand on the other as you stared into their eyes.

"You two . . . " You whispered, breathing out. " . . . you make it so hard to be angry with you."

Their only response was a grin.

[a-flickering-soul]

EverymanHYBRID And Deer In Media: In Five Parts (click for individual comparisons)

Deer are both a symbol of fragile purity and the untamable wild–here, we examine deer in the context of man, where deer come to represent the urge within us to abandon the conscious ego for the subconscious id. The deer is a symbol, too, of rebirth, of transformation, of shedding and regrowing its weapons each year. To kill, to be reborn, to choose to be monstrous through our proximity to humanity. Is there not something pure in surrendering to animal instinct? If deer are the twin themes of innocence and wildness, then we in turn are the juxtaposition of humanity and monstrousness–our actions made monstrous by the attempt to temper them with humanity.

(transcript, analysis, and sources below cut)

1: The Secret History & EverymanHYBRID--Bodies

The Secret History, on the killing of a man in a hallucinatory bacchanal:

"'Henry,' I said at last. 'Good God.' "He raised an eyebrow. 'Really, it was more upsetting than you can realize,' he said. 'Once I hit a deer with my car. It was a beautiful creature and to see it struggling, blood everywhere, legs broken ... And this was even more distressing but at least I thought it was over. I never dreamed we'd hear anything else about it.'"

EverymanHYBRID, "Ryan and the SEVENTRIALSOFHABIT":

A shot of a deer's dead body at the side of the road at night, looking crumpled and not quite right. The captions read: "Jeff: It's a fucking deer, dude. (Evan: See it?) Yeah. Something cut its belly open. (Evan: It cut its belly open the wrong way.)"

Parallels drawn:

Consider this one an amuse-bouche. Henry draws comparisons between a man he killed to a deer he accidentally hit with a car, mildly naming the incident ‘distressing’. There is a lack of human empathy, of guilt over killing a fellow man. In comparison, Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie at this point in the EMH plotline have not yet become hunter or hunted–they have not yet been warped by their roles in this iteration and can acknowledge the upsetting nature of the events that befall them. Henry has tasted that amoral nature and is less human for it, more visibly willing to shed that veneer of attempting to care about other people. Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie have not yet reached that point.

2: “Whoso List to Hunt”, EverymanHYBRID, and The Secret History--The Chase

"Whoso List to Hunt", on hunting a fabled white hind:

"I am of them that farthest cometh behind./ Yet may I by no means my wearied mind/ Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore/ Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,/ Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind./ Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,/ As well as I may spend his time in vain. And graven with diamonds in letters plain/ There is written, her fair neck round about:/ Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,/ and wild to hold, though I seem tame."

EverymanHYBRID, "Slushpops and Surprises”

A shot of white text on a black page, "[Enter the tragic hero and his unattainable companion.]"

The Secret History, on hallucinations experienced during the bacchanal (bold for emphasis):

“‘Camilla said that during part of it, she’d believed she was a deer; and that was odd, too, because the rest of us remember chasing a deer through the woods, for miles it seemed. Actually it was miles. I know that for a fact. Apparently we ran and ran and ran, because when we came to ourselves we had no idea where we were.’”

EverymanHYBRID, “December & early January”:

A shot of Vinnie, hand covering his face in shock, as he sits and listens to Jessa’s last voicemail before she went missing. Jeff can be seen in the background, listening in silence. The captions read “[Jessa’s voice, recorded]: Steph, that thing you were talking about, I saw it...he’s real, he’s right here. What the hell does he want? I think he’s following me.”

Parallels drawn:

The deer symbolizes wild nature, something that man cannot obtain, touch, or capture without abandoning something of his own humanity. Similarly, deer represent the unattainable prey. Noli me tangere, says Caesar’s unattainable deer– touch me not, no matter how hard you may attempt to catch me. Jessa of EMH is deemed the unattainable companion and Jeff’s driving force to discover the truth behind the situation they’ve been placed in–it is Jessa, dangled in front of him after she goes missing, that leads Jeff down the path that inevitably leads to his own death after uncovering too much. The deer is to be chased, to be hunted, and never captured. Camilla from The Secret History believed herself to be a deer during the same hallucinatory bacchanal that cost a man his life, and led her brother and friends on a chase spanning miles. Jessa was hunted by an unknowable force, then used as bait to draw her partner down the path to his own death. Unattainability, the shape of something fleeing in front of you, elicits a powerful reaction to follow, to hunt, to chase. Jessa fell victim to that reaction. Camilla, and the white hind, did not.

3: The Myth of Diana and Actaeon, EverymanHYBRID, and The Secret History--Madness

The Diana and Actaeon Fountain at the Caserta Royal Palace:

The detail of the fountain shown depicts the pivotal scene in the myth of Actaeon and Artemis, where Actaeon, mid-transformation into a stag, is killed for the slight of viewing the goddess Artemis nude.The sculpture shows the transformation in no mercy, plain in its depiction of Actaeon’s pain and terror, and the simple ferocity of the hounds that surround him.

EverymanHYBRID, “May & June”:

A shot of Jeff, blood spattered across him, speaking with a shocked and angry tone. The captions read, “Jeff: Why were we doing that? That was...that’s not what we were looking for. We knew damned well that wasn’t what we were trying to kill. (Vince: Close enough.) It was a deer! It was a fucking deer! I tried to pull you off, you tried to punch me in the fucking face!”

The Secret History, on the Greeks’ view of beauty and terror (bold for emphasis):

“Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful to souls like the Greeks or to our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripedes speaks of the Maenads: head thrown back, throat to the stars, ‘more like deer than human being’.”

Parallels drawn:

Most depictions of Actaeon, sculpture or painting, usually show him with antlers or a deer lower body, leaving his head and face a recognizable human shape. However, the sculptor here decided to subvert expectations and leave his body human, giving Actaeon the animal head of a stag. The loss of control and the descent from human to animal is not glorified or made palatable by the mere addition of a crown of antlers--there is only the one constant, fear, that follows him all the way down. Madness may be defined as a loss of control, and there may be something beautiful and terrifying in feeling your sanity slip through your own fingers. Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie are overtaken by brief, inexplicable madness and tear apart a deer as they come dangerously close to uncovering exactly who and what is hunting them. They skate close to seeing soemthing they shouldn't see. It is only Jeff who looks up, shocked by the blood on his hands, and voices his fear. Vinnie, apathetic, lets it go. But Evan, houndlike and irrational, defends his kill.

4: EverymanHYBRID & Hannibal--Warnings and Temptation

EverymanHYBRID, “May & June”:

A shot of Evan, spattered heavily with blood, standing with shoulders caved in protectively. His left hand is raised to his mouth, with his hair covering his eyes, and he is licking the blood off of his fingers.

“Shot Through The Hart, and Hannibal’s To Blame” (bold for emphasis):

“In my post about ravens, I talked about how it’s not always easy to tell what the Ravenstag really means. Is it evidence of the Hannibalesque elements of Will’s soul? Or a warning of those parts growing within him? Does the Ravenstag urge Will forward on his journey, or warn him of what’s to come?”

Hannibal, Season 1, Episode 1 “Aperitif”:

A shot of the Ravenstag, staring directly into the camera with one hoof up, as if to approach. There are black feathers interwoven with its pelt and its eyes have an uncanny shine.

Parallels drawn:

On a naturalistic note, deer are skittish creatures. They have thin legs and a sleek body, made for running. A small head and big eyes, placed wide-set to see coming predators. Keen ears. They are ready at any moment to sense danger, warn others, and flee. When a deer does not move, it is either safe or sizing up its options, either accepting where it is or preparing to run. Deer, staring directly at the viewer, come as a sympathetic warning to flee or, in its dark eyes and firm stance, a temptation. Me tangere, they say. Come closer. We are one and the same. In Bryan Fuller’s Hannibal, the commanding presence of the Ravenstag serves as both a warning and a beckoning temptation to turn his feet down the darker path. It is otherworldly, black-furred and feathered, and yet a warning of events rooted in the real world--does Will understand what danger he is in upon meeting Hannibal and take the warning, or will he ignore it, sensing that same darkness in himself, that same potential for corruption? In EverymanHYBRID, it is that same killing of a deer that hints at that same potential for darkness growing inside Evan. He licks at his fingers, animalistic, fully ignoring his own Ravenstag warning signs for the delight of the hunt. Is he Evan anymore? Or is something else growing inside him?

5: EverymanHYBRID & Hannibal--Predator and Prey, or the Final Act

EverymanHybrid, “:D”:

A shot of HABIT, looking up a set of stairs with one foot on the bottom step. In one hand down by his side, he is holding a knife. His posture is tilted forward, poised, ready to spring into action, like that of a hunter.

“Shot Through The Hart, and Hannibal’s To Blame” (bold for emphasis):

“The idea of deer as symbols of rebirth also stands out to me. Hannibal is a series obsessed with becoming and transformation. People start one way, and are reborn as something completely other by the end of the show. There’s even a character sewn up into a deceased pregnant horse in the hopes that when she’s released, she will be literally reborn as something different. It’s thus a neat fit, this significance of deer with the themes of the show.”

EverymanHYBRID, “:D”:

A shot of Jeff, looking up and to the side with an expression of caution and fear. His eyes are unnerved, squinting as, from offscreen, HABIT’s hand plays idly with his hat.

Parallels drawn:

The first and final incarnation of the deer is, of course, prey. Beyond and before any symbolism of innocence and wildness and warnings, deer are prey animals, to be hunted and devoured. And yet, in keeping with the concept of contrasting symbolism, deer are not helpless. Yearly, they shed and regrow their antlers in a transformation of horn and blood. At the climax of EverymanHYBRID, the final reveal, the final transformation, comes to fruition. HABIT, formerly Evan, takes its place as the Hunter, the archetypal predator, with Jeff shown most prominently as the Prey. Jeff’s luck has run its course, with him in the chair as the sacrificial prey-victim to fall to HABIT’s knife. HABIT, reborn, reiterated, made incarnate through Evan’s unwilling transformation, is poised to start the hunt. This is the big reveal, the crux of the transformation, Actaeon caught mid-transfiguration and the bloody sloughing-off of velvet humanity to reveal perfect and gleaming antlers. This is what it comes down to, time and time again. The hunter and the hunted. The wilderness embraced and the wilderness captured, and the monstrosity in that act.

Works Cited

Callimachus. Actaeon and Artemis. C. 220 BC

Fuller, Bryan. “Apetirif.” Hannibal, season 1, episode 1, NBC, 4 Apr. 2013.

Koval, J., Caffarello, V., &; Jennings, E. (Directors). (2011, July 12). May & June [Video file].

Koval, J., Caffarello, V., &; Jennings, E. (Directors). (2012, October 9). :D [Video file].

Tartt, Donna. The Secret History. Penguin, 2006.

Uhminuh. “Shot Through the Hart, and Hannibal's to Blame.” Read the Rude, Wordpress, 19 July 2020.

Wyatt, Thomas. “Whoso List to Hunt, I Know where is an Hind.” c. 1530.

Honorary mention to this fanart by @/rrhaes that started this whole spiral

[swbumblebee]

It was one of those most magical of things for Obi-Wan Kenobi; a night off.

Well, he was technically 'working' but this evening his duty had been to attend a senatorial conference and was now to continue representing the Jedi Order at the 'debrief gathering' in Senator Amidala’s apartment. Which just so happened to include some of his favourite people.

He found himself gradually slumping on the sofa, perfect posture forgotten in the firelight and the wine and the soft chatter of his friends. Lady Sabe was sitting next to him, catching him up on the years since their last meeting.

(When he was left alone on a ship with a gaggle of bored handmaidens. Thanks for that one Qui-Gon)

Anakin and Padme were on the opposite sofa, trying desperately (to Obi-Wan’s amusement) to look like they weren’t in love with each other, and listening to Bail telling an amusing anecdote from the armchair next to them.

Sabe paused to re-fill their drinks and Obi-Wan grimaced as he shifted, his back protesting at the soft cushions behind him.

“Are you alright?” Sabe was looking at him in concern. Obviously, his subtlety had gone out with the second glass of wine.

The Jedi Master waved a hand dismissively.  

"Oh yes I'm fine, just getting older I suppose." His conversation partner snorted in incredulity, and he grinned sheepishly "and I may have neglected to warm up for a fight yesterday" he admitted.

Sabe shook her head ruefully and took a drink of her own wine.

"You should get someone to look at you, someone who can help.” She suggested. “It’s a hard job, should get yourself down to a spa, relax a little, keep yourself fighting fit." She waved a hand enthusiastically. Obi-Wan smiled gratefully at the concern, but shook his head. "Ahh' he said carefully choosing his words. “I'm sure they're very nice but I'm afraid I don't really have time to spend three hours on a haircut" he replied wryly Sabe looked at him, tilting her head in confusion. "A...haircut?" She asked, seemingly perplexed, before her expression turned rather amused. "Obi-Wan..." She said slowly "you do know what a spa is don't you?" He was gradually aware of Bail, Anakin and Padmè’s attention being drawn by their conversation, and he felt the tips of his ears going pink at being on the spot, cursing his pale complexion. "Of course I do" he scoffed. He was a man of the Galaxy after all! He cleared his throat. "It’s where people go for haircuts, and make up, and..." He cast out a hand as if to pull the rest of his explanation out of the air "..."things" he finished rather lamely. He cleared his throat again, looking between them.  

Sabe was clearly about to burst into fits of giggles. Bail and Padme were looking at him like he was mad and even Anakin was sending him a somewhat pitying look. He took a sip of his drink. "...is that not...quite right?" He could feel himself flushing now at the obvious gap in his knowledge. Sabe patted him on the knee patronizingly and he sent her a mock-glare. "Not quite" she confirmed, eyes still sparkling with mirth, but there was something else there he couldn't place. Anakin groaned and shook his head. "Master, its where you go for foot rubs and stuff" he corrected wisely. Now it was his former Padawan's turn to be on the receiving end of the others despair. Padme looked frankly rather scandalised. Obi-Wan grinned smugly. Misery loves company, after all. There was a strange moment where their three companions exchanged a very quick series of looks ranging from disbelief to resignation to bemusement. Padme sighed determinedly before sending him, and then Anakin, a gracious smile. "Bail?" She instructed, raising her delicate eyebrows in comand. The man in question nodded his understanding. "I'm on it" he assured her, taking out his comm. He glanced at it and turned back to Obi-Wan and Anakin. "I require an afternoon of your time next Primeday, Masters Jedi" he requested formally. "Excellent." Padme sat back in satisfaction. Obi-Wan had a bad feeling about this. Sabe patted his knee again.

[adorethedistance]

A Pretty Good Bad Idea - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: swearing, peer pressure kinda, very mild n fluffy

Words: 1865

Summary: Touring with the Julie and The Phantoms cast as a dancer has been the best time of your life, and the only thing that could make it better is the reciprocated affections of a cute, blond drummer.

A/N: So this piece is 1) inspired by this interview and 2) entirely self indulgent. It’s something I haven’t been able to get out of my mind every time I’m doing warm ups, and putting it down on ,, digital paper is my only way to get rid of it lmao. I hope y’all enjoy bc I know this scenario makes me really happy and I love sharing my joy with y’all.

I let out an involuntary whine when I roll forward into my almost-center splits. My hips are so sore from yesterday’s performance I had to force myself to start stretching in the first place. Getting a head start, I arrived at the concert venue an hour earlier than call time to get my lengthy stretching routine out of the way before the other girls show up. Slowly but surely, the rest of the dancers arrived and we began getting ready together.

“I have a speaker!” Tori announces to the room upon entering which makes me jump up from my seat.

“Yes! May I do the honors and bless y’all with my musical theatre playlist?” The rest of the group cheers, exposing themselves for the theatre kids that we are. After hearing the chime that signifies the speaker-phone pairing, a few seconds pass before “Cell Block Tango” begins to play. The entire group feigns outrage but we know all the words and soon indulge in such shameful pandering. A good pre-show playlist is what really gets me amped up for performing and after yesterday’s queue of ‘today’s hits’ pop, the musical theatre is a nice change of pace.

Since I’d gotten here so early, I decided to do my makeup before stretching and I still had time to spare. The only thing left for me to do was to get in costume but I’d wait until a little closer to showtime so that I could still eat and drink for the time being. This also meant I was free to roam and bother other people as they got ready, doing what I’d done almost an hour ago.

“So, Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“What’s going on with you and Owen?” I feel my breathing halt for a microsecond before looking up at, one of the other dancers and also my friend, Ella. My eyebrows are cinched in confusion as I try my best to figure out what it is she’s getting at.

“I don’t know, Ella. What is going on with me and Owen?”

“Oh come on. Your Instagram story from yesterday?” Oh. That.

“We just went to lunch?” I seemingly ask more than state.

“Yeah. Just the two of you. Don’t hold out on us, we wanna know what’s going on!”

“Really, Ella, there’s nothing going on. We’re just getting to know each other better.”

“Just getting to know each other better? Or getting to know each other better?” Tori butts in, dusting her cheeks with a subtle highlight.

“The first one?”

“How many times have you hung out?”

“Just the once.”

“Are you planning another date?”

“It wasn’t a date-”

“Do you want us to help wingman you?”

“I really don’t-”

“Hey.” The rapid-fire of questions cease when the gang of us look up to see Owen himself standing in the doorway.

“Speak of the devil,” Tori snickers as the rest of the girls slowly disperse and smugly resume doing their makeup. Owen makes a face in reaction to her comment but chooses not to pry.

“Could I borrow some hairspray? This one piece of hair won’t stay.” Despite each of the girls having a full can of hairspray on hand, nobody makes a move to give him the product, indicating that I should be the one to help him out. Rolling my eyes at the look Ella is giving me through the mirror, I stand from my chair and hand Owen the can of hairspray. He then looks straight ahead and moves to use the product but I stop him before he can.

“What’s your plan?”

“What?”

“Are you just gonna spray the piece?”

“...yeah?”

“That’s not gonna work since the rest of your hair already has product in it. Can I help you?” Owen nods amiably and takes a seat after I gesture for him to sit in my chair. I then realize my mistake as I need the comb on the grey countertop, and have to consequently reach past Owen in a way that wouldn’t be so compromising had I not worn such a low-cut top. Thankfully it’s over as fast as it began, and walking to the sink in the corner of the dressing room, I run the cool water over the bristles. It isn’t until I turn off the tap that I notice how eerily quiet the room had gotten. None of the girls are talking, attentively studying my every move as I cross back to Owen.

“Is this Chicago?”

“Uh, yeah, We’re listening to my musical theatre playlist though, not the whole soundtrack,” I respond in spite of the nervous laugh that falls from my lips. The slight slouch in Owen’s posture doesn’t help me to see what I’m doing clearly enough. Using my index finger and an upturned palm, I tilt his chin up to get a better look at his hair, willfully ignoring the fact that he’s staring at me right now.

Still, silence fills the room as I take the wet comb through the front section of his hair where the stubborn strand won’t stay put. Once the water binds the pieces together, I grab my can of hairspray and struggle to uncap it. The outside is slick from god knows what, but thankfully Owen doesn’t let me struggle anymore and holds up his hands to wordlessly offer his help. I hand him the can, and he pops the top off after barely struggling. Handing the can back to me, he holds onto the lid, and the entire exchange remains completely silent.

I have to work quickly in my next step, but it’s not enough to distract from the fact that everyone in the room is watching me intently. Holding the aerosol can away from the crowd of people, I put some of the product on the comb and quickly work it into Owen’s hair while it’s still wet. Once the comb has formed his hair to my liking, I stop brushing it through in fear of the now dry hairspray ruining the shape. Then, I use my left hand to shield Owen’s eyes from getting any product in them before spraying the offending area to seal in my hard work.

The sound of a cell door sliding closed signifies the end of the song, and I wait for a second, eagerly anticipating the next song to play. Upon hearing the staccato piano notes of “Bad Idea” from Waitress, a smile appears on my face.

“I love this song.” Lunging back on my right leg, I create a little distance between us to make sure I didn’t completely butcher the rest of his hair, singing as I do.

“It’s a bad idea, me and you.”

“I know, I totally agree.” Pleasantly surprised by his joining in, my smile grows bigger.

“It’s a bad idea, me and you.”

“I’ve never known anything so true-”

“It’s a terrible idea, me and you.” The effortlessness that the two of us find in harmonizing is a genuine shock and an absolute thrill all at once. Once Owen sees how excited I am by his joining in me, it’s like a switch had been flipped; the two of us immediately slip into Actor Mode and begin to sing the song as if we were performing it on a Broadway stage.

“You have a wife.” I take a small step back out of the character’s hesitation.

“You have a husband.” Owen mirrors my action.

“You’re my doctor-” I cross my arms across my chest, but release my right hand to gesture to Owen standing in front of me.

“You’ve got a baby coming-” He uses both hands to gesture back to me in my ‘pregnant’ state.

“It’s a bad idea, me and you,” the two of us turn slightly away from facing one another in false bashfulness. When the music picks up, the two of us avidly step toward one another to come together. In perfect synchronization, I grab Owen’s forearms and his hands face upwards to hold onto my elbows.

“Let’s just keep kissing ‘til we come to.”

“Heart, stop racing, let’s face it-” Owen pivots his step out to the side to face forward, extending his right arm which cues me to turn into him and take his other hand to spin out.

“Making mistakes like this will make worse what is already pretty bad.” Then he extends his right arm forward, and I turn into him once again.

“Mind, stop running. It’s time we just let this thing go.” Instead of spinning out again, I stop in front of him where he wraps both of his arms around me.

“It was a pretty good bad idea,” in our harmony I cast my gaze upward to see Owen staring right back down at me, and I feel like I’m seeing stars, “Wasn’t it though?”

The two of us continue dancing and singing with one another as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s only the two of us, here and now. The other girls in the room don’t miss the way I seem to smile like never before, and I sure as hell don’t miss the way my stomach fills with butterflies. When he holds me so close and dear for each intimate moment of the song, I’m seeing stars. A bold happiness consumes me, the same happiness I felt when Owen and I laughed over lunch in that small pizzeria.

The final harmony draws the song to a close and when it finishes, the two of us fall into a breathless kind of laughter.

“I didn’t take a big enough breath for that last part.”

“Me neither.”

“Your hair stayed intact.”

“I must have a pretty good stylist.”

After recovering from our laughter the two of us wind up in a palpable stupor as we stare into one another’s eyes. A few blinks and my trance is broken, I become aware of our surroundings.

“I should get dressed soon, and you definitely need to get dressed.” Owen nods still somewhat breathless.

“Yeah. See you later for pulse?”

“Save me a spot,” I joke as he backs out of the threshold of our dressing room. Leaning against the doorframe I watch him disappear into his assigned dressing room with a small smile still lingering on my features.

“Just getting to know each other my ass!”

“What the heck was that?”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to wingman you?”

“Do you even need a wingman after something like that?”

Turning on my heel, I face the bunch of insatiable dancers and shake my head in disbelief.

“We were just acting, you guys.”

“Liar.”

“Excuse me?”

“Maybe you were acting, but he sure as hell wasn’t. Did you see the way he was looking at you? He is totally in love with you.” Ella shakes me by my shoulders.

“He’s just a really good performer is all.”

“When is your next date?” she completely ignores me.

“Okay-”

“Oh, and I want to be the maid of honor at your wedding-”

“It was just a song, Ella.”

“-Oh my god you guys are gonna have the cutest kids! I mean, your hair with his eyes and cheekbones? Ahh! The cutest.”

***

A/n: the way that being on tour isn’t the most unrealistic part of this fic, but instead Owen actually knowing the lyrics is? Work diva.

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13​ @kaitlyn2907​ @itz-jas​ @crybabyddl​ @kcd15​ @kinda-really-lost​ @calamitykaty​ @morganayenneferburnham​ @n0wornever​ @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys​ @amazinggracy​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @ghostlygreenbean​ @juliefromaustralia @merceret​ @jemimah-b99​ @ifilwtmfc​ @thesweetestsinner​ @imsydneywalker​ @lovesanimals​ @thebloodthirstyvampress​ @bumbleberry-pie​ @losers-club6​ @tefilovesreading​ @dmcfarland1​@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz​ @talk-on-the-street​ @phantompogues​ @konciousdreamer​ @sunsetcurvej​ @warmnesss0ul​ @celestialmolina​ @lilyjoyner​ 

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.10 [M]

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

↳ (4.2k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating: unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, body insecurity (result of physical markings), slight body worship, hints of sexual tension

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

➟ Last Update: Friday, February 19

The moment your eyes catch onto a patch of black hair within the crowd, you freeze in place. 

Jung Hoseok appears just as you remember him. Lips tugged up into a playful smile, mischief dancing in his eyes and adorned in a black suit that easily conceals away any weaponry he stows away. Despite his traits, the sleek material fails to hide the circles lining his twinkling eyes, his posture sunken and suit appearing oversized as if he had lost some weight with time. 

You decipher his appearance within seconds, and when your observant eyes snap over to Namjoon, you already know he’s done the same. 

The two of you stay stationed in the corner, afar from the crowd. Jimin stands off to the corner opposite you as Seokjin darts his eyes around, taking careful steps towards the shareholder before he decides to engage with him. 

There’s a whimsical expression on Seokjin’s features that mimics Hoseok, hands curved around a glass of champagne that he raises. 

“Jung Hoseok.” He counters, “I haven’t seen you around in quite some time.” 

Hoseok turns, a crease in between the brows from the sudden call of his name, but once his eyes come into contact with Seokjin’s, his regular demeanor shifts back. 

“Since you know my name along with my record, why don’t you tell me where you know me from?” 

Seokjin smiles, “You’re one of Kim Namjoon’s shareholders, right?” 

There’s a glint in Hoseok’s eyes and his grin immediately falls, something that has Seokjin’s eyes narrowing, before it abruptly returns. 

“I am.” 

Seokjin hums, “It was just a question, no need to get so surprised.” He leans forward, eyes hardening as his voice drops into a whisper, “Unless, there is some reason for you to be….” 

Hoseok grits his teeth, looking away for a moment. His disdain is heavy and he glares at Seokjin, who slyly smiles back. 

“What do you know?” 

A light chuckle leaves Seokjin, “I think the question you should be asking is, what do I not know?” 

He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit, revealing a creased piece of paper that he hands to Hoseok. The latter tilts his head, unfolding the sheet that reveals a photograph.

Hoseok’s eyes widen, “If you need to recall the memory, his name is Kim Minhyuk.” Seokjin sips his champagne as he whispers, eyeing the shareholder, “Strange for someone of your status to be interacting with someone that has been known to get his hands dirty for the right price, don’t you think?” 

The paper is instantly crumbled within his hands, and Hoseok snarls at him, “How much?” 

Seokjin glances at him intrigued, “What? Money?” He snorts, “Oh, it’s going to take much more to silence me.” 

Hoseok fists up his jacket, “Listen here‒” 

“I wouldn’t ruin the suit, it was fairly costly for what it was worth.” Seokjin gestures to his hold and Hoseok let's go in annoyance. 

“Who are you working for?” 

A smirk spreads across Seokjin’s features. 

“Turn around.” 

The sound of a deep voice from behind Hoseok startles him, and as he does as he’s told, all the colour instantly drains from his features. 

Namjoon tilts his head to the side, piercing eyes scrutinizing the shareholder. 

Immediately, an excuse tumbles out. “N-Namjoon! I-I didn’t think you would be here….” 

“Of course you didn’t,” He smirks, “I’m alive after all.” 

If Hoseok was scared before, he was downright terrified now. 

Namjoon steps forward, and Hoseok bolts. 

Seokjin whips his head around and Jimin immediately leaves his corner, running after him. Hoseok pushes past protesting guests without any qualms, sprinting into one of the hallways as Jimin pursues him. 

“This way!” Jimin hastily shouts. His brows suddenly contort with surprise, but then he curses underneath his breath as Hoseok slips from his sight, completely disappearing. 

Namjoon hurriedly rushes forward a bit late, peering in both directions. 

“Where is he?” Seokjin wonders and Jimin rubs his temples, squinting in the direction. 

“There was a woman.” He abruptly whispers, glancing at the two, “I saw them together before her and Hoseok split apart into different paths.”

“A woman?” Seokjin wonders. 

“I know.” Jimin muses, “She looked young, but I wasn’t too sure.” 

“So he wasn’t choosing to run away, but instead ran to someone…” Seokjin slowly utters, shaking his head, “Whatever it is, we have to find him.” 

“Don’t worry.” Namjoon states, a twinkle in his dark eyes, “He won’t get too far.”

***

Hoseok runs as fast as he can, sweat beginning to trickle down his features. He peers behind himself, acclaiming himself of at least getting away in time. 

Abruptly, he’s sent flying towards the ground. His hands barely break his fall, harshly slamming right against it. 

The sound of a trigger cocking alerts him, and right as he glances up, the sight of a gun pointed towards his head. 

You stare down at him with a triumphant expression. 

Hoseok grits his teeth, a sound of dismay leaving him. You reach down, grabbing onto his hands before securing them behind his back. 

You soon catch sight of Seokjin from afar and you usher towards him as Namjoon and Jimin follow behind. 

As Seokjin helps you lift him from the ground, his eyes are frantically darting around, as if searching for something. 

“What wrong?” Seokjin wonders, “Lose something?” 

Hoseok sneers, “Like I’ll tell you anything.” 

Seokjin smiles, tightening his hold, “We’ll see how long you can keep that up.” 

Night falls as Namjoon paces back and forth in the hallway, fiddling around with the hem of his sleeve. The door to his right abruptly widens, a tired Seokjin emerging out. 

He instantly steps forward and Seokjin sighs, “He kept true to his word.” 

Namjoon raises his eyebrows, “He’s not talking?” 

Seokjin hums, “A lot more stubborn than I gave him credit for.” He gestures towards the door, “Jimin’s still there with hopes of getting something out, but he’s holding onto everything as if his life is on the line.” 

“That’s odd,” He whispers, “If being threatened to force out information isn’t horrible enough, I wonder what is…” 

“I agree, it seemed like he had a lot to tell me before, but now…” Seokjin shakes his head, “Maybe he thinks we’ll hesitate in killing him.” 

There’s a sharp glint in Namjoon’s eyes, “Have you told him otherwise?” 

Seokjin snorts, “No, but he isn’t wrong.” He adds, “We do need him to tell us about his connections.” 

Namjoon hums and the door cranks open again as Jimin emerges out. Both him and Seokjin turn at the same time, glancing at the man’s distressed appearance. 

“Nothing so far,” He huffs for a moment, before staring at the two of them peculiarly, “But he said one thing that’s been bothering me a lot.” 

“What?” Seokjin wonders. 

Jimin stands up straighter, bafflement crossing him. 

“He said we’re fools for thinking that he’s the one pulling the strings.”

Seokjin scrunches up his nose and Namjoon cocks his head to the side, clearly as perplexed as Jimin from the saying. 

“That’s it?” Namjoon asks. 

Jimin sighs, “That’s it.” 

“Well, this just got a lot more damn complicated.” Seokjin shakes his head, before gesturing to Jimin, “Take a break, I’ll have to spend a couple more hours with him to get something else out.” 

Jimin nods, fatigued from the demanding interactions. 

Once Jimin leaves, Namjoon’s voice drops into a whisper, “We’re fools for thinking he’s the one pulling the strings….” 

Seokjin narrows his eyes and lets out a sigh, mind still swimming with the response. “As if suggesting that he’s innocent….” 

“Maybe it's the woman.” Namjoon’s eyes snap up as Seokjin reminds him, “Hoseok’s first instinct was to run to her.” 

He nods, “Though I don’t think we can trust him on this, he could be trying to cover himself up. Or someone else, for that matter.” 

Namjoon hums, fingers pressed against his lips as he dwells deeper into thought. Seokjin leans over, patting his back and his eyes peer up at him.  

“Why don’t you go get some rest? This whole fiasco won’t be figured out until he talks and that...might take a while.” 

He gestures to the gun sticking out from his jacket and Namjoon lets out a frustrated sigh from the notion. 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” He wonders. 

Seokjin softly shakes his head, “He’ll talk with the right persuasion, trust me. And besides….” 

There’s a small smirk lingering on Seokjin’s lips, playfulness practically twinkling in his eyes. He points upward, gesturing to the upper floor. 

“Y/N actually left a couple of minutes ago.” 

At the mere mention of your name, there’s a flush that scatters over Namjoon, skin nearly akin to being feverish. Seokjin’s smile widens, restraining a small laugh that seeks to slip out of his mouth. 

“I-Is that so?” Namjoon mumbles, his eyes darting everywhere. When they connect with Seokjin’s, he sheepishly laughs, “I, uh‒ suppose you’re right.” 

Seokjin hums, but he can’t conceal the amused smile that crosses him. 

Bidding his friend good luck, Namjoon gyrates around, promptly heading to his room as fast as he can. 

***

Namjoon’s eyes are glued to the sight of the door. 

He’s reached his room, pupils having traced the outlines and shape of the wood, handle practically right in front of him ‒ but he remains planted in place, as if someone had poured lead into his shoes. 

His hand reaches up, rubbing against his temples as a sigh leaves him.

The last time you were in a room together he could barely control himself. And this time, standing right in front of your shared room’s door, he knows that control is on the edge of completely shattering. 

Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he peers at the door again and takes a deep breath. 

His hand reaches out for the handle. 

He quietly walks in, hastily ensuring the door is fully closed before saying anything. Turning around, there’s a soft smile on his lips, warmth brimming in his eyes. 

“Y/N, I‒” 

His breath instantly hitches, form completely freezing. 

Your startled eyes snap up in an instant. There’s drops of water falling from the strands of your hair onto the damp carpet, one of your hands resting against the wall next to a small door to your left. Your other hand is tightly fisting the material of the long towel that covers your form, struggling to keep it in place. 

At the sight of Namjoon gawking, you fumble with your words, “N-Namjoon….I-I didn’t think you would be back s-so soon…” 

A light chuckle leaves you, a fevernet shade of scarlet taking over your features. He continues to stare at you, and you break into a fit of rambles to explain the situation. 

“I-I’ve been having a hard time bathing!” You laugh again, “So I tried to quickly wash up before bed, but it’s been difficult….moving around and whatnot…” 

Your eyes are fixated on the ground, barely able to meet his own through your explanation. It feels like an eternity until Namjoon finally clears his throat, the sound of his footsteps growing louder. 

He’s a mere inches away from you, outstretching his arm, “Let me help you.” 

Nothing seems to leave your lips at the suggestion. You hastily nod, still unable to make eye contact as you reach out and grasp onto his sleeve. However the moment you do so, you unfortunately can’t stop to take notice of the way one of his hands slips behind you to steady your back. 

A sudden rush of heat is brought upon on you and you internally curse yourself for being so flustered in his presence. On the other hand, Namjoon tenses when you lean against him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. 

He gently guides you towards the bathroom again, carefully waiting as you struggle with the occasional steps and fumble around with the towel clinging to your body. Not paying enough attention to your surroundings results in you taking one step too close, nearly toppling down until a weight stops you. 

Your eyes glance up in surprise at Namjoon, who managed to shift himself before you were sent smacking against the ground. You wouldn’t normally hesitate to thank him for the gesture, but his eyes immediately connect with yours and the words can’t seem to form anymore. 

The warmth in his eyes disappears within seconds and is replaced with the carnal gaze you’ve become far too familiar with. You’re only a handful of inches away from him, his breath intermingling with yours the longer you stare at each other. 

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate to close the gap between you this time, arms looping around your waist in an instant. 

A burst of electricity tingles through your skin, his soft lips molding ravenously against your own. You push back with just as much desire, fiercely kissing him as your hands fist the material of his jacket. 

It’s not long before that jacket is being pushed off his shoulders completely and your back hits against the wall, a gasp escaping from your lips until his mouth crashes against yours, tongue slipping in within seconds. 

A deep moan leaves Namjoon when you loop your arms around his neck, fingers weaving into the soft strands before tugging against them. You’re abruptly being lifted up from the waist, lips still connected to his until you’re suddenly falling down, hands finding purchase within the soft material of your bed. 

Namjoon remains underneath you when you lean down to kiss him again, strands of your damp hair ticking his features and soaking through the fabric of his shirt. Your hands eagerly fumble around with his tie, growing exasperated within minutes when it refuses to come undone despite all your tugging. You can feel Namjoon smiling into your kiss, knowing that he’s holding back a laugh from your efforts. 

A desperate whine leaves you and that’s when he makes the decision to halt his teasing, spinning you around so that he hovers above you. He roughly tugs at the material and the sound of a harsh snap leaves your eyes widening, before he leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips. 

He aids you in hastily undoing his buttons, letting a chuckle slip out when an exhale of relief leaves you from the last one. The material easily slips off his shoulders and although you’re eager to finally have flesh, you have to try your hardest to control your gawking eyes. 

To your complete surprise, your hands come into contact with muscle when you run your hands against him, noticing the bulkiness of his arms and chest. As if he knows he’s rendered you speechless, Namjoon coaxes your surprise by briefly connecting your lips, before descending to the juncture of your neck. 

A mewl nearly leaves you at the hot open mouthed kisses he leaves behind, serving to stroke the heat that pools between your legs. When his thumbs begin to move against the rough material of your towel, his carnal eyes snap up to meet yours, silently asking for your wishes to continue. 

Although you nervously bite down on your lip, you ultimately decide to answer him with a nod. With one flick of his wrist, the cloth is tossed onto the ground, leaving you completely bare beneath him. 

At the sight of confusion spurring in Namjoon’s eyes, you sheepishly look away. You’re not completely sure of what he was expecting, but from the way his brows are drawn together and there’s a pang of hurt in his eyes, you can tell he’s at a loss for words. 

Even though you know you’ve been through a lot, your body takes it sweet time to heal. There’s still a wound healing from the time you were shot from Taehyung and obscene injuries littering the entirety of your legs from the time you were kidnapped. It’s coupled with a handful of clumsily sewn together old bullet wounds, long having engraved themselves into your skin from the past. 

Namjoon takes it in for a moment, but when you fidget underneath his gaze, he leans closer to you. 

“No, don’t.” He stops your hand from sliding over, attempting to cover up a piece of reality you had become uncomfortably close to, “Please, don’t, I‒” 

He softly smiles, leaning down to whisper to you, “You’re beautiful. You’re so, so beautiful.” 

A smile cracks onto your lips and although you’re aware that he’s called you beautiful before, there’s something about the way he says it now that has your vision fogging. He presses his forehead against yours with a smile as you lightly laugh, pecking your lips hastily. Your body suddenly jolts in retaliation, eyes flickering over at him in astonishment. 

He kisses against your legs, right where your prominent ones have recently surfaced, before he shifts to press his lips against all the other ones. It makes you squirmish within his hold, his touch bringing shivers down your spine. 

Abruptly a sear of pleasure thrums through your body, vision going hazy. Namjoon’s hands roam around the swell of your breasts, before his fingers fondle the skin again and pinch against the eroding buds. You wither from his ministrations, sucking in a sharp inhale when he envelopes one of them within the heat of his mouth. 

Bliss fills your veins, the gratifying sensation coiling need within the pit of your stomach and dampening your aching core. You shift against him, desperately needing some relief from the agonizing heat that only seems to grow. 

“N-Namjoon...” 

As if he already knows, his lips halt their ministrations before drawing all his attention to your seeping centre. His fingers are quick to swirl against the muscle, and when he notices you immediately shudder, he doesn’t hesitate to latch his mouth onto your clit. 

“Oh my god‒” Your hands fervently grasp onto the bed sheets, eyes squeezing shut as he continues to circle his tongue against your sex. Moans are slipping out from your lips, your chest heaving as a sheen of sweat begins to cover you. 

A sharp cry escapes you when he slips a finger into your heat, joining in with the rhythms of his mouth. Your thighs quiver against him as he adds another, abruptly curling up his digits in a way that completely blurs your vision and has his name tumbling from your lips. 

The friction builds up until it’s too much, barely having the chance to tell him that you’re close to the brink of losing it all. The chord within you snaps before a wave of euphoria is washing over you, core pulsating and clenching around Namjoon’s fingers. Exhales are leaving you as your eyes focus back, your chest rising and falling. 

You grimace as he slips his hand out, raising his head to softly brush his lips against yours. A content sigh leaves you, the taste of your residue lingering on his mouth. 

Namjoon shifts for a moment, and from the corner of your eye you see him beginning to unbutton his trousers. He kicks the flimsy material away and settles himself between your thighs, his throbbing length pressing against your skin. 

He rests his elbows on either side of you, his gaze intent as he pants, “Do you....do you want this?” 

“Yes,” You breathe out, and Namjoon nods, before reaching down to align himself with your centre. His head probes at your opening for a moment, until he begins to push inside. 

You immediately grip onto his shoulders, nails digging right in. Namjoon peers up at you in hesitation, but you shake your head and encourage him to continue. 

He goes as slow as possible, the stretch eliciting beads of pain to shoot through you. When he bottoms out, you’re surprised you haven’t been split at the seams. He lets out a groan, eyes screwing shut as he rests his head against your neck. 

Small huffs are leaving you as the pain contorts into something else, a scorching heat that only intensifies as your core clenches. 

Your hands tighten around his shoulders, “Namjoon, move.” 

He glances up in surprise, but doesn’t take long to fulfill your request. A sharp thrust has you gasping, grasping onto him as it contorts into a wanton moan. Your reaction urges him on more as he thrusts into you again, earning a breathy call of his name to slip from your lips. 

Namjoon quickens his pace, before he’s slamming into you with as much vigor as he can. Your back is arching, attempting to meet the strong jerk is his hips half-way. His thrusts are a mixture of deep and aggressive, feverishly quenching the insatiable hunger that consumes you. 

Your name falls from his lips when you begin to clench against him, and he instantly reaches towards where your bodies are connected, circling against the sensitive bud that draws tears to your eyes. 

“Namjoon.” You choke out, pleasure threatening to eat you alive. Your pleas of his name are muffled by his lips, his thrusts and ministrations growing his strength. In the midst of this, he whispers against your mouth, your hazy eyes instantly connecting. 

If it weren’t for the proximity, you would have easily missed it.  

I love you. 

“I-I love you, too.” You pant, his brows contorting as he lets out a groan. 

Your release rips through you, legs wrapping against him and battered core clenching against Namjoon’s hasty thrusts. Your vision blurs out, electricity humming through your form until it fizzles out. 

Namjoon roughly thrusts against you one last time before he’s coming, his seed coating your damp walls and dripping out of your opening. He collapses against your gasping form, his breaths intermingling with yours through the silence. 

You reach out, softly running a hand against his soaked back before tangling your fingers within his dampened locks. He tilts his head to the side, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then leaning back. 

He carefully slips out of you, a mixture of your combined releases leaking out of your core. He rises from the bed as you lay there, returning with a moist cloth that he gently taps against your swollen core. 

The blanket is tugged up as Namjoon settles in, warmth already surrounding you from his embrace alone. A lazy smile curves on his lips, his features mirroring your content expression as you welcome sleep with open arms. 

Namjoon is awoken with a gentle shake to his shoulder. 

His eyes briefly flutter, refusing to open as a sound of protest leaves him. His shoulder is shaken again, but this time it’s rougher. 

“Namjoon…” Your voice whispers from behind him, “Namjoon, please wake up.” 

There’s a sense of urgency in your words and it’s the single thing that causes Namjoon to roll over, his eyes squinting through the lack of lighting. You hover above him, hair still tousled and the blanket covering you slipping from your shoulders, but your eyes frantically search his features. 

“Y/N…” He croaks, voice husky from sleep, “What is it...?” 

You bite down nervously on your lip and Namjoon’s confusion only deepens. 

“I-I….I think I saw someone.” You profess, “Outside.” 

At that, Namjoon’s eyes flash open. He bolts upright, leaning towards you and directing his gaze towards the window. 

“Through there?” He points and you immediately nod, watching him scramble out of the sheets and pacing over to the glass. 

You closely follow behind, peering over his shoulder, “It was almost like a shadow...I thought I was hearing things at first but then I just saw‒”

As if on cue, his eyes catch onto it. Like a faint blur in the darkness of the night sky, his pupils narrow onto the faint movement. 

He spins around, orbs coming into contact with yours. “We need to know who that is.” 

You nod, swiveling around and then walking towards the bedroom cupboards for some clothes. By the time you manage to find a nightgown, Namjoon already has his trousers on, hands rummaging around for his shirt. 

He slips his arms through it as you adjust your straps, concerned eyes peering at you as he hurriedly does the buttons. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a firm nod. 

The door quietly creaks open as Namjoon gazes around, gesturing with his hand for you to follow him. The pair of you descend down the stairs carefully, eyes racking around for any sight of movement. 

There’s absolutely nothing ‒ an eerie silence reigning over the house instead. It’s truthfully unsettling, and you find yourself unconsciously drifting over to Namjoon’s side, slipping your fingers within his. 

Once you reach the front door, Namjoon tightens his grip on you. He slowly pushes against it, attempting not to wince at the gush of wind that spills in. As silent as it is inside the house, being outside doesn’t seem to help. 

You and Namjoon instantly separate, searching around the area with the notion that either of you will alert the other from finding something. But no matter how much you peer around, even specifically searching in the region where your window was, there seems to be no one in sight. 

The two of you return inside when it feels like your fingers and toes are prepared to fall off from the icy cold, confusion evident in your shared glance.