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paarksunghoon · 18 days ago

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resignation (9)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: life & summer got in the way, so enjoy this extensive chapter x

(unedited, so...typos)

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: oral (m/f receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public sex, 69, chest-obsessed hoon, fingering.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

When you wake up, it takes you a minute to realize you’re sleeping next to Sunghoon.

Much like the first night you awoke in his guest bedroom, your panic subsides when you remember where you are. You blink slowly to grow accustomed to the morning light and look beside you to see a sleeping, naked Sunghoon.

Your mind replays memories of the night prior and you start to blush all over again. It feels right to describe it like a night of passion. For as cheesy as that is, years of pent up sexual tension finally exploded in this bedroom.

You’ve never seen Sunghoon look so peaceful before. His eyelashes look unfairly long against his cheeks and he snores quietly. You sit up on your elbow and peer at him below, taking in his quiet demeanor amidst the stillness of the room. He doesn’t feel like your boss right now. He feels like a lover.

His chest anchors against the mattress with his face turned towards you, and you try not to reach your hand out to touch him. Sunghoon radiates warmth, even from the distance you put between your bodies. You’re still naked and push the sheets over your chest to give you some sort of dignity, but something tells you that isn’t necessary.

Is it normal to feel so…calm?

There’s no sense of dread about going into work and inevitably facing a million emails from people you don’t care about. You move on autopilot most days, running through the same routine to the point where you grow tired of it. But here, in Sunghoon’s vacation home, you feel more relaxed than you have since working with him.

It’s weird and unsettling. You don’t scramble for your phone—did you even charge it last night?—nor do you push yourself to do something with your day to avoid feeling the endless doom of the incoming week. Something about seeing Sunghoon breathing peacefully beside you puts you at ease, and that thought alone makes you a bit nervous. It’s hard enough that you aren’t the type of person to fall for everyone you meet. Even harder when you’re in love with someone who might not feel the same way. What a recipe for disaster.

As if he hears your loud thoughts, Sunghoon opens his eyes and sees you looking down at him.

“You like watching me sleep?” You shove Sunghoon at his bicep but he merely chuckles and turns on his back to look at you. You try not to blush too much at his shirtless nature and sculpted body.

“Nothing to look at.”

“Right.”

You’re lying, clearly. His morning voice is deep and raspy, unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. He blinks at you with those sleepy eyes after putting your body through the mattress for hours on end. Sunghoon looks painfully normal like this.

“How long have you been awake?” Sunghoon asks, reaching for your hand before putting it on his chest. You feel how warm his body is.

“Not long.” Your fingers start to trace on his skin. “Forgot where I was for a second, though.”

“Mm,” he hums. “You forgot how I fucked you so good you came screaming every time?”

“Sunghoon.” You bury your head in his chest and feel him laugh from your hiding spot. Sunghoon wraps an arm around you loosely and pulls you closer to him.

“Can’t handle the truth, can you? What happened to my headstrong girl?”

“You’re such an asshole, Park.”

“Your asshole, no?”

Your heart flutters.

“Keep teasing me and you won’t be,” you say, looking up at him. He smirks and closes the gap, pressing a short kiss to your lips.

“We’ll see about that. Although, you should know I haven’t had a good night’s sleep like that in weeks.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, baby. You have a magical pussy, or something.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

“I’m serious.” He lifts himself off of the bed until you’re lying back on his mattress, staring up at his deep brown eyes. Sunghoon’s lips quirk into a smirk when his hand disappears underneath the covers and lands on your bare core. “Fuck. Still as good as I remember.”

You open your legs and welcome the intrusion. His fingertips dance along your folds and you look up at him with a somewhat mischievous grin on your face. Sunghoon brings his hand up to his mouth, sticks his tongue out to lick the pad of his fingers, then puts it back onto your cunt.

Sunghoon inserts his middle finger and is pleasantly surprised to find you as wet as you are. He breathes heavily and supports his body on his elbow to get a better angle. He moves his hand at a slower pace, feeling every drag of your walls as he pushes himself in and out of you.

“Pretty baby.” The compliment comes out of nowhere and he kisses you right after. It’s tender and warm, but hot and sensual at the same time.

Somewhere along the way, you take initiative and reach out to his lap. He’s already half-hard by the time you touch him, and he groans into your mouth when you wrap your hand around his dick. Swiping your thumb against his slit brings out a deep moan within him, and Sunghoon plunges his finger into you even deeper.

He grows harder in your hand by the minute. The two of you are barely kissing at this rate. Sunghoon’s added another finger into your wet cunt and you focus on hearing just how much you’re splashing against his palm while stroking him, using the precum that’s oozing out to make him wet too. Your lips are just touching. You can feel his uneven breaths when you tug on his cock and twist your wrist, and Sunghoon keeps a steady gaze on you when you squeeze his base.

Sunghoon mutters a quiet fuck and your heart swells with pride. When it comes to your professional life, it seems difficult to get a positive reaction out of him unless you go above and beyond. But when it’s just the two of you in his bedroom, Sunghoon praises you like it gets him off too.

His precum leaks from his tip and you use your hand to coat it around him. Your palm feels his warm, throbbing dick that pulsates every time you twist your wrist. Sunghoon’s fingers falter every now and then. It feels like a victory to have him let his guard down. Although your day job is to take care of him, you find that Sunghoon seldom allows you to actually do it.

“Let me take care of you.”

You whisper it against his lips so tenderly that Sunghoon pulls away and looks down at you like he’s trying to decipher a difficult riddle. His fingers pause inside of you.

“Me? Don’t you do that enough?”

You roll your eyes and pull your hips from his hand. Sunghoon watches you with a curious arch to his brow as you maneuver onto the bed and move yourself between his legs as he spreads them apart. You pull the sheets off him, not caring that you’re naked too, and drink him in like you’re seeing him for the first time.

His dick stands tall and proud. It felt so big inside of you last night. The thought of putting it in your mouth and sucking the soul out of him makes you clench around absolutely nothing and you feel no shame for it.

You don’t look at Sunghoon directly, but you know he’s looking at you. His gaze is somewhere between watchful and lazy. It’s a perfect combination of curiosity and expectation, especially when you lay your chest down onto his mattress and wrap both hands around his base. Sunghoon flexes his thighs and breathes like he’s willing himself to calm down.

You kiss his tip first and savor the salty taste of his precum before moving your lips to put gentle kisses all over him. You don’t know what compels you to be as gentle as you are. Perhaps it’s the morning sunlight and the quiet of the neighborhood that’s making you feel this way. It’s unlike the loud, bustling city that Seoul is. There’s no expectation to hurry and get started on your day. There’s just Sunghoon.

He hums when you wrap your lips around the head and suck on it. Sunghoon’s hands clench beside him like he’s trying to get a grasp on reality, especially when your tongue swirls around it. You let your spit collect until it’s nearly spilling out of your mouth before pushing another couple of inches into your mouth and suck. That elicits a gasp from Sunghoon, who pushes his hands deep into the mattress.

Like he’s done with you before, you reach for his hand and pry his finger away from his palm. He opens his eyes and looks down at your hand as your mouth works on his cock and immediately laces his fingers with your own. You’re still surprised at how they’re so soft. Sunghoon must take good care of himself.

With your other free hand, you grab his balls and gently squeeze them as you rise to push yourself down on his dick. Your throat constricts around his girth and you don’t pay any attention to the spit that falls from the both corners of your mouth. It adds lubrication and you ignore every uncomfortable sensation to fit even more of him.

Sunghoon makes the most gorgeous noises. His deep voice echo throughout the room and his chiseled chest makes him look like a supermodel who stepped out of a fashion magazine. He’s gorgeous in every sense of the word and the fact that he isn’t afraid to moan in front of you makes him that much hotter. Sunghoon lets his pleasure do the talking and doesn’t disrupt your ministrations to get him off faster. You like that he’s letting you take control.

Eventually, you pull him out of your mouth to catch your breath and focus on pumping his cock while your mouth travels down to his balls. He moans even louder when you massage them with your tongue and switch them in and out of your mouth. The noises he makes are unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him. Sunghoon sounds pained and pleasured at the same time, almost like he’s been waiting to feel this good his entire life.

“Shit, baby,” he says finally after regaining his composure. The hand that isn’t holding yours grabs your hair into a messy ponytail and you put your mouth back around his cock.

Sunghoon doesn’t have to say anything else. With the way his thighs clench and how he grits his teeth while grunting, you know he’s close to his orgasm. He doesn’t push your head until you move it up and down his shaft, and you feel him grip onto your hair tighter. It makes you moan around his dick and he rewards you by emitting the deepest, sexiest sound you’ve ever heard from him. He pulls and pushes you down on his cock until he’s spurting his come right down your throat.

It’s a welcomed sensation, but only because it’s Sunghoon. You don’t fight his hot seed, nor do you try to pull your head away from him. His grip on your stills and keeps you right where he wants you. You do your best to swallow every drop without choking on it and breathe through your nose to avoid coughing it up. Some of it spills from your mouth and you desperately chase it when he lets go of your hair. You don’t even feel embarrassed to lick up all of him that escaped your throat and you don’t notice Sunghoon looking down at you like he can’t believe you let him do that.

When you sit up, Sunghoon immediately pulls you to him and kisses you. He doesn’t seem to care that he can taste himself on your mouth, and that makes you that much wetter. His cock, still hard even after coming to an orgasm just a minute prior, prods at your bare hole when you situate yourself on his lap.

“You’re perfect,” Sunghoon mutters through sloppy, wet kisses. “My perfect girl.”

“I give pretty good head, don’t I?”

He gently smacks the side of your thigh. “You like teasin’ me, baby?”

“Maybe.” You giggle against his mouth and he grins, pecking you once.

“Mm. Won’t argue with you because that mouth of yours just made me come.”

Even after having his dick in your mouth, his boldness still makes you shy. You look at him and bite your lip before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and digging your head into the crook of his neck. He laughs and you feel that vibrate along his naked chest. Sunghoon merely pulls you away from him and strokes the side of your face to push the hair from your eyes.

“You’re so cute,” he coos. “Such a shy little thing when I have you in my bed.”

“Total bitch when I’m in the office though, am I right?”

His grin widens. “Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t have it any other way. You don’t want to know how many boners I’ve dealt when you rip me a new one.”

“You’re so weird.” His hot cock rests under your slit and Sunghoon can feel you aching against him. He lifts your lap up to position his tip against your hole and allows you to slowly sink onto him at your own pace until you’re fully seated on his lap.

“Fuck,” you moan while his fingers caress your back as you slowly ride him. “So big.”

Sunghoon looks up at you with dazed eyes like he just might love you. That smile he gives you makes your heart flutter.

“You have the most perfect pussy.”

That makes your face hot.

“Hoon…”

“Hoon,” he moans, eyes closing shut for just a brief second while his mouth warps into a lazy smile. “Call me that again.”

“Hoon?”

“Again.”

He pushes you down on his cock and pushes into your lap until it reaches your depths.

“Hoon!”

You yelp when he pulls your body down to his chest and brace yourself by flattening your palms on his chest and the mattress. Sunghoon’s hips drill right into yours at lightning speed. His tip hits the very spot he’s been managing to find this entire weekend and you feel completely limp against him. Every time you try to position yourself upright, Sunghoon tightens his grip around you while bending his legs to push into you at a deeper angle.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way he feels inside of you. His skin is warm and sticky from the friction and his muscles are so hard underneath your grip. With one hand on his chest and the other on his bicep, your nails dig into his skin and you hear Sunghoon hiss at the pain throughout his moans. He doesn’t say anything, though. In fact, knowing how hard you’re clinging onto him turns him on even more.

The room might as well be the scene of a pornography video with the way the two of you are moaning. Nobody’s ever pulled these kinds of sounds out of you and when you think about all of the women Sunghoon has slept with, you wonder if he’s ever fucked them as hard as he’s fucking you.

Temporary jealousy takes over and that little pang in your chest makes you grab his jaw between your hands to kiss him hard. Teeth and tongue clash everywhere as Sunghoon responds immediately, mouth pushing against yours in a heated fury. You orgasm around him when he hits your sweet spot and he feels you moan right into his mouth. Sunghoon drinks it right up and uses his hands to pull your chest right against him as he finishes inside of you too.

You don’t know what you’re a fan of more: the long, drawn out bedroom sessions or quick morning sex. Sunghoon still manages to leave you satisfied in a fraction of the time compared to the night before. He basks in your glory, hair sticking to his forehead and the sheen of sweat covering his naked body. Sunghoon watches as you look at him all over before you bite your lip and bend down to kiss him tenderly.

Unlike the fast pace from moments before, Sunghoon accepts the slow kiss and keeps his hold on you with a feather-like touch. He caresses your spine like he’s done it a million times before, his dick softening inside of you with your shared orgasm spilling out. The plushness of his lips feel like two soft pillows you want to kiss over and over again.

“Good morning,” you say, bringing your hand to brush the hair from his face. He looks at you fondly.

“Good morning, baby.”

“You look so good right now.” Sunghoon brings your hand from his hair to kiss your palm.

“You’re so cute when you’re soft.” You bite your lip and hide your face in his neck and feel him laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. I learn something new about you everyday.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you mumble. Sunghoon grips your ass and gives it a hard squeeze.

“I love it when you get feisty with me. But I like seeing you when you’re soft like this. It lets me know you trust me.”

You pull yourself upright. “Does it?”

“I’ve learned that you’re not easily impressed and it takes a while for you to let your guard down completely. When we’re at work, that's one thing. But from hearing your dating stories, it sounds like these guys didn’t give you a reason to stick around.”

“Well…that’s true.”

He kisses underneath your jaw. “I don’t care if you’re yelling at me to get my shit done or being gentle. I like everything about you.”

“Careful. You might say something you regret.”

He looks you in the eye.

“I always say what I mean.”

The tension in the room is palpable and you almost say those three little words that seem to come easily for Sunghoon and no one else. You keep your tongue to yourself, however. He doesn’t seem to notice the inner turmoil going on inside of you and pulls out of you slowly before leaving to get a clean rag.

Sunghoon beckons your legs open and cleans you up with a warm, wet rag. He’s gentle with his hands and smoothes over your folds and inner thighs. He holds you with such a delicate touch that it makes you feel as if you must be made of glass or something of more important weight.

When he’s done, Sunghoon holds the cloth in one hand and bends down to press a long kiss onto your slip with his lips pushed right against them. He slips his tongue out and licks a stripe up your slit like he’s a kitten licking milk. He’s so attractive between your legs, especially with his eyes closed like he’s enjoying the meal.

It’s too much for you to look at. You push his face away and close your legs while Sunghoon laughs and helps you up onto your feet, handing you a spare sweater before kissing you goodbye with the promise of meeting you for breakfast in the living room once you’re decent.

***

Midday comes around and the weather has gotten hotter as the sun reaches its peak. Lunch is long forgotten on the kitchen island as you pack a bowl of fruit and grab a few bottles of water to bring outside to the pool area. Sunghoon fetches a few towels and sunscreen before removing the protective barrier covering the pool, revealing stunning tiling that makes it look like a blue lagoon.

The bikini you’re wearing barely hides any part of your body. The cups accentuate your breasts and you might as well have ditched the bottoms you’re wearing because they barely cover your ass. You can tell Sunghoon likes them too, with the way he’s been ogling your body ever since you walked out. He stares at your legs and the curve of your ass before trailing his eyes to the valley of your breasts. He’s shameless about it, too. But nothing about this feels like objectification. In fact, you want Sunghoon to look at you like you’re something he wants to devour.

“Can you put sunscreen on me?” you ask him, holding out a bottle for him to use. Sunghoon takes it from your grasp and stares at your chest before his eyes flicker up to your eyes.

“Sure, baby. Where do you want it?”

You turn around and his eyes immediately follow your ass. You tilt your head until you can see him, and Sunghoon averts his gaze when you catch him staring.

“Can you start with my back? I can’t reach there.”

“Mhm.”

He hums when you turn your head back around and you hear the sunscreen squirt from out the bottle and onto his hands. Sunghoon rubs the product between his hands and you feel him put his palms on your shoulder blades before working it down your back.

“This bikini…”

“You like?”

“Yeah,” he says in disbelief. “I like it a lot.”

“Haven’t had an excuse to wear it. I don’t have a pool in my apartment building.”

“Mm,” he mumbles. “We should fix that.”

You giggle. “Yeah, I guess we should. More trips to this house?”

“Whatever you want.”

He sounds so unfocused that it nearly makes you double over in laughter. Sunghoon’s fingers reach the hem of your bikini bottoms before he brings his hands to cup your asscheeks, temporarily removing himself from your body to grab more sunscreen.

“Can’t forget about your ass, baby. They might get sunburnt too.”

You push yourself out to him and look behind you. He’s barely paying attention to anything but your ass. “You’re so right, Hoon. Do you think you can put sunscreen there, too?”

Sunghoon pushes the fabric together until it resembles a thong, using both of his enormous hands to spread the sunscreen all over you. He pulls apart your ass as if to inspect it and massages the meaty flesh before him until the product disappears. Sunghoon pushes your bottoms back to the appropriate position.

“All done,” he says, clearing his throat. “I should put sunscreen on you everywhere just to be on the safe side, right?”

“Right,” you say with a certain nod. “How about my chest?”

“Good thinking.” He twists your body until you’re facing him and tugs on your bikini strings until his fingers graze your skin. “I think we should put some sunscreen here.”

Sunghoon pulls the fabric away from your breasts to expose your taught nipples and nearly drools at the right. He bends down to suck your left nipple and squeezes the other, flicking his tongue expertly while you grab his head and moan softly above him. He hums around your nipple and pinches the other one gently before switching, taking his sweet time exploring your body while you stand helplessly.

He pulls away faster than you’d like, but you relish in the way he looks completely dazed and out of it, like he forgot he’s supposed to put sunscreen on you. Sunghoon, acting in a daze, puts sunscreen all over your chest and stomach before clearing his throat and turning away. It makes you laugh.

Sunghoon jumps in the pool and it splashes against the bottom of your legs. When he emerges, you fight the urge to squish your legs together. He wipes the water from his eyes and somehow, Sunghoon likes twice as good with water dripping down his body. It accentuates his muscles and you’re dripping wet without having jumped in yet.

“I don’t bite,” he says when he sees you staring. Damn Sunghoon and the uptick on his mouth.

You roll your eyes and get into the pool by the steps instead of jumping in like Sunghoon did. He waits for you to approach him and watches the way your assets bounce against the small currents from your movements. He licks his lips shamelessly and reaches his hands out to squeeze your hips when you come to him.

“There she is,” Sunghoon says. “There’s my girl.”

You swat his chest. “You only like me because my tits are out.”

Sunghoon averts his eyes to your chest. “Can’t say that isn’t true.” You fix your bikini top until your nipples are nearly peeking out just to tease him.

“Better?” He squeezes your hips.

“Much better. Though, I think they’d look better if you took the bikini off.”

Sunghoon turns your body around until your back is pressed against his chest. His lips attach to your neck and he peppers kisses along your hot skin while his hands trail up your body to cup your breasts. His thumbs pass over your hardened buds and you don’t shy away from his touch.

In fact, you encourage it. There’s no mistaking the arch in your back to press yourself against Sunghoon’s crotch. He grunts against your neck and cups your breasts through your top, giving them a gentle and firm squeeze. It makes you whimper softly against the sound of the pool water moving against the two of you and you swear Sunghoon grows harder by the second.

“Sexy girl,” he mutters, pulling the fabric covering your chest to the side to completely expose you. He hooks his chin on your shoulders and peers down at your breasts. “Fuck, they’re so beautiful.”

It exhilarates you like no other to have him touch you like this in public, even though his backyard isn’t accessible unless you come from the house. Still, the prospect is still the same.

“Let’s say we take these off, hm?”

He doesn’t wait for your permission, but it’s not like you’d decline him anyway and he knows it. Sunghoon moves his fingers slowly to untie your bikini top until it’s floating in the water next to you. He groans when your chest is free and cups them in his palms as he thrusts his hard dick against your ass.

“Need my dick between your tits.” Sunghoon squeezes you again and you match the way he’s rubbing against you by pushing on him too. “Wanna see my come all over them.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, baby. I’ll fuck your perfect tits until they’re nice and dirty for me.” He drops one hand to your bottoms and bypasses the fabric until his fingers graze your slit. “Jesus, darlin’. Making me so horny in this little number of yours.”

“Fuck,” you moan out. Sunghoon plunges a finger inside of you hastily and groans against your ear. His breath makes your body shiver and you feel him smirk right against you when he feels it.

“I want to taste you right now.”

He moves the two of you closer to the shallow end where the steps are and nudges you to turn around. You whimper when he withdraws his finger but the way he looks at you makes up for it.

Your body’s halfway out the water and you feel more exposed when he undoes your bottoms, letting that float away in the water too. Sunghoon’s is rock hard against his swimming trunks when he bends down to bring his face closer to your naked cunt and licks a wide stripe up your slit.

You don’t shy away from moaning loudly and that seems to please Sunghoon, who licks you again and again until you’re moaning in contentment. You feel unburdened by anything and his mouth takes the stress from your body, and turns it into something pleasurable.

His hands grip your thighs to keep you in place while his mouth attaches to your folds, lips puckered while his tongue runs across the expanse of your cunt like he’s trying to memorize every bit of you from this experience alone. Sunghoon is so good with his mouth that it astounds you how turned on you are just from oral.

He hums when he feels your feet touch his back and buries his head deeper in you. The water subtly splashes around and the cool droplets lessens the burn of the hot sun.

You’ve never imagined yourself to be someone as bold as this. Seldom do men make you feel comfortable enough to let your guard down, much less eat you out in a semi-public area. Sunghoon’s tongue explores your inner walls with every pass and his hands keep you grounded, reminding you to enjoy the present and turn your brain off.

The hard concrete underneath you starts to feel uncomfortable and Sunghoon strokes your skin with his thumb as if to say you’re doing a great job withstanding the subtle friction. He moves his face until his tongue is perfectly hitting your clit repeatedly, making you come right on his mouth with your legs spread impossibly wide. The thrill of it all makes your stomach coil and you don’t shy away from bucking your hips right into his face.

Sunghoon pulls back and his face looks absolutely wild, from his lust-filled eyes to his hard dick standing upright in his trunks. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you push your legs back underneath the water and attempt to stand on your own. He takes a step forward when you falter and kisses your forehead like he didn’t just devour you in his pool.

“So good for me,” he mutters, moving to kiss your lips next. “I knew I’d get you out of your shell.”

“Can’t believe I let you do that in public.”

“Not technically public.”

“Anyone could’ve seen!” He rolls his eyes when you laugh at him. You try not to seem bashful when he pulls himself out of his swim shorts but his hard, leaking dick looks you right in the eye and you become some animalistic version of yourself.

“Atta girl,” Sunghoon says when you prop yourself over the ledge of the pool.

You part your legs to fit him in between and he rubs your ass with one hand while gliding the tip over your hole with the other. The feeling of Sunghoon against your cunt will never get old. The intrusion is welcomed and encouraged, and he senses your eagerness when you squeeze around the head.

It’s hot, mid-morning, and today feels like the kind of day to relax and unwind. Unlike this morning, Sunghoon doesn’t rush to make either of you orgasm. He sets a moderate pace and holds your hips while pushing his pelvis against your body. You’re content hearing him grunt behind you and your tits hangs over the ledge as he pushes and pulls from you repeatedly.

To you, sex could never be as casual as this. It’s amazing how Sunghoon makes you feel like you don’t have to be ashamed to feel pleasure. You don’t need an excuse to have somebody adorn your body with their mouth or fuck you like they’re desperate for it. Here you are, spreading your legs and ass for your boss, but it feels like you’re on your first vacation with your boyfriend.

You try not to think about that too much. Instead, you let the feeling of pleasure and euphoria takeover until you’re both coming. Sunghoon finishes inside and mutters something about how he doesn’t want to make the pool all dirty, and so your pussy is the only logical place to come. That makes you horny again, and you make him fuck you on the pool chair out in the open.

***

After the pool, you and Sunghoon decide you’ve played too hard to do anything that requires a functioning brain cell. The two of you shower together. Sunghoon tries to start something while you wash your hair and pouts when you tell him you need to clean yourself in peace. He waits patiently and doesn’t rush you, and you reward him by deep throating his cock until he bursts.

The two of you dry up and spend the rest of the afternoon lazily lounging in his bed with the TV on in the background. For an hour, the two of you talk about everything and nothing, sneaking in a few kisses until you inevitably fall asleep on his chest. Sunghoon falls asleep shortly after.

When you come to, Sunghoon is awake and checking his phone. You blink the sleep out of your eyes and see that he’s looking at an email for a dinner reservation. Sunghoon, who notices you’re awake when you stir above him, glances down and kisses your nose.

“Good morning, princess.”

“It’s four in the afternoon, Hoon.”

“Good morning, princess,” he repeats. You swat his chest and fall back against him. “There’s a restaurant nearby that I really love. Romantic, candle lit, and everything. We have a reservation at seven.”

“It’s so weird to let you handle this stuff,” you mutter against his neck before kissing it once. “I feel useless.”

“Relax and let me do the work, yeah? You can go back to being my assistant when we’re at the office.”

“I guess…” He grins when he hears your playful tone.

“I know you’re sleepy, but I think you should get up and start getting ready. We need to leave by six-thirty to make it on time.”

You groan. “Wanna sleep. Wanna have sex a little more too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sunghoon pulls his body until he’s hovering over yours and locks eyes with you. “I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“Not you. Your dick.” You bring a hand over his shorts to cup his bulge before squeezing it.

Sunghoon spreads both of your legs wider and presses his covered crotch along your own covered mound, pushing himself until you feel his body heat. You can’t help but gasp, especially when you feel that he’s already started to harden against you. Sunghoon slowly grinds himself and the friction feels a bit too good to admit. He lifts his hips up and down until his hard dick is slotting themselves against your pussy. Your slick is already pouring out and your panties are pasted to the shape of your folds.

“Feels so good,” you whisper against his lips when Sunghoon bends down to kiss you.

“I’ll fuck you some more after.” You whine when he pulls away. “Go get ready, brat. Let me be good to you. Stop sabotaging me with those eyes of yours.”

You pout when you realize your seductive gaze isn’t working on him, but get up nonetheless.

Sunghoon gives you space and breathing room to get ready. He says he wants to be surprised by what you’re wearing and steps out of the room before you can say anything else. You put on some music while you paint your face a bit more elegant than normal, and feel the excitement of a date creep upon you.

While the two of you have had dinner just the two of you before, this feels like a real date. The intention of impressing him is clearly there. Your lips are an incredible shade of red and the way you did your eye makeup makes you look like a seductive siren. You don’t overthink it too much. This is Sunghoon, the man you’ve known for six years. He’s seen you naked and has finished inside you. There’s no reason to feel nervous.

But the nerves are still there. The warm feelings you have towards him creep up like a sleeper spy. They hit you when you least expect it and when you’re not distracted by him. The weighted reality of going back to Seoul and the two of you never addressing this weekend is a fear you have, but it’s one that doesn’t need to be addressed at this very moment.

The lingerie you packed makes your body look like a sinful temptation. It leaves very little to the imagination and emphasizes your assets in a way that makes you feel more confident than not. The dress you’ve chosen makes you might as well be the most beautiful person in the room. Every insecurity you have seems to have vanished when you look at yourself in the full length mirror, and your nerves stem from excitement rather than worry. For the first time, you get a feeling that tonight won’t end up in tears and drowning your sorrows in cheap wine and popcorn.

“Holy shit,” Sunghoon curses when you come out of the room. You hold your sleek pair of heels in your hands—a tall peep toe shoe with a buckle around the ankle—while Sunghoon’s eyes roam all over your figure. “Fuck, baby. I think I might cum right now.”

“Don’t flatter me too much.” It’s hard to avoid his eyes. He’s staring at your legs and beckons you to give him your shoes.

You stare in utter shock when Sunghoon bends to his knees to help you put them on. One by one, you slip into the heel and feel his fingers brush against your ankle until he’s standing in front of you with parted lips. Sunghoon looks delectable when he’s on his knees for you.

“I want to kiss you, but I’ll ruin your lip gloss,” he mumbles, eyes gazing at your mouth while his hands touch your hips. Sunghoon slowly kisses both of your cheeks instead. The way he’s looking at you makes your heart race.

He loops his arm with yours and leads you out the door.

As promised, the restaurant is as romantic as Sunghoon described it. There are small candles on every table and the lighting is just low enough to make you feel like you and Sunghoon are the only two people in the room.

The host leads you to the reserved table right by the window and the combination of the natural moonlight and the live band makes you feel like you stepped into a cliche romance novel. Usually, you’d turn your nose up at romantic endeavors, but tonight you feel like you’re brave enough to bask in its glory.

Sunghoon pulls your chair out for you and you let him. Tonight, you’re his date. Not his assistant.

“You look amazing.” You laugh.

“You said that four times already.”

He grabs your hand above the table and starts playing with your fingers. Sunghoon, too, looks breathtaking. He’s slicked his hair back and you can see the silver jewelry adorning his neck and fingers. Sunghoon is so stylish, even down to his shoes, that it makes you feel a bit embarrassed to remember all of the guys who’ve dressed so poorly when they took you out on a date.

Maybe it’s mean to judge those men for not having the means that Sunghoon does. But he’s clearly secure in himself and doesn’t mind letting you take center stage without a moment's notice. You saw it when he let you walk in front of him from the valet to the restaurant, and you saw it in the way he kept his eyes on you the entire time. You know you look good. He knows it too.

If there’s one thing you love about Sunghoon, it’s that he seems to know what you’re feeling before you do. It’s your job to know that when he’s at work, but you often forget that he’s learned a lot about you in the time you’ve been working alongside him. He expertly suggests appetizers and cocktails that he thinks you’ll like and you actually enjoy them. Men from your past puff their chest and talk big for people who don’t know what they’re doing.

You feel taken care of. And, if you’re honest with yourself, it feels good to let someone else take the wheel for a change. Sunghoon understands you on a level that is beyond your imagination. Neither of you have to speak in order to be on the same wavelength. It’s as if the two of you are two foreign objects working in tandem, completing each other without intent.

It’s scary to realize how fast you’ve fallen for him. But on the other hand, were these feelings already there, and did you only act upon it when Sunghoon started to show interest in you too? You thought you had squashed these feelings down years ago, chalking it up to loneliness when you developed a small crush on your boss. Viewing him like the authoritative figure who signed your paychecks worked for a little while. Now, that method has gone down the drain.

You’d always been a bit envious of the beautiful women in Sunghoon’s life and those who wanted to rub elbows with him. You never believed you could measure up because of the wealth disparage, and most would ignore your presence for the sake of having a good time with him. Working alongside him the first two years of your career was a challenge and a half. Picking him up from far away locations at ungodly hours of the morning tested your patience, as did seeing him with post-sex hair at 2 A.M.

It was like a breath of relief when Sunghoon stopped seeing women so frequently. No more envy of the rich and famous, and no more heartbreak over the fact that he’d been with women who weren’t you. It was you who he called to fix his messes and it was you who he “came home to” at the end of the day. Per the requirements of your contract, you were always there for him and Sunghoon knew you’d be a call away.

People push you out of the way when they realize you’re his assistant and not his equal. You’ve had your fair share of women weasel their way into his life with bad intentions and mistreat you because of it. Some are polite while others are snarky. Some try to butter you up with gifts and sweet words of affirmations, while others turn their noses in your direction.

Learning to develop a thick skin came with time. Part of growing up meant knowing when to shut feelings off. You’d grown comfortable leaving your morality and emotions at the door every morning you stepped into the office building. Only when you’d read the threshold of your apartment would you break down into a puddle of tears. It’s a dog-eat-dog world and your position did not make life easier for you.

Somewhere along the way, Sunghoon started to feel like a colleague rather than your boss. He started asking for your input and entrusted you with a few of his projects. As time passed by, the two of you developed a way of working well together without stepping on each other’s toes. For some accounts, you were the coordinator and liaison while Sunghoon took the backseat. On others, you were his acting assistant and remained that way until the end of the project.

It almost felt like you were an employee of his status, too. You felt like you could’ve made a great career out of it. But jumping through hoops and glass barriers in your way posed a great challenge that you were not able to meet. Perhaps the stagnation of your job and the repetitive nature was what started to burn your light. Traveling to far away places only seems fun when you take the work aspect out of the equation.

There was never enough time for you, and the accumulation of boredom and routine was what drove you to resign. But even now, in the wake of abandonment, Sunghoon cares for you. The end of the meal is anything but a sobering thought after multiple glasses of wine and enough food to make you feel like a rich heiress. What’s left is your raw feelings and your relentless love for him.

“You’re so good to me.” Sunghoon tilts his head and looks at you.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re so…attentive.”

“I’d like to think I know you pretty well.”

“It’s hard for me to trust people completely.”

He smiles softly. “I know.”

“I’m not used to letting my guard down, is what I’m trying to say. It feels like we’ve been on vacation for weeks, even though it’s only been a day.”

“I care about you a lot, you know?” Sunghoon says. He sips on his wine without breaking eye contact, your own glass on its second pour. “You know me better than anyone else does.”

“Sometimes, I feel like I’ll never get out of the cycle I’m in. I’m scared that I’ll always feel lonely.”

He strokes your hand. “Is the second glass getting to you?”

“Maybe…”

“You’re really cute.”

You pout. “You keep saying that, but I’m telling you some depressing shit about how my life is boring and I’m sad all the time.”

“So cute.”

He bites his lip and looks at you for a moment. It makes you feel like you’re under inspection. Perhaps it’s the wine that’s making you feel vulnerable and light-headed, but Sunghoon looks at you like he wants you to believe him.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I could never be the man I am today without you.”

“You…You’re giving me too much credit.”

“No, baby.” You melt at his deep voice. “I don’t think I knew how intertwined our lives are until you gave me your resignation letter. You’ve been a constant in my life for the past six years and I took that for granted every single day. I want you to stay, but I don’t want you to choose me if that means sacrificing your own happiness.”

His words pierce your heart.

“I’m…drunk.”

Sunghoon seems to know what you mean. Your mind is too loud and combined with the volume of your heart pounding in your chest, you feel like nothing could ever capture what you want to say. Your eyes feel wet and glossy from his words and the alcohol that’s just on the precipice of wearing off. You’re sure you must look like some hot mess with smudged lipstick and a dazed look. To Sunghoon, you look like the epitome of perfection.

“Let me take care of the bill, yeah? Let’s go home.”

He kisses the back of your hand before standing up to pay. The empty dessert plates, insistent by Sunghoon, who tells you a tiramisu won’t kill your savory taste buds, sit on the table like they’ve been licked clean. It’s nice to jump off the deep end and do things differently every now and then. You can still feel his lips where he kissed you.

When Sunghoon comes back, he kisses your forehead quickly before leading you out of the restaurant with his hand in yours. You let him lead you to the valet and will your beating heart to slow down before you die of a heart attack. The only thing you can think about when you’re in the car is how it feels like you’re his wife coming home after a much needed date night. You’re not his employee. You’re his equal.

Sunghoon parks his car inside of the garage when you unbuckle and grab his face with both hands. You push your lips upon him by surprise and he makes a sound from the sudden movement, but his hands find themselves on your waist when you kiss him. It’s somewhere between heavy and seductive, rushed and calculated. You throw all inhibitions out the window and let your body do all the talking for you. There are no reservations and hidden insecurities when you’re with Sunghoon, just love.

He pushes his hands up your dress and you happily moan against his touch. Sunghoon rewards you by kissing you harder and pulls away when he needs to catch his breath.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mutters. His big, brown eyes look up at you and you wear you could finish right there.

“I want you,” you whisper in the quiet of the garage. The hum of the fluorescent lights is the only thing you register, aside from how fast your heart is beating.

“You have me.”

Sunghoon beckons you out of the car after a few more kisses and promises to have fun with you when you resist. You see him harden up when you whine about him not touching you and it makes Sunghoon more aroused than ever before. He sees and hears your sheer desperation. It makes him want to take you on every inch of this house.

Eventually, the two of you make your way inside the house and you nearly stumble when Sunghoon drops to his knees. His hands fumble with the strap of the ankle and you feel his fingers gently undoing the buckle. Every pass of his skin feels electrifying and so does looking down at him. He, who plays the role of an authoritative figure, is on his knees for you.

He’s still in control, but it makes you feel like you have all the power. You’re putty in Sunghoon’s hands and you’re starting to assume he’s the same when it comes to you. His surprisingly soft hands caress your leg with every touch that wakes up some pent up sexual frustration from the pit of your stomach. The desire is there and Sunghoon’s the first person to bring it out of you to this extent.

Sunghoon puts your heels aside and kisses up your leg. He pushes the hem of your dress towards your upper thigh when he alternates legs until his face is right by your stomach. He kisses you there keeps his chin there to look up at you as if to admire you from where he kneels. It’s too much for you. It makes you want to suck the soul out of him and never return it.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” Sunghoon says while maintaining eye contact with you. His hands come to cup the back of your legs, caressing your skin with his thumbs. You feel his warmth radiating off of him and he looks at you like he’s somewhere in between starving and satiated.

You don’t say anything. You can’t say anything. Sunghoon has you stopped in your tracks that you feel like you’re frozen on the ground with nothing but the sound of your heart pounding in your ear drums.

“You always look so good when you get dressed up. Did you dress up for me?”

You blush at that.

“I…”

“It’s okay if you did.”

Sunghoon starts to feel up your body underneath your dress and touches the lace lingerie you have on underneath. He hums in satisfaction and looks up at you again.

“You’re so strong, you know that? It’s what I like about you the most. You don’t need me to tell you anything.” He snaps the band of your panties and you subtly jolt in your stance. Sunghoon rises from his spot on the floor, and you look up at him once he’s at his full height.

“But I’m selfish. I like it when you dress up for me.”

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“Yeah. It makes me feel special.”

“Special?”

You never thought you could make him feel that way too. You’ve been so caught up in your own life and distracting yourself from falling too hard that you never considered how you affect him. His dark brown eyes reach the depths of your soul when he looks at you like this.

“You don’t do things because anyone asks you to. You do it for you. You’re quitting your job as my assistant because there’s more to life than that. My brave girl. I like it when you dress up for me because I know you must feel the same way I do.”

“I don’t want to leave you forever,” you quietly confess.

“I don’t want that either. You have me, remember? I’m not going anywhere.

Sunghoon makes you feel all kinds of uncanny things. He makes you feel like the star of your own romantic movie. Every cliche is not meant with resistance, like you would with other men. Instead, Sunghoon says all the right things and you find yourself falling for every word.

Except, there’s something about this that makes you believe it’s real. He’s not saying it to get into your pants and leave you in the morning. Everything about him fighting for your employment to taking you on a whimsical weekend vacation makes you think he feels just as deeply as you do. He’s never done this with any of his past flings and short lived relationships before. You’ve seen it firsthand when he blames work for keeping him busy instead of confronting whatever truth he’s hiding from.

With you, Sunghoon seems to have let all of that go.

The two of you kiss messily and stumble in the hallway until you’re in the bedroom. Sunghoon throws his jacket on the floor and doesn’t have time to think when you kneel before him and pull your dress down to expose your chest. He stutters and nearly trips, if not for the edge of the bed directly behind his knees, and takes his shirt off when you unbuckle his pants to fish out his cock.

You don’t say anything before you put your mouth on him. No warning. Nothing but pure greed and lust mixed together. Sunghoon watches you lick him up and down with your warm tongue and groans at the feeling of your wet saliva smearing all over his dick. You don’t care that your cheeks are starting to dampen up. That makes him even harder.

You force his pants and boxers down when you fit him inside of your mouth. You’re not thinking at all. Sunghoon moans loudly when you take as much of him as you can in a single shot. His hands find the back of your head to balance himself while you hook your hands onto his legs to push more of him deeper in your small throat. Watching you pull your head back only to push right back in makes Sunghoon thrust his hips towards you.

The gagging sound makes you wetter and it makes him quicken his pace. You breathe through your nose and focus on how good it feels to know you’re the one making him act like this. Every grunt, every moan, and every orgasm is because of you.

Humming around his dick makes Sunghoon moan too. The two of you sound like a pornography film when you moan in tandem. The noises he makes are beyond anything you’ve ever heard before. Men before you have been too afraid to make any sounds during sex, but it’s like Sunghoon needs to let them out in order to feel true pleasure. His baritone voice makes you impossibly wet.

He holds your head in place and starts to fuck your mouth without abandon. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag until spit is falling all over the place, but you don’t care at all. Sunghoon’s pelvis touches your nose with every thrust and you arch your back and the pace he sets, sticking your ass out for him to see. He moans and widens his stance for a better angle and shoves his dick deeper in your mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “I don’t want to cum yet.”

Sunghoon pushes your head away and holds you by the hair with a tight grip. You chase his dick after it slips out, but he holds you in your place instead of letting you suck him back in. Sunghoon’s cock twitches when you whine. He pivots and forces you onto the bed before he lies on top of it with his chest facing the ceiling.

When he pulls your dress down your body, he curses upon seeing the red lace adorning your body. Your chest is pushed in all the right places and nearly spills over the cups. He throws the fabric somewhere behind him and spreads your legs for him to see, and feeling like an object he’s inspecting turns you on so much that you’re sure he can spot the wet patch by now.

Sunghoon doesn’t comment on it, too focused on taking in the way you look underneath him. His hands reach to grip your breasts and stomach, his finger tracing the line of the lace hem above where you need him the most.

“Can’t believe you wore this for me.” Sunghoon bends his head down between your chest and kisses the spot there before turning to lick your left nipple over the cloth. “You’re so fucking sexy, you know that? Do you know how hard it is to keep myself in check every time I see you? It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing a trash bag. I get so fucking hard every time you walk into a room.”

As if to prove a point, Sunghoon pushes his cock over your covered pussy. He moans quietly and pulls the cups of your bra down to suck on your buds with a gentle hum, like he’s satisfied a craving of his. His tongue feels like some kind of gentle heaven and you can’t help but arch your back, which pushes your chest right into his face.

You paw at his dick and grip it hard in your hand, attempting to tug on it at this angle. He chuckles against your chest when you struggle to grip all of him.

“I love how eager you are,” he mutters against your chest before crawling on the bed himself. “You look so desperate trying to touch my dick. Is that what you want?”

Sunghoon obliges. His hands grab your body and place you on top of him with your mouth pointed at his crotch. His cock looks so much bigger from this angle and you’re dripping right onto Sunghoon’s tongue. The feeling of the first pass makes you clench your hole and grip the base of his cock to balance yourself.

He pulls your panties aside and moans against your pussy and licks you simultaneously. You feel his warm breath and the way his hands are prying your ass apart for him. Sunghoon groans when you push your lap onto his face, slapping your asscheek.

You get the hint and wrap your lips around his dick, trying to fit all of it in your mouth. It’s slower than Sunghoon’s languid licks, but you must be doing a good job because you feel the vibration of his voice on your clit. It sends shivers up your spine and it makes your mouth water.

Eventually, you find a steady pace as your hands squeeze Sunghoon’s balls between your fingers. You suck his tip like it’s a goddamn lollipop and you’re mouthing him like you have an oral fixation when it comes to him. He nearly bites you when you swallow his sack in your mouth and let your tongue lick through the seam. A swell of pride resides within you when you hear him. He’s so put together most of the time. It’s nice to feel him let his inhibitions go.

You hollow your cheeks until it becomes a makeshift vacuum and suck on his dick as hard as you can. The moans coming from your throat make it hard for Sunghoon to stay still beneath you, but you welcome the intrusion every time his hips buck right into your mouth. Your saliva makes everything that much wetter and the sounds of his wettened cock and your slick core, egg both of you on. You’ve never felt so turned on sucking someone off before.

Sunghoon’s tongue thrusts into you and you push back on his face, momentarily fearing that you might suffocate him if you continue. But his movements feel too good to care at this point. Sunghoon slurps up your juices and massages your ass while he eats you like a man on a mission, tongue rolling everywhere with no real method.

It makes you feel jealous that other women have experienced his magical mouth. You hate that he’s tasted women who aren’t you and you hate that you’ve had to watch him come home from a one night stand while pushing your own feelings below the surface.

This motivates you to suck him with a death grip. Your mouth never relents and you force your head down until you’ve shoved all of him down your throat. Sunghoon moans against your core and you feel his grip on your ass tighten the more you constrict yourself around his cock.

With a new sense of pride for making him moan the way he does, it propels you to use your head like that. You pull back and push down over and over again, letting his thick, mushroom head hit the back of your throat while your saliva spills everywhere. You refuse to take a break when Sunghoon’s suffocating himself on your pussy.

One hand continues to touch his balls and aid his pleasure while the other grips his base to keep his dick right where you want him. God, you think. Where has this man been all my life?

You cum when Sunghoon sucks on your clit. You push yourself off of him to arch your back, and grasp anything to make you feel sane. He moans when he tastes your orgasm and keeps licking while you process your high and come down from it. His cock is untouched and twitching with excitement upon tasting your release.

“Need it,” Sunghoon nearly growls.

He pushes your body off of him until the back of your head touches the plush pillows. He puts his mouth underneath your jaw and kisses you every place he can touch. Sunghoon drags his tongue all over and tastes the salty sheen of your sweat, grinning to himself. His canines graze your pulse point and you buck your hips until the underside of his wet cock is brushing against yours.

“Do you want me as badly as I want you?” he whispers against your neck.

“I need you more than you know.”

“Fuck. I want all of you.”

You spread your legs wide open and Sunghoon takes this opportunity to reach between your bodies to guide his tip to your entrance after pulling your panties to the side again. The push is slow and monstrous, unlike the times you’ve had sex with him before. He feels bigger somehow. More girth than earlier this morning. The stretch is deliciously painful and the sting burns no matter how wet you are.

You both moan out into the open when he slips it in. Sunghoon looks like something devilish when he shuts his eyes while moaning. He’s so fucking hot that it’s not fair at all. His face becomes flushed and his forehead glistens with the sweat he’s built up eating you out. He buries himself to the hilt until you feel his warm sack on your ass.

Your toes curl and you both feel the way your hole flutters around Sunghoon’s dick. His breaths are slow and deep. They make you more aroused, especially in the quiet of the night with nothing but the moonlight illumination through the uncovered windows.

Sunghoon doesn’t snap his hips like you expect him to. He raises his hips and rolls them in slowly as if trying to savor every drag of your walls against his wet cock. He’s so slow that you hear your combined breaths trying to regain some kind of dignity and failing. The wet sounds add to your euphoria. Sunghoon starts to increase his speed, but not by much.

“Perfect,” he mutters to himself. “So fucking perfect.”

He braces both of his hands on either side of you. Sunghoon’s muscular bicep comes into view and makes you clench around him, to which he hissed and loses his composure, pushing his chest to yours. Your nipples squeeze under his skin. His body is so warm against you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like you lost your mind before this very moment. Sunghoon feels like he’s reached every untouched crevice in your body and it makes you feel like you're frozen in time. You don’t run from this pleasure either. You stay right where you are and tell yourself you deserve to have good sex and you deserve Sunghoon.

You’ve enticed him. Sunghoon widens his own legs to better angle himself until he’s plunging his dick straight into you. The sheer force and depth at which he’s fucking you feels incredible. He doesn’t seem like he’s thinking at all. He acts like this is his primal instinct and he’s letting that version of himself takeover.

Sunghoon groans with the sexual frustration he has within him and drills himself into you like he’s trying to make the two of you become one. His hips start to lose control the faster he thrusts into you, his cock warm and heavy even at the pace he’s setting. It’s all so hot.

You think you might love him so much that walking away would shatter you. Your heart can’t help but choose him every time, and some part of you is desperate to know if Sunghoon feels the same way about you.

Whimpers pour past your lips the faster Sunghoon fucks you. The gradual pace tells you he’s the absolute master of self indulgence and patience. You see elements of it when you see him in the office, and it’s always made you wonder just how patient he can be. Tonight, it seems like he’s trying to draw out your combined pleasure for as long as humanly possible.

“Oh god,” Sunghoon chokes. He’s pounding into you with relentless force. “I’m cumming, shit shit shit.”

He holds his breath, focusing on his orgasm. Sunghoon breaks you out of any thought that isn’t right here and right now. He arches his back so beautifully when he’s close and it drives his cock into you that much deeper.

Sunghoon glances down at you before shutting his eyes and letting the first droplets of cum seep into you. You tighten your grip around his dick in preparation for what’s to come. Only, this time surprise you more than the time.

“I love you.”

He moans it without caring how loud he’s being. Sunghoon’s admission triggers your own orgasm and you thrash your body around while he chases your hips to settle you in your place beneath him. Your pussy clenched over and over again, collecting every drop from his leaning tip. Your shared orgasm leaks from the empty space between the two of you and you feel it drip between your legs.

It’s like your heart is bursting with warmth and shock at the same time. Electricity flies off of your body and your mind runs so fast that you don’t know if you’ll ever come down from this particular high. Sunghoon finds your lips and kisses you with fervor and passion while he slows down his thrusts. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to make sure you’re real. He doesn’t pull away or pull out, even when he’s becoming soft.

“You love me?” you ask.

“Yeah.” Sunghoon laughs incredulously and looks down at you. “Yes I fucking do.”

“Sunghoon—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same, because I know you do. Your body tells me everything I need.”

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same.” Sunghoon soothes your lips over with a gentle kiss.

“I’ve loved you for a while now. I just started listening to my heart.”

“That was so corny.”

He grins against your mouth. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Well…you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Are you not gonna say it back?” he teases. You look away and pretend to be confused.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Brat,” he says, pushing his half hard cock deeper in you to make you yelp. “Say you love me back, baby.”

You don’t need that much convincing.

“I love you.

***

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strwbyoons · 4 months ago

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DIRTY CASH

STARRING ... HAEGEUM AU!M. YOONGI X READER

WORD COUNT ... 7.5K

SUMMARY ... when survival means keeping your head down, you make the mistake of looking up.

NOTES/WARNINGS ... slowburn. enemies2lovers. gang!au implied crime. explicit language. cigarette use. alcohol use. mild physical intimidation. reader is stubborn but out of her depth. yoongi is even worse. ft jk.

playlist : dirty cash (stevie v). haegeum (agust d). blood on the dancefloor (michael jackson). god's gonna cut you down (johnny cash). blackout days (phantomgram). you should see me in a crown (billie eilish). castle (halsey). buried in water (dead man's bones). dirty harry (gorillaz).

you try your best to live check by check. you spend your days shopping for necessities at the local market, work a quick closing shift at the drycleaner's, catch the minibus home, unpack your tiny plastic bag's worth of groceries, and then have dinner—which usually consists of a cheap pack of ramyun and whatever fizzy drink was left over at the convenience store.

your nights, much less excitingly, are spent cleaning the bath house beneath your apartment.

you work alone. the bath house is old, and grimy. the kind of place people come to when they have nowhere better to go.

the walls are stained with years of steam and sweat, the grout between the tiles permanently darkened no matter how hard you scrub, and the air is heavy with the scent of damp towels and something chemical. likely whatever cheap cleaner your boss seoyun buys in bulk.

your job is simple. mop the floors. scrub the tiles. empty out the lockers. take out the trash. repeat.

you don’t think much while you work. you can’t afford to. thinking makes the nights feel longer, makes the silence settle too deep in your bones. so you move on autopilot, dragging the mop in slow, steady strokes, watching dirty water pool in the grout before it’s wiped away. you crouch down, scrubbing at a stubborn stain near the edge of the bath, fingernails scraping against the tile.

someone left behind a half-empty cigarette pack in one of the lockers. someone else forgot a wet towel, balled up and sour-smelling.

you throw it all away.

by the time you finish, your hands smell like bleach, your back aches, and your clothes cling to your skin, damp from the lingering heat. it’s late. the city outside hums with a different kind of life—motorcycles revving, laughter echoing down the alleys, glass breaking somewhere in the distance.

you lock up, head upstairs, and try not to think about doing it all again tomorrow.

seoyun herself is nice enough. you only really see her once a week, when she hands you a wad of cash and thanks you for your work. maybe every now and then when she comes in late, bringing in someone else before disappearing into her office.

at some point, you start recognizing a few of the faces. not regulars, not in the way normal bath houses have them. these men don’t come to soak in the water or unwind after a long day. they slip in at odd hours, always in pairs or small groups, always looking over their shoulders before they disappear down the hall.

you offered a wave once, just to be polite. the man had barely looked at you, but seoyun had. she pulled you aside after your shift, voice low and cold, asking if you had a death wish.

“you work here. you don’t see anyone, you don’t speak to anyone, and no one speaks to you.”

the next payday, your envelope was lighter than usual.

you learned your lesson. keep your head down. do your job. don’t ask questions.

it’s easy enough, you tell yourself. you’re not curious. you don’t care what seoyun does behind that office door or who these men are. you just need the cash, and as long as you mind your business, you’ll keep getting it.

so you mop the floors. scrub the tiles. empty the lockers. take out the trash. you get paid, and you go home, just to do it all over again.

you’re not stupid. you know what kind of city you live in. the type of people that roam the streets.

this isn’t the kind of place where people walk home alone at night without looking over their shoulder. it isn’t the kind of place where the police show up when they’re called, either.

you hear things—stories whispered between neighbors, rumors passed down the halls of your apartment building. who got jumped. who went missing. whose body got fished out of the river last week.

this city is not kind. it never has been.

so no, you don’t ask questions. you don’t stare too long at the men who slip in and out of the bathhouse, their faces half-hidden beneath hoods and cigarette smoke. you don’t wonder why seoyun has a new car every few months or why she doesn’t seem the least bit bothered when some of her guests leave blood in the water. you just clean up after them.

but there’s one.

you noticed him because he was different. because unlike the others, he walked in alone. no pair, no group, no low murmured conversation at the door. just him, stepping inside like he belongs there.

seoyun is with him, though. she holds the door open, says something you can’t hear, tilts her head just slightly in his direction.

you should’ve looked away, should’ve gone back to your mopping without a second thought. but for whatever reason, you linger just long enough to catch a glimpse of him.

he’s wearing a shirt you’re almost sure you’ve seen at the dry cleaner’s before, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed. he’s not big, not particularly imposing, but there’s something about the way he moves—calculated, slow, precise—that makes your stomach tighten. a warning you don’t quite understand.

for a brief, split second, you make eye contact. no more than a flicker. but it’s enough.

you don’t know what you see in his eyes, but your grip tightens around the mop handle. you drop your gaze, focus on the streak of dirty water smeared across the tile, and pretend you never looked at all.

seoyun disappears into her office. the door shuts behind them, and you keep mopping. keep your head down.

but you see him again. and again.

at first, it’s easy to pretend it’s nothing. just another man passing through, another face you shouldn’t recognize. but he comes in more than the others, often enough that you start expecting him. never at the same time, never on a schedule, but always the same way. alone, with that quiet, deliberate ease.

it makes your skin itch.

you don’t know why, exactly. maybe it’s the way he looks without looking, like he sees everything without needing to turn his head. maybe it’s the way seoyun lets him through without a word, without a second glance, whatever business he has clearly above questioning.

whatever it is, you don’t like it.

so you start adjusting. changing your rhythm. shifting the way you clean, where you are, when you’re there.

if you know you have to mop the floors, you do it earlier, long before he might show up. if you have to take out the trash, you drag the bags out back before the bath house even closes. if you hear the front door creak open, you find somewhere else to be. out of sight, out of the way.

it’s not fear, you tell yourself. it’s just caution. just common sense.

you don’t need to be in the same space as him. you don’t need to see whatever it is he does here. and most of all, you don’t need to risk catching his eye again. one glance was already too much.

you manage to avoid him for a while. weeks, maybe. long enough that you start to think your paths won't cross again.

but then, one night, on his way out, he drops something.

you don’t notice at first, too focused on wiping down the front desk. but when the door swings shut behind him, there it is; a pack of cigarettes, scuffed at the edges, half-full.

you hesitate. you could leave it. pretend you never saw. but something about it gnaws at you, a sharp little itch between your ribs. before you can think twice, you grab it and push through the door.

he hasn’t gone far. just a few steps down the alley, hands back in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. he doesn’t turn when you call out, doesn’t even flinch, but when you catch up, he slows.

you hold out the pack. “you dropped this.”

he looks down at your outstretched hand, then at you. for a second, there's nothing. just the distant hum of the city, the faint burn of smoke in the air.

then, he exhales, shaking his head. “keep it.”

his voice is low, edged with something unreadable. before you can respond, he turns, disappearing around the corner without another word.

you stand there a moment longer, fingers tightening around the pack. then, without really knowing why, you slip it into your pocket and head back inside.

the market is crowded, voices overlapping in a steady hum, the scent of fried food and fresh produce thick in the air. you shift your basket to your other hand, adjusting the phone against your ear.

“so you’re still working there?” jungkook’s voice crackles slightly, the distance stretching the signal thin.

you glance at the vegetables in front of you, turning a tomato over in your hand. too soft. you put it back.

“yeah,” you answer. “still working there.”

he exhales, something caught between a sigh and a laugh. “you always sound like you’re about to quit.”

you don’t respond. instead, you reach for an onion, give it a quick squeeze. firm enough. it goes into your basket.

“you could come here,” jungkook continues. “i could help you out, just until you find something better.”

you switch your phone to the other ear, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “i can’t.”

“why not?”

you don’t have a real answer for that. not one that makes sense. instead, you look down at your basket—onion, one carrot, a single potato. it’s not much. maybe enough for something warm, something that doesn’t come from a packet.

your old plastic bag is tucked under your arm, creased and thin from too many uses. you’ve had it so long the logo is starting to fade, the once-bright letters cracked and peeling.

“i just can’t,” you say finally, adding a head of cabbage to the basket.

jungkook makes a noise, something skeptical, but he doesn’t push. “at least tell me you’re eating properly.”

you pick up another tomato, hesitate, then set it back down. “of course.”

“liar.”

a faint smile tugs at your lips. you don’t bother denying it.

you move to the next stall, phone still pressed to your ear, fingers grazing over vegetables you know you can’t afford in bulk.

“what about your place?” jungkook asks. “your landlord still giving you shit?”

you shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “haven’t seen him in weeks.”

which isn’t necessarily a good thing. rent is still due whether he comes knocking or not.

jungkook hums, unconvinced. you can hear movement on his end, the faint clink of a glass against a table. probably at home, probably somewhere clean and warm, not in a market where the floor is damp and the air is thick with the scent of too many bodies packed close together.

“you sure you don’t need—”

“don’t.”

you hear him sigh. it’s an old conversation, one you’ve had too many times before. he offers. you refuse.

you balance your phone between your shoulder and cheek, reaching for your plastic bag.

“just let me know if that changes,” jungkook says, softer this time. “i mean it.”

you nod, even though he still can’t see you. “i know.”

a pause. “are you safe?”

the question catches you off guard. your fingers tighten around the bag’s handles. “yeah,” you say. “i’m safe.”

you can almost hear him frowning through the phone.

“promise?”

you swallow. glance around the market, the crowded stalls, the hunched shoulders and hurried steps. somewhere, not too far, a siren wails, cutting through the noise.

“promise,” you lie.

you tip the vegetables into your bag, careful not to let the thin plastic stretch too much under their weight. the handles are already weak, the edges fraying where they’ve been knotted and unknotted too many times. one day, it’s going to give out completely.

you push the thought away and pull out your cash.

the vendor barely looks at you as they take the money, dropping your change into your palm with a muttered thanks. you count it quickly, thumb running over the rough edges of the bills. enough for a hotteok.

you glance toward the food stalls, the scent of frying batter thick in the cool air.

“you’re still there, right?” jungkook’s voice pulls you back, staticky in your ear.

“yeah,” you murmur, tucking the remaining cash into your pocket. you step away from the produce stall, weaving through the crowd toward the vendor with the griddle. “just paying.”

jungkook sighs, something slow and drawn out. “you should eat something real.”

“this is real.”

“not when it’s the only thing you’ve had all day.”

you don’t answer that.

the woman at the stall barely glances up as you approach, pressing the hotteok down against the griddle with a flat spatula. the smell is warm, familiar, syrupy-sweet as the sugar caramelizes inside the dough.

“how much?” you ask, already fishing out the bills.

the woman holds up fingers instead of speaking, and you nod, slipping the exact amount onto the counter. she hands you the pastry wrapped in thin wax paper, still hot from the griddle, grease soaking through at the edges.

you step to the side, balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder as you blow gently on the pastry, trying not to burn your tongue.

“still there?” jungkook asks again, voice softer now.

you swallow down a too-hot bite, sugar sticking to your teeth.

“yeah,” you say. “still here.”

"what about the dry cleaner’s?" jungkook asks, his voice steady but distant over the static.

you chew the inside of your cheek, shifting your bag higher onto your arm as you step away from the food stall. the sun is setting, smearing long shadows across the pavement, tinting everything in dusky orange.

the market’s thinning out now, the hum of conversation dulling as vendors start packing up for the night.

“just finished a shift,” you say, licking sugar from your thumb. “gonna have to pick up extra, though. the ajumma that owns it is sick, and her nephew’s out of town.”

jungkook tuts under his breath. “so you’re overworking again.”

“just for a little while.”

“uh-huh. and how long is ‘a little while’?”

you exhale through your nose, not in the mood to argue. you can already hear the frustration creeping into his voice, the familiar weight of it pressing against your chest.

“until she gets better,” you say, glancing up at the sky. the last bits of sunlight are bleeding out over the buildings, the neon signs flickering on one by one. the bath house won’t be busy yet, but it will be soon.

you shift the hotteok to your other hand, biting off another piece, chewing slow. jungkook doesn’t say anything for a moment, but you know he’s not done.

“you need to take care of yourself,” he says finally, quieter this time.

you don’t have an answer for that, so you don’t give one. just swallow, adjust your grip on your bag, and start heading home.

you finish the hotteok as you walk, tearing off the last piece with your teeth, the caramelized sugar still too hot where it sticks to the roof of your mouth. you lick the grease from your fingers and ball up the wax paper, tossing it into an overflowing trash can on the way.

the usual minibus sits at the curb up ahead, its headlights dim, the driver smoking lazily by the door. you heard it changed hands recently, some back-alley deal that put it under serpent property.

you don’t get on.

even if you had the fare, you wouldn’t. too many rumors. too many things happening to people who ask the wrong questions, take the wrong ride, end up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

instead, you keep walking, already feeling the ache building in the arches of your feet. it’s going to be a long way home.

“you’re quiet,” jungkook says, voice a little fuzzier now, muffled by the wind cutting through the street.

“just tired.”

he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push.

you reach into your pocket, fingers brushing against crumpled bills, old receipts, and then—thin cardboard, edges worn soft from the way you’ve been fidgeting with it.

you pull out the cigarette pack. his cigarette pack.

your other hand dips into your jacket for the lighter you bought on a whim, despite knowing better. you don’t have cigarette money. hell, you barely have grocery money. but you bought the damn lighter anyway.

you shake out a cigarette, tuck it between your lips, flick the lighter once, twice, until the flame catches.

jungkook must hear it through the phone.

“really?”

you take a slow drag, smoke curling out into the cool air, the faint burn of it settling low in your chest.

“i thought you quit.”

you exhale, watching the smoke dissipate. “yeah,” you murmur. “me too.”

the cigarette tastes cheap, bitter on the inhale, but you smoke it anyway. jungkook doesn’t say anything for a while, just listens to the sound of your breath through the phone, the occasional rustle of fabric as you switch hands, tuck the lighter back into your pocket.

you walk past shuttered storefronts, metal grates pulled down tight, neon signs flickering in and out of focus. the bathhouse isn’t far, but your apartment sits just a little higher, up the cracked concrete steps, past the flickering hallway light that never gets fixed.

“when’s your next day off?” jungkook asks, breaking the silence.

you let out a quiet laugh, short and humorless. “what’s a day off?”

“you know that’s not normal, right?”

“maybe not for you.”

you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “it’s not normal for anyone.”

you don’t argue. what’s the point? this is just how things are. rent doesn’t wait. groceries don’t pay for themselves. you work until you can’t, and then you work some more.

you take another drag, eyes drifting toward the minibus as it idles at the curb. the driver’s still there, flicking ash onto the pavement, his expression unreadable in the low light.

“you sure you’re safe?” jungkook asks again, quieter this time.

you exhale, watching the smoke curl into the night air.

“yeah,” you say, lying through your teeth. “i’m sure.”

the bus doors hiss open. a man steps off, shoulders broad, head tilted slightly downward, dark hair shadowing his face.

you recognize him before you even see his eyes, and you keep walking.

jungkook says something, but the words don’t register, drowned out by the steady click, click, click of boots against pavement behind you.

you don’t speed up. don’t look back.

you just keep moving, cigarette burning down between your fingers, pulse steady, breath even.

long way home, you remind yourself.

you keep your head down, shoulders hunched against the cold, the cigarette burning low between your fingers. the boots behind you are steady, unhurried.

long way home, long way home.

you don’t see the man until it’s too late.

broad shoulders, thick arms, the scent of something sharp and metallic clinging to his clothes. you shove past him too fast, too rough, and his shoulder knocks hard against yours.

your phone slips from your grip, clattering against the pavement.

shit.

you don’t stop.

the cigarette falls from your fingers, embers sparking against the sidewalk. you shove your hands into your pockets, chin tucked low, legs moving before you can think twice.

keep walking. don’t look back.

“hey!” the man calls, voice gruff, irritated.

you don’t stop. don’t slow down. your phone is still on the ground, screen facing up, jungkook’s voice faint through the speaker.

you don’t go back for it. you just keep walking, faster this time.

your feet move before your brain catches up.

the moment you hear the heavy thud of boots against pavement—too fast, too deliberate—you break into a run.

the city blurs around you, neon lights streaking past, the scent of fried food and car exhaust thick in the air. your breath comes fast, uneven. the plastic bag swings against your thigh, the vegetables inside bouncing against each other.

you hear him gaining.

shit. shit. shit.

you take a sharp turn into an alley, hoping to lose him in the maze of side streets, but as soon as you round the corner, you stop.

another man stands at the other end.

not the same one. taller, thinner, but the stance is the same. relaxed, arms hanging loose at his sides, but there's something calculated about it. like he's waiting.

you turn back, but it’s too late.

the first man is there now, closing the distance. not alone anymore.

dark shapes slip out from the shadows, one after another, a slow, deliberate circle forming around you. all dressed the same—dark clothes, quiet movements, faces mostly obscured by the dim light.

trapped.

your heart slams against your ribs. the plastic bag in your grip crinkles under the pressure of your fingers.

“don’t—” your voice is barely steady, your throat too tight, words tumbling out before you can think. “i don’t have anything. if it’s money, i don’t—”

a low chuckle.

“not about money,” one of them says, voice smooth, almost amused.

your stomach twists. you take a step back. your heel scrapes against the pavement, and suddenly it’s real.

you are surrounded, and there is nowhere to go.

the air is thick, pressing down on your chest.

your fingers tighten around the plastic bag, knuckles aching. the vegetables inside shift with every shaky breath you take. useless. not a weapon, not an escape. just something you were stupid enough to care about bringing home.

one of the men steps closer.

you take a step back.

another chuckle, low and lazy. someone mutters something under their breath. someone else shifts their weight, slow and deliberate. they’re in no hurry. it isn’t a question of if, just when.

then, the faint scratch of a lighter. the soft drag of a breath. a flicker of orange glow.

you don’t have to turn to know.

he’s there.

leaning against the mouth of the alley, one foot crossed over the other, cigarette dangling from his lips like he has nowhere better to be. his hands stay in his pockets.

he exhales, smoke curling through the air, eyes flicking over the scene in front of him.

"this really necessary?"

his voice is quiet, but the way the group stiffens tells you everything you need to know.

your pulse slams against your throat, and you don’t dare move.

silence stretches, thick and suffocating. the men don’t move, but you feel the shift, the way their postures tense just slightly. not fear, exactly. not yet. but hesitation.

the cigarette between his lips burns slow, smoke curling lazily into the night air. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance your way. just stands there, hands in his pockets, his weight still leaned easy against the brick wall like he’s got all the time in the world.

“didn’t realize we had an audience,” one of the men says, voice clipped.

he doesn’t react. just takes another slow drag, then exhales. “didn’t realize you needed a whole group to handle one person,” he says, just as even, just as slow.

someone shifts beside you. you feel it more than you see it. your fingers tighten around the plastic bag again.

one of them—the first one, the one you bumped into—lets out a short laugh, but there’s something forced in it now, something thin.

“this your business?”

he tilts his head slightly, finally flicking his eyes toward the man who spoke. "not really.” a pause. then, cool, measured, “but you know how it is.”

another beat of silence. you don’t breathe. then, just as easily as they appeared, the tension snaps.

someone clicks their tongue. another mutters something under their breath. then, one by one, they step back, peeling away from the circle, slipping back into the shadows of the alley.

the first man lingers the longest, staring him down, something unreadable in his gaze. but eventually, even he turns, and their footsteps fade.

you don’t move. don’t exhale. can't do anything but stand there.

until finally, “you can breathe now.”

your eyes snap to him.

he’s looking at you this time, head tilted slightly, cigarette still perched between his fingers, gaze unreadable.

you swallow, the plastic bag crinkling in your grip.

he doesn’t say anything else. just flicks the cigarette to the ground, snuffs it out with the toe of his shoe, and turns, like it never happened at all.

you know it’s stupid.

you know it the second your mouth opens, before the word even makes it past your lips. “hey.”

he pauses.

just barely, just for a fraction of a second. then he turns his head, the dim light catching on the sharp cut of his features.

your heart is still racing, pulse thick in your throat. your fingers ache from gripping the plastic bag too tight. you swallow. shift your weight.

“your name,” you say, voice quieter than you mean it to be. “what is it?”

his expression doesn’t change, but something in the air does. the weight of it presses down on you, heavy and final.

he exhales, barely audible. “i know where you live.” your breath catches, but his gaze doesn’t waver. "stop being stupid.”

his words are clipped, sharp enough to cut, then he turns. and this time, he doesn’t pause. he just walks away.

you stand there, stomach twisting, mind spinning, watching until his figure disappears into the dark.

long way home. long way home.

you force your feet to move.

you get home later than usual, and as a consequence, you have to skip dinner in order to be somewhat on time for your shift at the bath house.

not that it matters. you weren’t all that hungry anyway.

your apartment is the same as always—too small, too cold, too quiet. the overhead light flickers when you switch it on, the bulb probably on its last leg, but you don’t have time to care. you drop the plastic bag onto the counter, the vegetables inside rolling lazily to one side. they’ll have to wait.

you change quickly, stripping off the clothes you spent the day in, replacing them with something less suffocating. your uniform is just an old t-shirt and sweatpants, clothes that have already been worn thin from too many washes, but they’re good enough for the work you do.

you check the time.

definitely too late to eat.

barely enough time to make it downstairs.

you exhale, shoving your sore feet into your shoes, grab your keys, and step back into the dimly lit hallway.

the building is silent. a few doors down, someone has their TV on, the low drone of news reports seeping through the thin walls. the stairwell smells faintly of cigarette smoke and damp concrete.

you take the stairs two at a time, moving fast, not letting your mind linger too long on what happened earlier.

the bath house is waiting. the floors need mopping. the tiles need scrubbing. the lockers need emptying.

same as always.

and if your hands shake a little as you reach for the keys, if your pulse stutters at the sound of footsteps in the alley beside the building, if the cigarette pack in your pocket feels heavier than it should, well.

that’s nobody’s problem but yours.

seoyun is waiting at the entrance when you arrive, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, a cigarette smoldering lazily between two fingers. the sight is unusual enough to make your steps falter. she’s never here when you start your shift—never at the front, never waiting.

but tonight, she is. and she’s smiling.

too wide, too friendly. the kind of smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“there she is,” she says, pushing off the doorframe with an easy stretch. the cigarette dangles from her lips as she gestures for you to come in. “was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you just step inside, brushing past her. the scent of smoke clings to the warm, humid air, mixing with the ever-present tang of chlorine and damp towels.

seoyun flicks ash onto the ground, watching you with something unreadable in her expression.

“long day?” she asks, too casual.

you don’t like this. don’t like the way she’s looking at you, don’t like the way her tone is just a little too light, too knowing.

your fingers tighten around your keys as you shove them into your pocket.

“same as always,” you say.

seoyun hums, dragging another slow pull from her cigarette. “right,” she says, exhaling. the smoke curls up toward the ceiling, lazy and slow. “same as always.”

something in your stomach knots.

you force your feet to move, heading toward the supply closet, keeping your face blank, your steps steady. behind you, seoyun chuckles under her breath, amused.

you don’t ask what’s so funny. you don’t want to know. you’ve barely made it three steps when seoyun calls after you.

“oh—someone left something in the back,” she says, flicking the cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of her shoe. “be a doll and grab it for me, would you?”

you pause, turning slightly. “what is it?”

seoyun waves a hand, already distracted. “just a bag. nothing heavy.”

her tone is airy, but something about the way she says it makes your skin itch. still, you nod. “sure.”

you turn back toward the hallway, but curiosity gnaws at you, the weight of the day pressing in, making you reckless. before you can stop yourself, the question slips out.

“who are you waiting for?”

seoyun doesn’t even blink. “investor.”

it comes so easily, so smoothly, that you almost believe it.

almost.

but then she shifts, adjusting the hem of her blouse, smoothing it down with practiced ease, and that’s when you know. she’s lying.

you don’t push. you just nod, keep your head down, and make your way to the back.

the hallway stretches long and dim, the overhead bulbs buzzing faintly. you reach the back door, fingers brushing against the cool metal handle. it’s unlocked, cracked open just enough to let the night seep in. you push the door open.

the duffel bag sits just outside, slumped against the frame. black, unmarked, zipper pulled shut.

you crouch down, fingers curling around the straps. the material is rough beneath your skin, edges worn from too much use. then,you lift.

too heavy.

your breath catches. too heavy.

your mind moves too fast, filling in blanks you don’t want to see. you’ve taken out the trash before. you’ve carried bags that sagged in the middle, that smelled of iron, that weren’t meant to be opened. you know what heavy means.

your grip falters. the bag slips, nearly dragging from your hands before you catch it. your pulse stutters, cold fear lacing through your ribs.

don’t ask. don’t look.

you inhale slow, steady, force your hands to hold firm. it’s just a bag. just a bag...

with effort, you lift it fully, shifting the weight onto your shoulder, muscles burning under the strain. you swallow hard and step back inside.

you barely make it two steps inside before you hear voices at the front. he’s here. you know it before you see him. the weight of the duffel bag is still solid on your shoulder, but now it feels secondary, something you can barely focus on amisdt the slow churn in your stomach.

you step back into the hallway, adjusting the strap, keeping your head down, hoping—stupidly—that you can slip past unnoticed.

of course, no such luck.

“ah, perfect timing.” seoyun. her voice rings out, light, too amused.

you glance up. and there he is.

leaning against the counter, that same easy posture, hands in his pockets, his gaze flicking up just enough to acknowledge you before shifting away again.

seoyun gestures between you both, as though presenting something far funnier than it is. “you’ve probably seen each other before,” she says, feigning innocence. “our little night shift worker here is very good at keeping her head down, but i’m sure you’ve noticed her around.”

your stomach twists.

oh, you’ve noticed each other.

you keep your expression blank, fingers tightening around the duffel strap.

he says nothing. doesn’t react, doesn’t acknowledge seoyun’s prodding. just exhales, gaze unreadable, and flicks his eyes back toward her instead.

which would be a relief, if it weren’t so damn frustrating. all that effort. weeks spent avoiding him at work, shifting your schedule, moving quietly enough to never share space with him longer than necessary.

and now this.

“lucky you,” seoyun muses, still grinning, watching the whole thing unfold with far too much enjoyment.

lucky. yeah, you don’t feel very lucky.

you shift the weight of the bag on your shoulder. “where do you want this?” you ask, voice clipped, pointedly ignoring everything else.

seoyun waves a hand, dismissive. “just put it in my office.”

you nod, turn on your heel, and leave. as you move past him, you swear you feel his eyes flick toward you. brief, unreadable, nothing at all.

but you don’t check to be sure.

the night drags.

you mop, same as always. push the handle forward, pull it back, watch the water smear across the tiles before it settles into the grout.

the meeting—or whatever it was—is over. seoyun left not long after, a lazy wave and a hum on her lips, disappearing back into her office.

he didn’t. he’s still here.

you don’t know when you noticed. a few minutes ago, maybe more. but the weight of his stare is impossible to ignore now, sitting heavy at the nape of your neck, settling deep in your ribs.

you keep mopping. push forward, pull back. the wet slosh of the mop head against tile fills the silence.

then, “are you dumb, suicidal, or both?”

you stop. the words land low, devoid of real curiosity. as though he’s already decided the answer and is just waiting to see if you’ll admit it.

slowly, you straighten. the mop handle stays gripped in your hands, and you turn.

he’s leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, one ankle hooked over the other. the picture of ease, like he belongs here. like he’s got all the time in the world.

but his eyes, his eyes aren’t lazy. they’re sharp. settled on you in a way that makes your pulse jump, makes you suddenly aware of every single choice you’ve made tonight.

the duffel bag. the alley. the cigarette pack.

you swallow. shift your grip. “excuse me?”

he tilts his head, considering. “which is it?”

you blink. “what the hell are you talking about?”

his gaze doesn’t waver. “if you’re dumb, suicidal, or both.”

your fingers tighten around the mop handle. something slow claws its way up your throat. you are tired. you are sore. you are done.

and this man—who you have gone out of your way to avoid, who you didn’t ask to get involved with, who you didn’t ask anything from—is standing here asking you that? your jaw ticks.

“neither,” you say.

his brows lift slightly, the barest flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “funny,” he murmurs, low, amused. “that’s not what it looks like.”

you click your tongue, annoyed, and turn back to the mop. push forward, pull back.

if he wants to talk, let him talk. you don’t owe him anything—not a response, not an explanation, not a damn thing.

but he doesn’t stop. “why’d you walk home?”

your grip tightens. you don’t answer.

“you heard about the minibus, didn’t you?” he continues, voice even, too casual for the words coming out of his mouth. “knew it wasn’t safe, so you avoided it. smart enough for that.”

your jaw locks.

“but not smart enough to notice when a bunch of guys are clocking you from a mile away.”

the mop sloshes against the tile, bristles scraping rough. your shoulders ache from tension, from exhaustion, from everything.

“is your situational awareness always that bad, or were you just in the mood to die tonight?”

you suck in a breath, sharp and slow, force your pulse to steady.

he exhales, and when he speaks again, his tone shifts. mocking now, biting. “seriously. you have the survival instinct of an infant.”

push forward. pull back.

your knuckles are white against the mop handle, fingers aching. you are tired. you are hungry. you are angry. but most of all, you are not doing this. so you keep your head down, keep your mouth shut, and you mop.

because if you stop, if you look at him, if you give him what he wants, you’re not sure what will come out.

the mop barely moves before he does.

one step. that’s all it takes. one step forward, one hand reaching out, fingers catching under your chin before you can pull away.

your breath stalls.

his grip isn’t hard, but it’s firm, unyielding, enough to tip your face up, enough to make you meet his gaze. you don’t want to, but he leaves you no choice.

his eyes are steady, dark, unreadable. up close, the lines of his face are sharper—tired, calculating, not a single ounce of softness in them.

“one day,” he murmurs, voice low, deliberate, “you’re gonna end up just another body on the news.”

the words settle, cold and final, crawling under your skin. you don’t flinch, don’t look away. don’t give him the reaction he’s waiting for.

you don’t give him anything.

his thumb lingers against your jaw for half a second longer. then, he lets go.

the absence of his touch is immediate, leaving behind nothing but the dull, lingering pressure where his fingers had been. he steps back, like he was never there at all.

you swallow down the lump in your throat, force your fingers to unclench from the mop handle, force your feet to stay planted even when every single instinct tells you to run. but you don’t.

you stay, and you go back to mopping.

he’s still there when you leave.

you don’t know why. don’t want to know.

but when seoyun hands you your pay—wad of cash thicker than usual, edges crisp, heavier in your palm—he’s lingering by the counter, hands in his pockets, watching.

you don’t ask about the extra. seoyun doesn’t explain it. she just smiles, too sweet, too amused, blowing out a slow curl of smoke before slipping a glance toward him. “get home safe,” she says, voice teasing, a joke only she understands.

you don’t respond. just tuck the cash into your pocket, nod stiffly, and turn for the door.

he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t say anything. but as you step out into the night, the weight of his gaze follows.

by the time you make it upstairs, you’re ridiculously hungry.

the kind of hunger that makes your stomach feel hollow, makes your limbs feel heavier than they should. you kick off your shoes at the door, not even bothering to turn on the overhead light, just moving on autopilot.

the plastic bag sits where you left it, slumped on the counter, vegetables still inside. you should cook something. throw something together, make use of what little you have.

but your feet ache. your back aches. your head aches. so instead, you reach inside and pull out the carrot.

it’s pathetic, really. sitting at the counter, dim glow from the streetlights filtering through the window, gnawing at a raw carrot like some starved animal.

you don’t care.

it’s food. it’s easy. it’s something.

the fridge hums as you open it, cold air curling around your skin. inside, not much. half a carton of eggs. a leftover rice container you don’t remember putting there. a can of something pushed all the way to the back.

and beer.

you hate beer.

but you need something.

you grab the half-drunk can, lukewarm now—you’d unplugged your fridge a while ago to save on electricity—condensation long gone. the tab is already pulled, so you just bring it to your lips, tipping back a shallow gulp.

it’s just as bad as you remember. bitter, stale. something that settles uncomfortably in your stomach.

you drink anyway.

the beer is awful. the carrot is dry. neither do much to fix the ache in your stomach, but you keep going anyway—small bites, slow sips, filling the silence with something, anything.

your thoughts drift, sluggish from exhaustion.

you need a new phone.

it’s the first thing that comes to mind, the most obvious. jungkook probably lost his mind when you didn’t call back. you should’ve gone back for it, but you didn’t, and now it’s gone. broken, lying face down in the street with a cracked screen and your last conversation still open.

you sigh, tapping a fingernail against the beer can. you need groceries, too. real ones. something you can actually cook with instead of whatever scraps you manage to buy in passing.

you need sleep. a real night’s sleep. one where you don’t wake up to the sound of footsteps in the hall, to the distant whine of sirens, to the feeling that you’re being watched even when you know there’s no one there.

you need a lot of things.

but mostly, you need out.

out of this routine, out of this job, out of this place.

you take another sip, let the bitterness sit on your tongue, let the thought settle.

then you shake it off.

yoongi leans against the counter, cigarette burning low between his fingers, watching as seoyun flips through a neat stack of bills.

“she’s gonna be a problem,” he says, voice even.

seoyun doesn’t look up. “she’s an employee.”

“she’s a liability.”

that makes her laugh. short, amused. “you’re dramatic.”

yoongi exhales smoke, watching the way it curls through the air before disappearing. “she’s in the middle of shit she doesn’t even realize.”

seoyun hums, fingers running over the crisp edges of the cash before tucking it into the register. “not everyone’s as paranoid as you, you know.”

yoongi doesn’t react. just taps ash from his cigarette, watching as it scatters across the counter. “she’s going to be a problem,” he repeats.

seoyun finally glances up, tilting her head in that lazy way of hers, the corner of her mouth twitching. “and what?” she muses. “it’s not like you to get distracted.”

yoongi raises a brow. nothing about this is distraction. this is inconvenience. this is an unnecessary loose end in a situation that doesn’t need one.

“nothing’s stopping this deal from pulling through,” he says, flicking the cigarette into the ashtray. the embers smolder before dying out completely. “not even a baby deer insistnent on running in front of freight trucks.”

seoyun snorts. “colorful.”

“accurate.”

her nails tap against the counter once, twice. “is the deal really that important?”

yoongi doesn’t answer immediately. just levels her with a look, slow and pointed, exhaling as he settles back against the counter.

seoyun watches him, eyes sharp. then she hums. “guess it is.”

seoyun props her elbow on the counter, chin resting against her palm as she watches him, expression unreadable.

“you really think the fangs are gonna accept your offer?”

yoongi doesn’t hesitate. “they need to.”

seoyun hums again, not quite agreement, not quite doubt. just considering. she’s always been good at that. watching, waiting, choosing the side that makes the most sense for her.

“big gamble,” she muses.

yoongi doesn’t react. just watches as she straightens, smoothing down the hem of her blouse, adjusting the cash register like she’s closing shop for the night, and not discussing the kind of business that could get them both killed.

“you’ll have the crows on your back,” she says, tilting her head slightly, watching for his reaction. “for as long as it’s convenient, anyway.”

yoongi exhales, slow. “i know.”

seoyun’s lips curl at the edges, just slightly. “then let’s hope convenience lasts.”

she taps her fingers once against the counter, then turns, already moving toward the back. already done with this conversation.

yoongi stays where he is for a moment longer, watching the cash register, the stack of bills, the empty space she left behind.

then, finally, he pushes off the counter and heads for the door.

taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @haru-jiminn @glossdebut @mimi1097 @angellekookie @yooniivrse

#min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts au #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts au fic

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girl-lostconnection · 5 months ago

Text

Hear me out, on another hybrid AU:

The Big, the Bad and the Wolf

guard dog!Soap x cow!Simon x Wolf!Reader.

Stay with me, Soap who is supposed to protect Simon.

Soap whose whole job and existence revolves around keeping big beast of a man safe and sound in his bloody flower fields from the likes of you.

Johnny who retires early with Simon and swears to himself he will make the most of it.

That he will give Simon the life he always deserved.

The peace and the joy and the quiet.

Simon who’s taking to the leisurely life surprisingly well, enjoying quite a lot the ability to sleep in the grass for like 12 hours a day, flowers swaying over him, his tagged ear twitching when the gust of wind or a fly disturb his peace.

And you as a wolf absolutely enamoured with Simon but so wary of Soap, because he’s big and loud and he doesn’t take any shit from you. Not letting you come even close to his big charge.

Simon who’s not worried about you lurking on the outskirts in the slightest.

You are not big enough to pull him under, but you are hungry enough to get desperate.

He knows you don’t want to eat him.

You just want to eat something.

Anything that will sate the ache in your belly.

You, who bristles at the sight of Soap jogging Simon’s way — hound’s sensitive nose picking up the intruder, because that’s who you are.

A stranger in their warm bubble of a life.

You don’t belong there, but god knows something soft aches just below your thorax when you watch them have dinners through the windows of their kitchen.

You are careful — a predator in their prime, steps deceptively soft, shoulders rolling when you stretch out, globes of your joints popping softly.

You are beautiful — tail swaying with every step, eyes bright and sharp, fur hugging you up.

You are dangerous — sharp rows of teeth and deep-chested growls, fingers with claws flexing, muscles moving under your skin.

And you are alone.

Soap notes it after a few weeks of them watching you. He was tense about possible pack or other wolves coming with you to try and see if they can simply take what they want.

But no one comes.

It’s just you.

Johnny doesn’t want to feel bad for you because it’s none of his business, he doesn’t have to care, not when you are still very much of a threat even all on your own.

Simon watches you from the corner of his eye, when you circle him, but never come too close — sitting on the edge of his field. As close to the tree line as possible.

That’s smart.

Johnny is fast and Johnny can be really fucking mean if he thinks someone disturbs Ghost’s rest.

But you don’t do anything. You just watch him, your face tinted with something he can’t quite make out — you are too far away.

Simon sighs and flips on his stomach, his head getting propped on his palm, his eyes squinting when sun hits them.

He wonders what drew you out of the woods to their cabin.

He wonders how long have you been alone.

He wonders how hungry you must be to leave whatever safety your territory gave you to come out and watch him from distance.

He wonders why you never attack.

You should have at this point, you even look hungry — swaying a little from how lightheaded you probably are, eyes glued to him, tongue swiping over your lips.

Simon sits up on the grass and you step back, ready to retreat. Skittish thing.

Where is your pack, big bad wolf? What are you doing out here all on your own?

Soap sits in the shadows, not far away from Simon, ear twitching as his eyes narrow. But you just step back into the tree line before you finally turn your back to them.

Still hungry. Still dangerous.

They shouldn’t care, but Simon knows hunger and people being wary of appearances all too well and Soap is the ever bleeding heart.

Soap can respect that you came to show yourself and didn’t try to scavenge what you could. Didn’t slip in their pantry, didn’t steal one of the hens he takes care of. You didn’t take what wasn’t yours. That tells him a few things.

Ghost pretends he doesn’t notice when next time Johnny leaves out a plate with food.

Soap in return pretends he didn’t see Simon wash said plate afterwards, brown eyes burrowing on the food that’s got left on the plate.

You ate just a little bit of what they left.

Like you weren’t sure how much was allowed to take. Like you didn’t want to take too much.

Johnny sighs and doesn’t growl next time you come back to watch them in the field.

You are tenser this time, eyes sharp and wary on them — flickering from one to another. When Simon moves to flip on his belly you don’t wait for him to sit up — you leave.

Simon hums to himself and shakes his head when Soap gets up to follow you. No use.

You know these woods better than they do and you clearly aren’t in the mood to talk right now.

Even less than you usually are.

(Wolves are proud creatures. Polite but proud. Perhaps their pity was worse than your hunger. Only time will show)

That night Johnny leaves out another plate and you don’t touch it this time.

You disappear for two whole weeks before you finally come back — lip split, gashes on you already scabbing up, bruises blooming like dark violent watercolours.

Soap can’t help but growl, but immediately falls silent when you sneer in return, upper lip raising to bare sharp canines. Not a pushover, aren’t you?

You are hurt and wound up.

You don’t realise Johnny wasn’t growling at you, but for you.

Simon doesn’t move, watching how you limp to your usual fallen log where you sit and watch him.

At this point it’s a little ritual of yours. You come out more often than not, you sit on the other side of the field and you watch them.

So Simon stays put and tension slowly bleeds out of you. Like you needed this moment of peace and quiet. The routine that grounds you back, holds you together when you need it the most.

This flower field with the two of them living inside their warm bubble of a life.

Life you never had. Life you aren’t sure you will ever get.

Deep seated jealousy sticky and so sweet on your teeth it hurts.

Simon huffs air out softly and lies back on the grass, stretching out to his full height and well, showing off a little bit.

Afternoon sun is soft and warm on his skin, flowers’ scent cloying his head — his eyes half lidded and thoughtful when he watches you.

What happened to you, big bad wolf? Who hurt you? Why are you still alone?

But you don’t answer, tail awkwardly wrapped around your hip, arms curled around you, crossed over the chest with palms tucked in your armpits.

You are visibly tired.

Whatever the hell happened it took a lot of energy. Healing up even a little probably took even more out of you.

So it’s no surprise that you are slower to react when Simon sits up, it’s not surprise you are sluggish and exhausted. That you stay on the edge of their field when usually at this point you leave.

But the wayyour temple tilts on the trunk of the tree you lean on is a surprise. The way your lashes flutter down, even the way your breath evens out.

It’s the first time you fall asleep in their presence.

You sleep for a few hours, waking up when sun starts to set down — slowly uncurling from your position. Probably sore as hell, it couldn’t have been comfortable to sleep sitting on a log.

But you just shake it off like it’s nothing, small wince passing through your face when you move a little too quick. Yeah, definitely sore. Bruises now aching and tugging with every movement.

You watch them for a second too long, your mouth falling open as if you want to say something. But nothing comes out of it and you just stalk back into the woods.

Big bad wolf, all alone on your menacing forest kingdom. Nature’s aid, isn’t that how they call you? The species that weeds out overpopulation of those who aren’t supposed to survive.

Simon wonders how bad things are in the woods if you are this hungry. By the looks of it, so does Johnny.

Where is your pack, big bad wolf? Why are you all alone?

The next day Soap gets out on a mission to find out what has been happening in the damn forest. He makes it far enough for the tree crowns to start covering the sky, branches so thick it’s dark in here even in the middle of the day.

He makes decision to turn back only in the evening. When he realises you have been tailing him for a good hour now.

Eyes sharp and steps soft, your frame merging with the shadows in the corner of his eye.

Nature’s aid, biggest menace in these woods, bad wolf.

“Don’t leave him alone. It’s not safe.”, the words reach him so suddenly it doesn’t immediately register for him that you said something.

That’s the first time you spoke to him.

To be completely honest, up until now he wasn’t even sure if you even can.

“Talkin’ about Simon?”, Soap inhales air, scents merging into something he can’t quite make out. But he definitely knows the main note, one he smelled way too often during his service. The one that to this day makes the fine hairs on his neck rise. “He ‘s a big lad. He can take care of himself”

You huff out air — half amusement and half annoyance, still not stepping out in the light. So Johnny steps closer to you instead. The note in your scent hits him harder, cloying at the back of his throat.

Blood.

“Ye’r hurt”, he murmurs, eyes tracking you carefully. He knows that hurt predator is an easily agitated one and he’d prefer not to find out the strength of your bite today. “What happened tae ye?”

You huff air out again and retreat deeper, your eyes shining through the darkness, your shoulders rolling when you get lower and start walking.

So here’s that. Conversation over, he assumes.

Soap follows you, for some bloody reason. You know these woods better than they do. He doubts you are leading him to certain doom. If you wanted to kill him, you could have done it before.

No one would have found his body this deep in the forest.

But you silently lead him out to the their flower field. Exact spot where you usually sit watching him and Simon. So, definitely not doom. Just a different trail.

“Dae ye need hulp?”, he probes again, stepping out in the field.

Giving you space.

Woods are your territory, he knows better than to overstay however long you tolerate him there.

But whatever happened to you must have taken a significant toll on you. Because instead of snapping your jaws at him to urge him move his arse away and out, you pause contemplating.

Johnny takes the chance, gauging that your silence means you probably need it. You don’t want to ask for anything but you are in no position to refuse it.

“Ah will lea’ supplies oan the porch”, he just says and turns around not waiting for an answer.

You are not the most talkative person, aren’t you?

Jesus, he’s just surrounded by silent and resilient types.

First Simon, now you.

“I don’t need your pity.”, your words reach him, tone more tired than sharp like you say it just as a precaution.

Johnny can’t help but flash you a grin over his shoulder, iron of spiked collar a snug fit around his throat.

“Guid. Fur ye aren’t gonnae git any.”, his retort leaves you speechless, his grin only widening when you blink at him in astonishment.

Got you there, didn’t he?

“Bear traps.”, the notion is quiet, he’d probably miss it if he wasn’t this close to you.

But the request itself makes him cock his head to the side. Why would you need any?

But Johnny stays silent and you interpret his puzzled look your way.

“You asked if I need help. Bear traps. That would be a big help.”, you explain and he almost starts shaking his head at you.

No, he gets what you need the question is why do you need them.

But you are tired, he can smell your blood and he’d bet his left arm you are hungry as a (no pun intended) bloody dog.

So he just nods and turns away, starting to walk home — flowers grazing his thighs, light of their cabin flickering at him through the window, wind chimes dingling in the air.

They found out a long time ago that you aren’t going to attack them from the back.

He doubts you will change your mind in the current state of yours.

“Goodnight, wolf.”, Soap murmurs for some reason and swears he actually hears a breathy chuckle.

Sound sends shivers down his spine.

“Goodnight, John”, you muse back so soft he actually stops, head snapping right back, hoping to see your face in the moment.

But when he turns around — you are already gone. Only shadows twisting at the edge of the tree line.

Simon pulls him in a cuddle as soon as Johnny steps through the door, his big frame wrapping around Soap like a heavy blanket, lips demanding a wet hungry kiss.

Soap just pulls him closer, tail wagging so hard he almost smacks their coats off the hanger, grin widening.

Night is young and warm — sweet scent of flower field and Simon’s hide wrapping around Johnny.

The breath of air is soft on his skin, sheen of sweat covering it when he rolls his hips, strands of outgrown hair sticking to his forehead as he fucks his husband in their bed.

Big palms splayed over Simon’s back — forcing him to arch harder, pushing his face down in the pillows, wet greedy heat of him pulling Johnny deeper.

Needy fucking thing, Soap was gone for barely a day and here is what he comes home to.

“Shuid keep ye stuffed a' th' time, doll. Fuckin' meltin me down thare, aren’t ye? An' 'ere ah thought ye were goin’ tae tak' the wolf instead o' me.”, Johnny growls, driving his cock just deeper into Simon, smirk — a wicked sharp thing — widening when Ghost clenches around him.

Oh, someone is fucking excited at the mere thought of that.

If it was anyone else Soap would have been already reeling with jealousy, mild possessive streak of his baring teeth to sink them into Simon’s flushed nape, tongue gliding to collect the sweat and blood.

Renewing the bite that has already scarred.

They are each other’s forever and always and Johnny is not giving him away.

But Johnny doesn’t mind taking you in.

Johnny doesn’t mind getting both of you — he has two hands after all and bed big enough to fit all three of them. You’d slot in nicely, he can already picture it.

You — with your wild eyes and sharp teeth and this fluffy fucking tail driving him positively mad.

Fucking tease, he would have pressed you in the grass, closing his jaws down on your throat, marking you for all to see if he could.

His herd and his mate. His wolf and his pack.

Maybe he is a greedy man, but he made peace with that a long time ago when he got his eyes on the heavy beast of his lieutenant.

“Ye’d lik' that wouldn’t ye? Getting that wolf in oor kip, feeding thaim proper 'n' pumpin' thaim silly. Or letting thaim fuck you silly. Doesn’t that sound lovely, mo chridhe?”, Johnny breathes out in Simon's ear, his chest pressing down on Ghost's back, hips moving.

Takes a lot to mount a man like Simon Riley but Johnny has been doing a job of it so good, it is (to his absolute elation) Riley-MacTavish now.

“Talkin’ too much”, Simon breathes out, stubborn and beautiful and god, Johnny isn’t sure how it’s possible to fall in love with someone again and again, but he does.

Every day, every breathing moment of his life.

As long as he is alive — he will love this man.

Forever and always.

“Can’t hear ye, doll.”, Soap growls softly and circles the rim of Simon’s hole stretched thin around his cock, eyes darkening when Ghost clenches down on him like a vice. “Ye gotta speak up.”, but with the way Johnny moves inside of him it feels impossible to talk coherently.

Not when Simon’s eyes roll back, jaw going slack because this is good, hot molten honey of Soap’s words spreading throughout his body, burning tender nerve endings.

This is perfect, his husband a big mean guard dog always on alert, always hungry for more and more and more.

Sharp teeth and sharp taunts, bulk of him moulding Simon into pliant shivering mess, sweat and slick dripping down his thighs and he’s hot.

God, he’s so fucking hot.

Drunk on pleasure and heat of summer’s night, soaked in Johnny’s affection, littered with Johnny’s bites.

Simon turns his head on the side just to take a proper breath, cool air kissing his skin — his face red and sweaty, when his eyes zero in on your eyes in the window.

Fucking hell.

He should be fucking ashamed of how hard he clenches down on Soap when you cock your head — eyes heavy, glinting in the faint shimmer of their porch light.

You are bloody enjoying it, aren’t you?

You just stay there, watching him with the same quiet intensity that you show out on the edge of his field. Always so far, always out of reach.

Teasing him.

Soap’s hand finds its way between Simon’s legs and he is coming apart at the seams, drool dripping down his chin, eyes fixed on yours in the window because that’s fucking perverted.

He’s letting practically a stranger watch him getting fucked by his husband. He should be reeling, should be pulling out the hunting rifle and having a few words with you about privacy and boundaries.

But the way you watch him…he can’t stop looking right back at you.

He can’t stop himself from thinking whether or not you’d prefer to bend him over like Soap or be good and let Simon get a proper taste of ya.

He’d like both.

He wonders what would it take for him to pull you under.

Not much probably.

Just a little patience and a sliver of luck.

Just enough to catch you off guard.

Soap comes next day to you being pulled under Simon’s bulk, his thin tail with the brush on its end flicking from side to side, your legs twitching on both sides of Simon’s hips.

You are no small prey but Simon is massive and he pins you down hard enough to render you helpless.

His body slotted between your thighs, taking up more space than you would usually give him (if you would have given any at all).

He hums, ignoring Johnny’s amused huff and presses a kiss to your cheek, smiling when your body melts into his.

Someone’s fucking starved for affection, poor thing. Don’t worry, they can take real good care of you.

Simon tuts at your attempt to wiggle yourself from underneath him which is fruitless endeavour at best — even Johnny knows better that to try and pull him up when he lies down.

So you shouldn’t try either.

Especially when you should know better than anyone that he’s not moving anywhere until he sees some fucking honesty from you.

Can’t act all coy and prideful when he saw your pupils blowing wide yesterday, your eyes dark eclipses, shining through the fucking window.

Can’t pretend you don’t know where this all is coming from when he already have seen the hunger with which you watched them.

No need to be cold and hungry, when you are more than welcome to stay with them.

When they can keep you warm and stuffed and fed.

You growl at him again and earn yourself nothing but click of his tongue and a pull in a wet sloppy kiss that ends as soon as it started.

Almost costing you a needy whine.

Simon doesn’t care much for your growls and kicking, his nose nudging your jaw so he can properly nuzzle into your neck, breathing out in content.

Much better.

You smell like woods and wolf — wet soil and pinewood, fur and salty sweat. Simon hums to himself and presses his hips down on yours, rolling them in to grind into you.

The sound you make sends a shiver through both of you.

“Won’t hurt you, pet, I promise”, Simon rumbles out and you’d snap back at him but he grinds into you again, pressing more of his weight and the friction is so delicious you lose your mind a little bit.

“Jus’ like that, m? Feels good, doesn’t it?”, he murmurs, lips trailing down your neck, bulk of his body heavy and heavenly on you.

It’s more than good. It’s maddening.

His teeth nip your ear and you downright whimper, thighs clamping down around him, heels digging in his lower back.

Sensitive little thing. How cute.

Simon licks the sweat off your temple and presses a tight kiss to it as he keeps grinding down on you.

Heavy in the most delicious way, his dark eyes softer than you expected when your lips fall open.

Scratch beast’s belly and the gate will open right up.

Simon takes his sweet time with you, not in any hurry at all, drinking in every gasp and whimper of yours, murmuring in your ear praises.

“Doin’ so good for me, luv. Wanna see more. Can I, luv?”, his palms slide under your dark shirt and you whine, tugging him closer.

“Just a lick, sweet’eart, gonna get just a little taste”, Simon promises, when he pulls your sweater up. His tongue sliding over your nipple, lips closing around it as he sucks it in.

His mouth hot sinful thing, his hands rubbing the inner sides of your thighs until you relax and allow your legs to fall right open for him.

Here we go.

“So pretty for me”, he rumbles, pleased glimmer in his eyes when you buckle your hips up to grind on him.

Needy little thing.

Sweet as honey and dark as a night.

He should have snatched you off your bloody spot on the edge of the field ages ago. “Gonna let me have a taste, will you, luv?”

His grin downright wicked when you nod, biting your lips to muffle the gasps and all these little sounds he coaxes out of your throat.

Ghost doesn’t waste much time, pulling the rest of your clothes off and tossing them aside — grass soft and tickling on your skin, his palms rough and heated as he settles between your legs.

Tongue slowly sliding up to the sensitive top of you, lips wrapping around it, teeth grazing when the bastard smiles at your pupils blowing wider.

Your eyes — dark hungry abyss.

Your eyes — an endless fucking well and Simon wants to jump right in.

His grin only widens when another set of hands pulls you a little higher, palms settling just under your chest, stubble scratching your jaw.

“Huvin all the fun wi'oot me, aye?”, the man breathes out and you shiver, his fingers kneading the soft parts of you, his thumbs playing with your nipples almost lazily.

He’s beyond relaxed in his advances, charming lilt of his voice making your head spin.

“Someone’s sensitive”, Soap chuckles when your eyes glaze over, his teeth grazing your throat, tasting the blush spreading across you like wildfire.

Deliciously pretty. He might just have to eat you up.

“Don’t get shy wi' us noo, pup”, he is heat and he is want, his hands groping and massaging, his hands piecing your back together after Simon takes you apart.

Soap feels like salvation, his hunger familiar to you, his needs feeling so similar to yours it’s almost like looking in a distorted mirror.

But he chuckles, thumbing your nipples and you whimper, skin tingling with heat, wet mess between your legs.

Simon’s head is bobbing when he steals glances up at you two — eyes heavy and dark you feel your vision crumpling around the edges.

Afternoon sun soft on your skin, smell of flowers cloying your head, scent of Soap’s sweat making your mouth water and you need-need-need, please, just this once, please you can’t—

There is a raw desperate sound rumbling through your throat and Johnny smiles.

Johnny breathes our “bonnie”, Johnny holds you in place and plays your body like you are the instrument he has been tinkering with for ages and now he finally knows how to make you sing.

Smug asshole.

He clicks his tongue and his palm smacks the softer part of your chest, sting spreading to hard nipple, white-hot pleasure rewiring you to hell and back.

Simon holds you wide open and drags his tongue up, fingers groping the fat of your inner thighs, pleasure echoing through your body just so he can pour in more.

You are full and overflowing, you are needy and hungry.

You want everything and at once and it never felt this good or this right.

“Be good, pet”, Ghost sucks a hickey in your inner thigh and grins when Soap’s hand wraps around your throat and you slick sensitive part of you throbs. “Nice and pliant for us, aren’t you?”

Pretty fucking wolf, too bad you don’t have any pack, no one is coming to get you.

Too bad they won’t be letting you go anyway.

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wolvietxt · 6 months ago

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ᰔ flinch !

↳ logan howlett x female reader

logan doesn’t miss much. it’s a survival instinct, something wired deep in his bones - he notices the way people move, the way they breathe, the way their hands twitch before they strike. but with you, it takes him a little longer to piece it together.

the first time it happens, he barely clocks it. you were both standing in the kitchen at the mansion, reaching for the same coffee mug, and his fingers brushed yours. you pulled back so fast you nearly knocked it off the counter. he’d figured maybe you were just jumpy. no big deal.

but then it happens again. and again.

he starts noticing the patterns. you keep a careful distance when people walk past. you tense up when someone claps you on the shoulder. and when he moves too fast, too close, your whole body locks up like you’re bracing for impact.

logan isn’t stupid. he’s been around enough broken people to recognize the signs.

but what eats at him most is that it’s him. even though you don’t seem afraid of him - hell, you laugh at his grumbling and tease him like no one else does - there’s something in you that expects the worst when he gets too close. and he hates that. hates that someone put that into you.

he doesn’t bring it up. not at first. logan isn’t the type to push, especially when it comes to wounds he can’t see. but he does adjust - quietly, carefully.

he makes sure you always see him coming. no sudden moves, no unexpected brushes of skin. he gives you space when you need it, never asks why, never makes a big deal of it.

but he also doesn’t let you pull away too much. if you let him, he lingers in the moments when you don’t flinch. he holds eye contact a little longer, stays near but never too close, lets you come to him when you feel safe enough to.

and slowly, something shifts.

one night, after a long mission, you’re exhausted - worn down from the fight, from the weight of everything pressing on you. you don’t say much when you walk into the mansion, just drop your bag by the door and lean against the wall like you’re trying to catch your breath.

logan watches you for a moment before he speaks. “you okay?”

you nod, but it’s not convincing. he frowns, crossing his arms. “don’t lie to me.”

you huff a small, tired laugh. “you’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“damn right,” he says, but there’s no bite in it. just concern.

you exhale slowly, glancing away. “just tired.”

logan doesn’t push, but he also doesn’t move. he’s still watching you, waiting, like he knows there’s something more under the surface. maybe he does. he’s got a way of seeing through people.

and maybe it’s because you’re too damn tired to keep up the walls, or maybe it’s because he’s never once made you feel like you had to explain yourself, but for the first time, you let yourself lean into the moment instead of running from it.

your fingers tighten slightly at your sides, like you’re debating something. then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you take a step forward - close enough that you can feel his warmth. not touching, but close.

logan doesn’t move. doesn’t even breathe for a second. he just waits.

then, carefully, like he’s handling something fragile, he lifts a hand - slow, deliberate. he doesn’t touch you, just hovers his fingers near yours. a silent question.

you hesitate, heartbeat loud in your ears. but for once, the instinct to pull away doesn’t win.

your fingers brush against his - just barely, just enough to feel the roughness of his calloused skin. you flinch, out of habit more than anything. but you don’t pull away.

logan stays completely still. doesn’t tighten his grip, doesn’t push for more. just lets you take what you need at your own pace.

and after a moment, your fingers settle against his.

it’s nothing, barely anything at all. but to you, it feels massive. like crossing some invisible line you’ve never dared to step over before.

logan doesn’t say a word. he just holds steady, solid and sure, like he’s been waiting for you to be ready.

like he’d wait as long as it took.

you swallow hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “sorry,” you mumble, voice barely above a whisper.

logan’s grip tightens - just a little, just enough to ground you. “don’t be.”

and for the first time, you believe him.

ᰔ logan howlett : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours, @meadow-field

@hazydespair, @stupid-little-birdie, @urlocallocachica, @person-005, @nestavadavat

@christinamadsen, @zaggprincess2, @lokixryss, @mehjustalasshere, @spktrlvr

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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whereisloe · 8 months ago

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my angel ໒꒱

“come from way above” ❀ sevika x reader 𓆝. 𓆟

Got this idea while writing a Silco fic and realized not enough people are writing for this fine ass woman OHMYGOF

I miss my wife, tails. i miss her a lot.

“This doesn’t hurt, does it?” you’d ask as you treated Sevika’s wound, carefully watching every faint expression on her face as you did so. She only grunted in response before letting her head fall into her hand. Considering the positions you both assumed, the woman had been towering over you as you sat comfortably between her legs dressing her abdominal wound. “Aaw , we’re almost done. Just keep being good for me, yeah?” You’d tease with a passive pat to her thigh as you prepped yourself to wrap her waist.

“Shut up” She’d force through a wince as you applied pressure to the deep cut, wrapping it as you did so. “You talk too much”

Once you finished the wrap your hands were quick to roam. Snaking up her chest, and latching onto her neck as you pulled your lips onto her jaw. “Keep getting hurt like this and I might just have to give Silco a little visit for all the trouble he keeps putting you through” Sevika scoffed, half-amused at your wit as she leaned back into the chair. “That man would eat you alive, sweetheart” The petname came off more condescending than endearing as Sevika undermined your words, even brushing off the genuine concern behind the joke with a bittersweet smirk.

“Oh, you promise?” Now it was your turn to laugh as you watched that smirk wipe clean off her face when her expression grew darker. You ignored her very obvious mood change and continued cleaning up your gear. “Y’know, maybe I could get you that pay raise. What do you think?” You’d stand from your crouched position and slowly spin around, flaunting your body at the woman. You even grabbed her rugged hand and bring it to your hip as you knelt into the seat of the chair that had been exposed between her legs.

“Hilarious.” She wouldn’t even half mind you as her hand quickly replaced your hip with a cigar. You rolled your eyes at her passiveness before returning to the ground to clean up your mess. At some point you even walked away allowing Sevika to smoke in peace as you cleaned your equipment.

Once you reentered the room, you’d find Sevika casually reclined on your couch with an unlit cigar still hanging out the side of her mouth. As you got closer her eyes locked on to you, roaming you up and down but once they reached your face, they softened. Just two gentle, big eyes admiring from a distance as you admired back. You were snapped out of your trance when she threw a lighter at you. You caught the metal with ease and examined it. “You forgot to light me” She said plainly, attempting to hide the sentiment she held toward the action. It was reminiscent of the first time the two of you met outside a brothel. Long story short, Sevika was quick to describe you as a huge distraction to her mission that day despite your short interaction that even you barely remembered.

“How cruel of me” You knelt down in front of the couch, now back to admiring your partner from below as her half lidded eyes met your wide ones. Her hand, rough as it was, gently held your cheek as her thumb brushed over your bottom lip. You felt yourself melt into her warm palm as the contrast between her calloused hand and your plush skin sent chills down your skin. You sparked the lighter twice before bringing it to the end of Sevika’s cigar.

She watched you. Allowing the flame to illuminate your soft expressions, and in her eyes, manipulating your features. Making you resemble yourself that night many years ago. She wasn’t any less taken by your more aged features if anything she appreciated them. Glad to see you grow older alongside her than having to admire your beauty from an ageless photo. You would notice her unwavering stare once you tossed the lighter aside and decided to make brief conversation. “You know, I don’t remember much of the first time we met” Sevika took a puff of her cigar before nodding urging you to continue. “But I remember without a doubt the second time”

“I’d be more concerned if you didn’t” She chuckled under her breath as the memories came flooding in. You took note of her already flaking cigar as she held it between her two fingers. Quickly, you placed your ceramic tray gently to her stomach just in time to catch the ash. “That guy had a lot of nerve putting his hands on you, you’re lucky I was there. Otherwise, who knows the things he would’ve did—” Sevika cursed at the thought.

“Well, you were there and I am forever grateful for you,” your voice was low as you rub senseless shapes across her wrist with the pad of your thumb. “my angel” the words were hushed as you kissed the base of her palm, then her wrist, down her arm, and back up her shoulder until you reached her nape where you took a moment. In this time, you pushed yourself onto her, feeling her shift to a more seated position to accommodate for you, you straddle her hips as you tossed your arms carelessly over her shoulders. The ceramic tray had fallen out from under you meeting the concrete with a shattering sound as the shards dispersed. “Damn it” You sighed as you began shifting away from your partner only for her to rest a heavy hand on your waist.

“I’ll clean it, later” Sevika gently guided you back into herself only to latch onto your neck. A shaky breath left your agape lips as you laid helplessly above Sevika. The heat in your cheeks only spread as she shamelessly left those sticky love bites all over your neck.

The sounds that fell from your lips only further egged her on as she found herself getting lower and her hand higher as it slid up your stomach. Eventually, you grew fed up with her slow teasing and brought your fingertips to the seams of your shirt and watched as Sevika’s gaze grew harsh with anticipation. You were ready to lift the cloth but quickly felt your blood run cold as three heavy knocked fell against your front door. You practically jumped out your skin as Sevika scowled at the source of the noise. “Fuck, I’ll get it” You held a hand over your heart as your slowly opened the door, meeting the eyes of a man who seemed to be one of Silco’s goons.

“Sevika, boss needs ya” The man completely disregarded you. You huffed under your breath and glanced up noticing how she was already behind you, prying the door further open. “Gotchu, now get the hell out of here before somebody sees you” Sevika’s voice was cold and harsh as she talked with the man, her tone almost foreign to you as you waited behind the door for Sevika to finish. Once she did, the door was shut with a frustrated grunt as she leant up against the door contemplating her next move.

“You need me to kill him?” From behind, you brought both your arms around her, pressing your face against her shoulder, you felt her laugh. “I’m sure you could.” She turned around and pressed a brief kiss to your temple. “Drinks on me next date to make up for this”

“Drinks are always on you” Your thumbs rubbed anxiously against her waist as you become increasingly aware of how much you hated when she left.

“Guess I need to stop fucking up, then” She gave your cheek on last stroke before turning to leave only to be stopped when you grabbed her mech hand. “You’re off to a bad start if you’re just gonna leave like that” You pulled yourself into her chest, standing on your toes as your lips locked with hers. Moving in tandem, Sevika fell against the door as you cupped her face in your palms and grew warm as her hand fell on the small of your back. Toward the end of your kiss you felt that warm, genuine smile of hers form against your lips as you fell back onto your heels.

“Be sure to fly back home to me, my angel”

god punishes me by making my wives fictional :( also have yall read that hexstrap fic??? sevika please just the tip 🙏😩

#arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #arcane x reader #in lesbians

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slut4megantheestallion · 6 months ago

Note

Hey can you do cullen x reader headcannons where the reader ghosts them and ignores all the messages and ignores them in school and stuff like that? it’s okay if not!

Cullen siblings x reader that ghosts & ignores them Headcannons

Warnings ⚠️: stalking mentioned of mind reading, cullens x reader, maybe some fluff, angst, obsessivnesss.

Characters ☆: Edward cullen, Alice cullen, Emmet cullen, Rosalie cullen, Jasper cullen.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════════ ⋆★⋆ ════

-Edward Cullen

● Edward is instantly intrigued when he realizes he can't read your thoughts. To him, that's already unusual, but what really catches his attention is the way you avoid him and his family.

● He tries to figure you out what makes you tick - listening intently to your conversations with others, hoping for clues about why you're ignoring him

● Edward uses his mind reading ability to hear the thoughts of people around you, looking for any insights about you. It frustrates him when nothing adds up to you. Most people's thoughts about you are mundane or superficial, leaving him with no answers about you.

● Edward finds himself shadowing you more than he cares to admit, trying to learn more about you from a distance. He tries to act like it's just harmless curiosity, though deep down, he knows it bordering on obsession.

● He'll linger near your locker of eavesdrop on your conversation in the cafeteria, always careful to stay undetected.

● He would send polite text messages asking if he does anything to offend you, but when you don't respond, he starts over analyzing everything.

● He thinks about using his vampire speed to catch you off guard, but he doesn't want to scare you off.

● if you accidentally bump onto him the hallway and mutter an apology with meeting his eyes, his cold, undead heart flicks of warmth. He becomes fixiated on earning a silver of attraction. Though he's deeply conflicted about his growing obsession.

-Alice Cullen

● Alice was genuinely baffled by your behavior. She's used to everyone liking her, so your avoidance to her is both confused and challenging to her. She had visions of you interacting with the cullens and becoming part of their circle, which only fuels her determination to get close to you.

● She would wave at you across the cafeteria at lunch or try to sit near you, hoping you would acknowledge her.

● Alice would send you cheerful and polite text messages, trying to start conversation, but when you don't respond, she gives up. She'll try again with something like, "Hey, just wanted to say hi!"

● After weeks of being ghosted, she starts questioning if she did something to offend you. She would try to win you over until you notice her

● Alice would leave small, thoughtful gifts in your locker - a book she thinks you'd like, a handmade bracelet, or a note with a kind message. When you ignore her gestures, she becomes more determined, viewing it as a puzzle she needs to solve.

● If you so much smile in her direction, Alice feels like she won the lottery. She'll immediately text edward or tell jasper gushing about the tiny interaction.

-Emmet Cullen

●At first, he doesn't take your avoidance seriously. He thinks it's funny and treats it like a game, trying to get a reaction out of you. He'll do ridiculous things in class, like make exaggerated noises or cracking jokes loud enough for you to hear, just to see if you acknowledge him.

● if you ignore him in the hallway, Emmet might pretend to trip or dramatically gasp, saying something like, "Oh no, Y/n, you've wounded me again by ignoring my existence!" He genuinely enjoys the challenge of getting you to notice him and sees it as an opportunity to show off his charm.

●Despite his playful nature, he's extremely protective. He secretly keeps his eyes on you, ready to step in if someone bothers or upset you. He doesn't understand why he feels so attached to someone who barely acknowledges his existence, but he can't help it.

● on rare occasions, you ignoring him stings. He hides it well, but he starts to wonder if there's something wrong with him or if he's done something to upset you, hoping it's not because you dislike him.

-Rosalie Cullen

●Rosalie assumes you're ignoring her and her family out of jealousy or hatred. She takes it personally and brushes you off as someone who's unworthy of her time. However, as weeks went by, you began to intrigue her. She wonders what makes you different from everyone else.

● She admires the way how confident and independent you are, though she'll never admit it. She finds the way you ignore people both impressive and frustrating. She tries to engage small talk with you, like complimenting your outfit or asking about an assignment, but your dry short responses leave her both annoyed and intrigued.

● extremely overprotective. If she overhears anyone talk bad about you, she'll shut it down. She might not understand why she feels the need to defend you, but she will not tolerate anyone disrespecting you.

● if you do acknowledge her like a small smile, a thank you, or a brief conversation- Rosalie feels an unexpected warmth. It's rare for her to feel genuinely happy, but your attention sparks something in her that she didn't know she craved.

-Jasper Cullen

● Honestly, out of all his siblings, he's the most understanding. He doesn't take it personally and respects your desire to be alone, but he can't help but be curious about your emotional state, especially since you're so calm and composed.

●He tries to subtly influence your emotions, hoping to catch a glimpse of what you're feeling. When his attempts don't seem to affect you, he's both impressed and puzzled. He starts to admire emotional resilience and wonder what makes you so different from everyone else.

● he's quietly overprotective, often wanting to be near you during school events or crowded spaces. He tells himself it's just to make sure you're safe, but deep down, he's drawn to you in a way he can't even explain.

● He worries that his interest in you is selfish, especially given his past. He feels guilty, wanting to be near you, fearing he might bring danger to your life.

● if you do ever notice him jasper with a kind gesture, he feels a quiet sense of peace. He'll treasure those rare moments and hold onto them longer than he should.

#twilight x reader #twilight #edward cullen #alice cullen #rosalie cullen #jasper cullen #emmet cullen #jasper cullen x reader #alice cullen x reader #rosalie cullen x reader #edward cullen x reader #emmet cullen x reader #twilight is so cringe but its my cringe<3

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bonesandchalamet · 2 years ago

Text

snow melts — Coriolanus snow

masterlist | pairing: Coriolanus snow x reader

summary: Coriolanus likes to keep people at arm distance, but what does it look like when he lets someone in?

warnings: kinda fluffy(?) + BOOK SPOILER OF TBOSAS

a/n: I’m unsure if the one thing I spoiled from the book is in the movie.. if it is someone let me know! I must’ve missed it

the capitol is in walking distance. all you have to do is cross the traffic circle, pray you don’t get hit, and enter the warm building. you can see it now, you can feel the precipitation building up against your skin under the thick layers— honk!

a curse falls out of your lips. too busy daydreaming about the warm welcoming breeze of the capitol, you failed to notice the cars that’s tires crunch under the snow and spread slush around your thick boots.

days like these were meant to sit inside your warm apartment and sip hot tea. they weren’t meant for you to cross in inches deep of snow and bore yourself with lectures and reading.

but there’s one person who might make things worth it. if he’s there. you’d imagine a snow would love this weather, to watch the heavy flakes cover the capitol and dance around making peoples lives miserable, Coriolanus was a lot like snow. a bit evil, a bit cold, but at the right temperature you could melt him into mush.

the traffic clears, and finally, you can sprint across to make your way to class. it had taken far too long for you to cross to the capitol, with traffic, ice, and snow, but once you make it inside you don’t regret coming.

“gosh you look awful.” festus’s comment earns a low growl to escape your lips, it’s hard to ignore him, but coriolanus does so easily, and helps remove your layers.

“how’d you beat me here?” you ask, he’s folding your coat against his arms and flattening your static hat hair. typically, Coriolanus was on time, he’s never early, but today he must’ve had a meeting with clemnesia, or possibly sejanus, that sent him into the unplowed roads and blustery wind.

you can’t imagine how cold he must’ve been. it’s his worst kept secret with you. Tigris had made him a wool coat, but he’d been to embarrassed to wear it, and he refused a coat from your families closet. this then results in him walking in brutal conditions with nothing but his school uniform on.

“meeting with dean highbottom.” its his turn to growl. the two weren’t fond of each other, but with Coriolanus being a student, and a man with scarce amount of money, coriolanus was in no position to make enemies in the capitol. so, he did what any student would do, suck up to the dean in hopes that’ll erase all the problems.

“is it about your demerit?” you whisper the words quietly enough that not another soul could hear you. Coriolanus hadn’t told his grandmother, but only you and sejanus knew of such record.

Coriolanus rolls his eyes muttering a yes, before guiding you through the mass crowds of students into the lecture hall. feeling his hand on your back sends a wave of electricity through your body. you loved his hands on you, in anyway possible, but Coriolanus was a love starved man. it was never easy to get him to show affection.

“I should thank Tigris.”

coriolanus’ eyebrows nearly string together when you turn to look at him, “well you’re not good with showing your affection, I know she has to do with this.” you chuckle a thank you, taking your things from him and watch him march across the lecture hall to his side of the room.

Coriolanus was as cold as snow sometimes, but with you? he was always melting.

#coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow fluff #Coriolanus snow fanfic #tom blyth #hunger games x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games the ballad of songbird and snakes x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #Coriolanus snow drabble

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aldryrththerainbowheart · 1 year ago

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Jason deserves to be someone's no. 1 superhero.

(Art by Victioria Palomino)

Red Hood was many things for many people. A criminal, a nuisance, and a threat. Most treated him with disdain, and few tolerated him. But no one claimed to be a fan of him. Not in a sense Superman or Wonder Woman have fans.

You kept your opinion on the man strictly neutral, hoping you'll never find yourself in the same room as him, not out of hatred, but simply a sense of self-preservation.

Until one day, you find yourself unwillingly in the crossfire of Gotham's latest criminal and it's the day you meet your unlikely savior. He's no less imposing or terrifying even as he sets you on the pavement in one of the alleyways.

"I'm not going to bite off your head if that makes you so jumpy."

"Ah! I...uh...sorry. It's just that you're..."

"'S fine, I'm used to that."

At that moment you felt really scummy. There he was risking his life for you and you were acting like has rabies. As you watched him run towards the explosions you promised yourself that you'll thank him properly next time you see him.

That opportunity comes fairly soon. Every day in Gotham is a new threat, this time in the form of sentient crawling vines with razor-sharp thorns. One of them nicks your cheek and others would probably do much worse, but a few well-aimed bullets make them fall limply on the pavement. It's your red-hooded savior and he's sporting several deep gashes as well as a cracked mask.

He barks at you to run so you do, but you linger in the safe distance, hoping to catch one more glimpse of him. When all is said and done, you see a flash of his red hood ducking behind a garbage container. You carefully sidestep the fallen debris and find him sitting on the ground leaning against the wall, clutching his shoulder.

You realize it's not the best time to talk to him, that gets affirmed by the glare he shoots you from underneath the torn hood. The fear makes your heart thump and your tongue gets stuck to the roof of your mouth. Still, you step closer, slowly, ready to back away at any second, as if you're approaching a wild animal backed into a corner, and you might as well.

"Go away." He growls, teeth flashing from the crack in his mask and you visibly shiver. Despite your fear, you crouch right next to him and pull out a couple of bandaids you always have in your mind. With trembling hands, you start to bandage up the feared vigilante. You keep his face for last, just to ignore the intense unflinching stare that's burning into you the whole time.

"The hell are you doing?" He asks, without any bite this time.

You swallow the knot in your throat.

"I...I never got a chance to...thank you." You say, voice getting smaller and smaller with each word.

"Thank me?" He says incredulously.

You meet his gaze for the first time.

"Yes, for saving me."

He lets you finish your work without another word. When you mention the shoulder. He gets up and slams it against the wall, popping the bone back in the socket as you watch in horror. He doesn't even whimper. He thanks you for the bandages and in a moment he's gone again.

Later that night, Jason Todd is lying in bed in his safe base. Staring at the colorful bandaids covering his arm.

Meanwhile, you start to unconsciously pay more attention to this masked vigilante. Whenever you see him in a newspaper, you clip out the part, when you hear his name on TV you pull the volume up. You search his name on the internet, getting what's undoubtedly some really cool shots of him on his motorcycle. Yeah, he's really a badass, the killings and questionable morals notwithstanding.

You're getting more intrigued by the day. Who is he? What made him pick up the guns and the red half-face mask? What's his relation to Batman if he's wearing a version of his symbol on his chest? Does he admire him, or hate him? Is he aware of his reputation? Is he deluded into thinking everything he's doing is ultimately good, or is he brutally self-aware and just doesn't care? His morals are what intrigued you the most. You often wonder if violence is maybe sometimes the answer, considering how many times you and your close ones got hurt or traumatized by Gotham's villains.

You start to wear a black T-shirt with a red bat-like symbol on it. You don't flaunt it, but there is undeniable giddiness when you hold it in your hands, fresh out of transfer press. You had to make it yourself because there's no official Red Hood merch, shame really. Soon a mug and a bracelet follow.

Next time you meet Red Hood, you're the one who saves him. His bike is damaged, and he's running away from cops when you grab him by the hand and pull him to the place you work at. Thankfully, no one of your coworkers is there that day so you don't have to explain to them why there's a masked man armed to teeth in the breakroom. You offer him some tea and biscuits before the coast is clear and he can leave again.

Before he leaves, Red Hood compliments your t-shirt. You look down and realize it's the one you made. You have to duck behind the front desk to hide an explosion of blush on your face, listening to his quiet chuckles. For the rest of the day Red Hood is smiling.

You heard that he is in the neighborhood. You ponder it for a long time before you book it out of the door. When you find him, you stutteringly ask for an autograph. Red Hood stares at you as if you'd gone crazy. He takes the white sharpie and scribbles his name on your back. You take the pen from his limp hand and thank him with a beaming smile. It's then Jason realizes he has a real-life fan.

The next time he sees you, he asks only half-joking if you want to take a photo with him. Your eyes widen at that.

"Y-you're sure?? I don't want to bother..."

"Just look here."

He says as he bends down to put his face next to his. You're too flustered by his proximity to react fast enough as his phone flashes in your eyes. By means unknown to you, the photo is in your phone several hours later. You look like a moron. Wide-eyed, red-faced, and gaping into the camera, but you keep it. It's a selfie with your favorite Gotham knight, after all.

When he saves you this time, he escorts you all the way to the rooftop of your apartment building. Red Hood asks how are you gonna repay him this time. Teasingly backing you up against the wall with one hand pressed to the wall behind you. You're once again reminded how big he is, but this time it does not make you fearful, it makes you flustered. You duck under his arm and tell him to wait. You hand him a plastic container, and he raises a brow at you. You explain to him it's your homemade enchiladas. What you didn't know at the time is that you'll have a hungry vigilante waiting on the rooftop for his next lunch like a stray cat.

With time, the scary vigilante became what you dared to call a friend of yours. You eat together, you talk, sometimes you patch him up and in return, he gives extra care to make your neighborhood safe. You learn a lot about him in several months and yet, you've never seen his face.

It's the end of the year, and you haven't heard from Red Hood for some time. He must be busy. It's not like he owes you anything. He probably has a life outside of vigilante work. Still, you do miss him. You don't hear from him until that fateful fight with Barman. You barely hear the news reporter over the blood rushing in your ears as you watch Red Hood get slammed into through the window of a run-down factory. Without thinking it through, you rush to the location the news reporter mentioned.

You never saw Red Hood so...defeated. He was always so big in your eyes, bigger than life. And now he is slowly bleeding from the neck while shards of glass are littered around him, with Gotham's so-called hero standing over him. You shout you're not exactly sure what, but it makes the Dark Knight freeze. You don't even spare him a glance as you kneel over your hero. His mask is even more cracked than the first time you met him. You can see the black eye and the split lip, but it's the resignation in the healthy eye that makes you unreasonably angry.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!!!"

You shock yourself with the force of that angry roar. Batman takes a step back, arms held up in defeat. Eyes confused, searching but mostly...sad, that surprises you the most. You don't have time to dwell on it as you feel Red behind you trying to get up. Deciding you'll ignore the Bat indefinitely, you support the Hood with your weight. The rest is a blur, police escort you out of the scene, giving you a lecture about civilian safety you barely listen to.

He let him escape. Batman let Red Hood escape the scene. You heard him giving an explanation to the police, lying from under his black mask. You were more perplexed than ever by their relationship.

For the next few days, you barely sleep. Worried sick about Red Hood. He might as well be dead and you wouldn't even know. That thought brings tears to your eyes.

One snowy afternoon, you walk up the stairs from your apartment to the rooftop. You haven't been there for a long time, avoiding that place. Just so you don't have to wait for him, only for him to never come again. When you open the door, you almost pass out. He's there, on your rooftop, flesh and blood. His huge back is facing you, red hood back on.

"Red?" the inaudible croak of his name is carried away by the harsh wind, and yet, he turns around. Only this time he's not wearing a mask. There's a white streak in his hair, a jagged scar runs from his lip all the way to his hairline, and his eyes, unflinching, are fixed on you.

You have never seen such vibrant green.

#red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd red hood #jason todd is red hood #jason todd fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood fic #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you

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hivemuthur · 3 months ago

Text

To Be Known - Ch.4.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! (and I can't stress this enough, kids shoo!) Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 6,8K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: mentions of injections (!) but nothing scary (just routine stuff), domspace, slight subspace, awkward sex talk, throat fucking, masturbation, some d/s etiquette (stoplight system), slight dacryphilia

author’s note: playlist here, @rennethen my beta, massive thank you and artist is @petitesieste ♡ + translations from Czech at the bottom!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

As the door shuts behind you, Viktor both regrets that the kiss wasn’t heated at all and is relieved that you are now gone, leaving him with no need to pretend his leg isn’t suffering the repercussions of last night.

He tightens the brace and retreats to the bedroom to swap the cane for a crutch—it’s going to be one of those days. It’s also going to be a day in which he cannot drive, so soon, he will follow your lead and get himself a cab to carry him from Islington to King’s Cross.

In the mirror, he can see his lips, kissed pinker than usual, his eyes still heavy with sleep, his neck marked in one spot that he hopes will be snugly obscured by his collar. Sharp angles are softened by bliss and warm slumber, subtle, barely noticeable. He can feel his dick faintly sore, his hip aching more than he expected, and he knows instantly—he is elbow-deep in something that will be incredibly hard to keep casual.

Because, impediments aside, his chest is pleasantly swollen with joy—purer than its source would suggest. Recharged, happy even, he does little to obscure the souvenirs of last night. A part of him wants Jayce to ask questions. And even though he won’t be able to tell the truth, he will be able to smile about it.

Someone aware and vacant but not yet shaped appearing at his feet, folded neatly, clean and crisp—that does not happen. Before, it was fleeting. Singulars or doubles with the better specimens, all of them inevitably saying, My ex used to. Interwoven between the plain and the regular when there was nothing else. Never had it left him so full, so calm. Never had it left him simultaneously restless, waiting for the next time. Never in such utter denial that this could be both the first time and the last. Never so hopeful for the endless next times.

Viktor changes into something warmer—August is already autumn here, rain on and off, the air thick with dampness. He wears a coat and scarf, an umbrella hooked over his bag, and the damn crutch keeps him upright as he waits for the cab.

Uncharacteristically for London, he arrives within a blink. Francis Crick greets him with its warehouse-like vastness, people bumping his shoulder and apologising as they move past. Jayce is already inside when Viktor steps into the lab, making coffee, his own neck carrying the marks of last night spent with Mel. Just like Viktor, he has done nothing to hide them.

“Got home safe?” Jayce asks, though the proof is right in front of him—breathing and walking wonkily.

“I was attacked multiple times on the short distance between the driveway and my building,” Viktor replies flatly, swapping his coat for a lab rendition of one. “But I managed to fight them all off.” He gestures toward Jayce’s neck with a smirk. “I see you fought someone too, hmm?”

“Oh.” Jayce’s hand snaps to his throat. “Yeah. Mel, she… she got really drunk,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “But I think she had fun.”

“I bet she had,” Viktor remarks dryly, rolling his eyes as he reaches for a mug, coffee waiting for him.

Jayce groans. “Alright, get off my back. What about you?”

Viktor glances at him, feigning innocence. “What about me?”

Jayce smirks, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “Did you have fun?”

“Absolutely,” Viktor replies smoothly, taking another sip.

“I bet you did.”

“Meaning?” Viktor raises a brow, though he already knows where this is going.

Jayce gestures vaguely at Viktor’s collar. “You call me out all you want, but I have eyes too, you know. Just… please don’t tell me it was with—”

“I got it before yesterday,” Viktor lies smoothly, cutting him off before he can finish that sentence.

Jayce squints at him, suspicion creeping into his expression. “I can’t remember you coming in with a hickey yesterday, Viktor.”

Viktor shrugs, nonchalant. “It’s not my fault your perception was stunted by nerves, Jayce,” he replies, tone clipped. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “Should I keep you informed at all times when I get laid?”

Jayce grins. “I wouldn’t mind.” Then, after a beat, he studies Viktor more carefully. “Something, uh… serious?”

“Ah, no, not at all,” Viktor lies again, answer coming too quickly. Jayce’s frown deepens, knowing. Before he can press further, Viktor nudges the conversation elsewhere, chin gesturing toward the stack of papers before them. “What are we dealing with today?”

Jayce sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Uh, you’re not gonna like it, man,” he warns, flipping through a few pages. “They keep pushing to change the direction.”

Viktor exhales sharply. “Any new ones, or are we still on turning people back to teenagers?”

“I’m afraid we’re still on that.” Jayce grimaces, tapping the folder.

“Ah, I see it’s imperative that the rich stay perpetually young instead of the sick getting aid,” Viktor mutters, voice laced with dry disdain. “Why am I not surprised.”

Jayce leans against the table, arms crossed. “Look, if we do something fast and present results that prove it impossible, maybe they will give it a rest.”

“Jayce, it’s such a waste of time.” Viktor shakes his head, adjusting his stance against the workbench. “Cancer won’t halt to wait for us finding a cure for old age.” He gestures sharply. “But we can find the cure for it. What’s more important?”

“Well, obviously cancer treatment,” Jayce concedes, pushing a hand through his hair. “But we will do nothing without funds.”

Viktor’s gaze sharpens. “Did Mel threaten that she will retreat if we don’t do this?”

Jayce shakes his head. “No, of course not,” he says quickly—then hesitates. “Her mother did, though.”

“Zatraceně,” Viktor mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. Usually, the exchange would go on until it breaks into a bickering fight that dies off because Jayce just can’t stand conflicts. Today though, Viktor manages to play it all out it his head before it happens and settles for a solution that they would arrive at anyway, just after a week. With a sigh, he says, “Fine. What’s your angle?”

Jayce blinks. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Viktor shrugs. “If we can’t convince them, it’s more time wasted.”

Jayce exhales and gathers the documents, flipping to a few key pages. “Okay, uh… I collected everything we did in the past that failed. And here is what we’ve been doing since the beginning of the year,” he explains, dragging a finger down a chart. “So I say… a month? Maybe two, two months of tests on mice, and we can probably call it a fail for, let’s say, another year.”

Viktor frowns, considering. “Any way of just… putting it down. For good?”

Jayce scoffs, shaking his head. “Finding a different investor,” he says, defeated.

“Why don’t we?” Viktor asks, tilting his head. Truly, why don’t they? Ockham’s razor, if the method doesn’t work change the method, all those wisdoms suddenly clear as day and instead of getting angry Viktor is as calm as stagnant water.

Jayce huffs a laugh. “Ah… wait. Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Viktor, but Mel—”

“What? Will break up with you?” Viktor cuts in smoothly.

Jayce frowns. “No. At least I hope not.”

“So?” Viktor challenges, raising a brow.

Jayce exhales, reluctant. “It will take time.”

“So will this,” Viktor counters easily. “If we both look in our free time, maybe we will find someone.”

“We don’t have free time, Viktor,” Jayce groans.

“Eh, don’t be so dramatic, Jayce,” Viktor smirks, leaning on his crutch. “I’m sure someone would be thrilled to have a cancer cure on their hands.”

Jayce considers, rubbing his jaw. “I mean… it’s possible. I guess I can ask Mel if she knows anyone.”

“There you go.” Viktor nods, satisfied.

Jayce narrows his eyes. “What the hell is with you today?”

“In what sense?” Viktor mutters in mock oblivion, his head dips between his shoulders as he is sipping his coffee.

“Why are you so fucking happy?”

Viktor smirks behind the rim of his mug. “I told you. I had fun last night,” he says, and it’s the truth this time.

Jayce rolls his eyes. “Aha, alright then. I will know, sooner or later.” He eyes Viktor’s stance. “How’s your leg?”

Viktor shrugs. “Been better. Nothing too bad, though.” He pick up the folder and turns on his chair. “Alright, I’ll go through it, you prep the lab?” Jayce only nods, still eyeing the crutch.

By lunchtime, Viktor has compiled about a thousand reasons why reversing aging is not only unethical but also impossible.

The telomere theory had long been paraded as the key to immortality—until it wasn’t. Scientists once believed that aging resulted primarily from the shortening of telomeres, the protective caps at the ends of chromosomes. Each time a cell divides, these caps erode, until eventually, the cell can no longer replicate properly. If telomere degradation could be stopped—or reversed—then so, theoretically, could aging itself.

But the reality is far more complex.

Extending telomeres doesn’t simply restore youth; it encourages uncontrolled cell growth—cancer. The body has natural safeguards for a reason, and bypassing them has proven disastrous. Tumours thrive on unchecked replication, turning what is meant to be a fountain of youth into a biological death sentence.

Which is why Viktor and Jayce are attempting to achieve the exact opposite. He taps his pen against the desk, scanning the reports before him. Even if the theory had held more promise, it was still a question of priority. But they have survived and braced through so much bullshit in the past that Viktor manages to settle into something resembling certainty—that whatever this outdated spurt is attempting, it will pass. And with its passage will come the freedom to pursue a goal far more important than a face free of wrinkles.

The rest of his day rolls between countless coffees, snacks that Jayce insists on bringing and, of course, work. By the time the sun sets his thoughts have drifted to you only three times, and only because he’s caught the glimpse of your lips imprinted on his neck each time he goes to the bathroom.

Until Jayce leaves and, inevitably, Viktor is left alone with his thoughts. And with his hands, which suddenly have nothing better to do than reach for his phone. He finds your number there, hastily exchanged right before you left for work. So he sends the text.

Normally, Viktor would put his phone away and check it again when the occasion arises, but now he gapes at it stupidly, waiting. Expecting.

Ignition is instant as three dots begin to jump by your initials, and Viktor hunches over as if that would make you type faster.

I have a thing in the evening, but I should be free at 10, if that’s not too late for you :)

Perfect, he replies—too fast to be dignified, but he cares not.

By the time 10 p.m. Saturday arrives, he is fucking giddy and nearly slaps himself when the buzzer goes off. When he waits for you at the door, crutch already exchanged, cane hanging on the coat rack, he smirks at the sight of you rolling out of the elevator in flat shoes, high heels dangling from your hand.

"Did you walk here?" he asks instead of hello, leaning against the doorframe.

You parrot him, pulling a face that attempts to distort his expression, mocking his tone. "No, genius," you say as you step through the door, tossing your shoes to the floor. "They won’t fit in my bag."

One brat point, Viktor thinks.

The second pair—the ones you’re wearing—you kick off, and as you do, Viktor asks, "How was your thing?"

"Do you really want to know?" you reply, turning—only to be met with him, lurking very, very close.

He smells good. Cheeks red. Shaking his head as he moves toward you, hands slipping under your skirt, sliding past your underwear as promised. Gliding over the round of your ass, lower, between your legs. Viktor can’t decide if this would be more fun with thighs or just as it is.

Your back meets the wall, your mouth meets his, your pussy meets his fingers in a small gathering of breaths and gasps. “Did you miss me?” you tease through exhales he allows, feeling the grin blooming against your lips.

“Are you going to be insufferable?” he hums. There is no answer to this—only a startled moan as two fingers plunge inside you. Viktor purrs, so, so pleased. “Oh, but you’ve missed me too, didn’t you?”

For you are dripping, the needy thing between your hips such a traitor.

You nod, defeated, twisting your fingers into his hair, nipping at his lip, kissing him deeply—tongue out, breathing him in as if you had been gone for a month. He tastes better when you’re sober. He tastes so much better. Feels so much better. His chest flush against yours, one hand on your neck, his forearm squeezed between your buttocks as he fingers you lazily. Your ass sticks out to meet his palm, to take more, to take him deeper.

“Greedy,” Viktor smirks as he pulls his mouth away from yours, a string of wet connecting your lips. You follow the trail, but he retreats further, shaking his head.

“We need to talk first,” he says, still playing inside you as if it’s nothing.

“You said too,” you breathe, ignoring him, pressing yourself into his neck, licking where the ghost of your mark still lingers. “So you have missed me.”

“Brat,” Viktor chuckles, but truth be told, he is utterly smitten. Defeated, too—right there with you, where your entire body begs for him. And you have no idea you’re already on three brat points, nor that he cannot fucking wait to cash them in.

But just to give you something, anything, he plucks your hand off his shoulder and places it on his crotch, whispering, “I have.”

You smile at him so sweetly Viktor would drop to his knees and eat you out if his hip weren’t still slightly busted. So, reluctantly, he pulls his fingers out of you, licks them clean in front of your very eyes—obscenely slow—then kisses you for good measure. Already wanton, you mess the shirt out of his trousers, fingers tugging impatiently, and he tsks, reprimanding,

“I meant it when I said I want to talk.”

“Fine,” you pout, fixing your skirt back in place with an air of put-upon suffering.

“Brat,” Viktor says again, but there’s a smile in it. Then, he reaches behind you, grabs his cane from the coat rack, and walks past you unceremoniously. He stops in the middle of the hallway, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow.

“Well? Are you coming?”

“I could answer that in so many ways, you know,” you reply, exasperated, but you still drag your bare feet across the floor, slinging your bag back over your shoulder.

Viktor’s smile lingers as he sees it. The sight makes him feel oddly warm—because you’ve brought clothes to change into this time.

And he is so unhurried, it drives you insane. Maddening, the way he just makes tea, pours milk into yours without asking, and then sits across from you at the kitchen table as you resume your negotiations. He leans back in his chair, fingers curled loosely around his cup, staring at you as if weighing how to begin.

The silence is unbearable. “Are you always so responsible?” you blurt, unable to sit still, let alone wait patiently. You crack your toes against the floor, pressing them down in a distorted caricature of pointe.

“I like to know where I’m at,” Viktor says, stern but measured, blinking slowly. Then, without preamble, “So. From the start. Protection?”

You blink. “Oh. Straight in?”

A beat, and when Viktor does absolutely nothing to ease your discomfort, you release a breathy chuckle. “Okay, um… I have a patch anyway, and—” You hesitate, shifting in your chair. “Please don’t think I’m a freak, but…” You reach into your bag and pull out your phone. Tugging a strand of hair behind your ear, you fiddle on the screen before placing it in front of him. “I donated blood last month at a charity event, and these are my results.”

His brow quirks.

“So, you can lose the rubber,” you mutter, swallowing. “If you want.”

Viktor says nothing at first, just studies you with that unreadable expression of his. Then, with the same ease as before, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and places it in front of you. The screen is already unlocked, a document open.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice low. “I test regularly. Everything’s negative.”

That catches you by surprise, though you school your face quickly, forcing yourself not to dwell too much on whatever embers of unjustified jealousy try to crack open beneath your feet. Lip caught between your teeth, you glance down—not to check if he’s telling the truth, but to give yourself an extra second to think.

Then, quietly, heat creeping up your ears, you murmur, “No condom then.”

It’s Viktor’s turn to swallow something down. His gaze darkens, as images of what he can do with this newest ruling flash through his mind. His fingers tap once against the side of his cup before he hums, satisfied. “Good.”

His voice is so casual, so certain, it’s infuriating.

“Next… safe word?” Viktor asks. You cringe, a small, involuntary wince that does not go unnoticed. He tilts his head, expression softening, and before you can even muster the courage to tell him you haven’t got the faintest idea, he steps in. “Okay,” he says, tone even, patient. “Are you familiar with the stoplight system?”

“Yes,” you say, relieved at the reprieve.

“Is that better?”

“Yes, I can do that,” you nod, fingers curling into your lap.

“Alright.” Voice still matter-of-fact, eyes stay on you, gauging, reading. “And if you can’t speak, it’s two taps for slow down, and three for stop. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” You barely recognise your own voice. It’s breathless, eager, and a little too quick to comply.

Because God, this is so hot.

Dark blood stumbles slowly through your veins, brain slipping into focus, breaths deepen and all you can hear is his voice. All you can see is his sunken-cheeked face—a map of spectacular junctions you linger on—pools of his eyes, yes, dark, yes, wanting, but above all—kind. Above all, awakened and eager when he reads the answers before you even open your mouth.

Then, his nose, again, the hill of it, the way it slithers into his cheeks. Lower, the crown of his lip, a bud made to be sucked on. It moves when he says, “Brilliant.” The word rolls out, thick and heavy, makes the muscles of his jaw flex underneath the skin and to save yourself from second degree burn on your face, you retreat to the trick of nose staring. Nearly fails you again, when he scratches it and instead of it your mind drifts to where those fingers have been just moments ago.

He leans forward, hand crawling toward you, and you place your palms flat on the table. Not yet touching, but the promise is there.

“Anything you won’t do? Hard limits?” he asks evenly, arrogant smirk impossible to hide. “It can be all sorts of things, even the basics. Like cocksucking.”

At this point it’s inching toward cruel, a praying mantis foreplay, but you suspect you are the one about to end up a meal on his plate. With a deep breath, you manage, “I’m not opposed to it,” your voice steadier than you feel.

Viktor exhales through his nose, something caught between a hum and a chuckle. “That makes me very happy.”

“I bet it does,” you mumble before you can stop yourself, pulse thundering everywhere—in your chest, wrists, pounding between your ears and legs.

The smug smile he gives you in return is positively wicked. Four points.

“So… anything?” He watches you carefully, head tilting. Then, as if making a decision, he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out beneath the table, his feet touch yours. “I’ll tell you what,” he continues. “If anything comes up, tell me. Even if randomly. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” A beat. “And you?” you ask, voice quieter.

A complete change. Viktor feels his chest flooding with warmth, eyes widen when he reaches out for your palms and cradles them in his. “Yes. I will make sure to tell you.” His gaze holds yours, unwavering.

It’s merely a glimpse of something. Then, his expression falls back into the sardonic kind, and after a pause, he asks, “How uncomfortable does this make you feel?”

You shift in your seat, squeezing his palms. “Very.”

His lips curl. “Good.” He tilts his chin, eyes lazily dropping down your frame. “Are you wet?” he asks, so casually it stirs the bottom of your stomach into a tight cramp and your thighs clench.

“Show me,” Viktor says, and you are already standing up, already moving without thought, drawn in by the quiet command.

By the time you reach the other side of the table, his hands are already on you—steady and sure. Your fingers press into his shoulders as his palm sneaks between your legs, testing, feeling, confirming.

“Very good,” he purrs, voice drenched in satisfaction. His teasing fingers stroke over the fabric. Then, with a small tug, arms pull you forward.

“Now, come here,” he murmurs, his grip firm but careful. “One last thing.”

He guides you to straddle his lap, and you settle against him easily, warmth pooling where your bodies meet. The shift makes your skirt roll up, your underwear now completely visible, but Viktor’s eyes don’t drop—they linger on your face, on something softer.

His fingers reach for the high, snug collar of your turtleneck. He peels it back, unrolling the fabric slowly, like unwrapping a gift. Then, as soon as he sees the marks blooming along your throat, his breath catches.

“Oh my,” he muses, and his voice is velvet—rich, low, utterly charmed. His fingers brush over the bruises, ghosting along the evidence of his own mouthwork. “I got you good, haven’t I?”

Your lips twitch, suppressing a smirk. “I suppose you have.”

Viktor hums, tracing absentminded circles against your spine. His other hand rests on the curve of your bum. “Did it get you in trouble?”

“Not yet,” you admit, craning your neck, as he presses a kiss to the unmarked side. His lips are warm, his breath even warmer as he nuzzles into the skin, rubbing his nose over it before pressing another—softer, gentler—kiss.

“And you know… it’s going to be winter soon,” you murmur, fingers playing at the loose strands of his hair. “We can regroup in spring.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, but his arms tighten around you. “No,” he decides. “I’ll be more careful.”

Your hands slide down to cup his jaw, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Please don’t stop, though.”

He looks at you then, properly, and behind his eyes is fondness, undeniable, as his pupils search your face, hands reassure, his lap warms you up.

“I won’t.” His voice is a promise, lips brushing the words against your skin. Then, with a knowing smirk, he whispers, “Besides, there are other places.”

And you have neither the will nor the energy to gather more brat points this evening. So instead of snapping back with something clever, you nuzzle into his neck, pressing your nose against his skin and inhaling deeply—his stupid man-soap, his stupid plain washing powder, his stupid freckled skin.

Mouth open, you drag it up the slope of his throat, unhurried, skin pulling with the friction. He exhales, head tilting back, offering himself to you eagerly. His hips slide down the chair, and you have to hold onto his shoulders when he speaks to the ceiling, “Get on your knees for me.”

He smiles when he sees how snugly you fit there and asks, “Not opposed, hm?” Your palms rest on his thighs, fingers marching toward his belt as you shake your head, a timid smile stretching your lips. Before you can undo it for him, Viktor unbuckles himself. Metal clinks on the floor as he grasps your hands and presses them to his cock, leaning in to whisper, “Not good enough. I want you to love it.”

Your hands turn shaky all of a sudden, hesitating as you unbutton him. He looms over you, already cradling your nape, foreshadowing the moment the spaces between his fingers will be full of your hair. No drunken haze, no fucked-out brain—finally, you get a proper look. And Viktor is pretty, head to toe, you realise. His cock is half-hard, framed by dark hair that meets in a tempting line on his lower belly, rising and falling with each deep breath—just as the crown of his upper lip, it is made to be sucked on.

By the time your mouth reaches him, he’s so deeply blissed out he staggers. Because it’s not just your mouth—it’s your entire face that hugs him, repeating the gesture from the first night, when you simply rested your cheek on his length and breathed him in. His stupid man-smell. Sweet and salty with sweat, and you want to be closer, so you yank his pants down to his ankles. Viktor says nothing about the fact that you’ve done so without permission.

Because you move in, arms wrapping around his waist, your entire face pressed into his groin, mouth agape as you breathe deeply. Tranquillity, absolute and endless, floods you when, instead of yanking your head, he strokes it and sighs, long and heavy.

And then, you kiss him as if his cock were his lips—open-mouthed and with tongue—gliding over every inch in a loving rhythm, from the base to the tip and back down. Pressing him into his own stomach, hands tightening around his hips, you hum into his skin and Viktor shudders. Overwhelmed, he holds your jaw and urges you to stick your tongue out, mimicking the gesture himself. And that’s when you notice—his tongue is pretty too.

Cock lands in your mouth, its flushed head drags across the wet surface, teasing, the heat of your breath enveloping him. He pulls back, letting the tip slip free, and then smears the slickness of your spit along your cheek. The gesture so full of intent, his thumb following to spread it further, tracing the damp streak before he taps your cheek with his cock once—twice—three times, and smiles, grins with teeth and all. You’ve thought it impossible, but he just managed to get prettier even.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, gripping tight. Your eyes flutter shut, waiting.

“Ready?” he murmurs, voice thick.

You nod, anticipation rolling through you, but Viktor is nothing if not careful. His warm palm finds your cheek again, thumb pressing gently at the hinge of your jaw. “Remember about taps,” he reminds you, free hand cradling the back of your head. Then, finally, he pushes forward, slow but insistent, the head of his cock breaching your lips.

“That’s it,” he sighs, his grip tightening as he sinks deeper. “Good girl… You feel so—” He exhales sharply, rocking his hips shallowly. “That’s right. God, you feel good.”

His pace builds, measured at first, the tight ring of your mouth around him making his breath grow heavier. His fingers twitch against your scalp as he mutters, “So fucking pretty like this.”

Each word of praise spurs you on. You moan around his cock, and Viktor grunts with effort, his breath shuddering, brows knitting. He brushes your hair off your face, gathering it carefully in his hand, mindful not to pull. Tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes, but you do not falter. You clutch his legs for support as Viktor shifts to the edge of the chair, caging you between his thighs.

Sweat begins to pearl on his forehead, fingers pressing deeper into muscle. His voice thickens, English fracturing as pleasure takes over.

“Děláš mi to tak dobře,” he groans, voice rough with need. His hips push forward with a little more force, testing. “Podívej se na tebe… tak nádherná s pusou plnou.”

Less air, more heat pooling low in your belly. Drool pooling in your mouth. A tear breaks free, rolling down your cheek, and something shifts in Viktor’s expression—fascinated. Your lashes flutter, eyes hazy as he holds you there, thighs clenching.

He pulls back, letting you gasp, spit clinging between your lips and his skin before he presses in again, deeper this time. His grip tightens at your nape, holding you steady.

“Můj chytrý, drzý, krásný děvče,” he pants, voice hoarse, words spilling from him like a prayer. “Vezmi si mě celého.”

You roll your tongue out and angle your head for him to enter easier. He’s back instantly, you catch only a glimpse of his cock glistening in your drool, and it excites you, boiling over. He slides in, slowly, watches himself disappear between your lips with wide eyes, half of him, and then, oh, all of him, as your throat straightens and becomes full. All falls quiet around you, and you close your eyes, holding him in for four long seconds, before patting his thigh twice.

Viktor retreats immediately, cradles your face and asks, “Colour?” before you are done gulping on air.

“Green,” you rasp, reaching back for his cock, a string of drool hanging from your lip, low, nearly staining your chest.

You flatten your tongue, tilt your head, open up. He’s there in an instant, the blunt, slick head pressing against your lips. A brief glance down—his cock shining, thick with spit, dark hair curling damp at the base. A sharp pulse flares in your loins at the sight, and then he’s sliding back in, slow, watching himself vanish between your lips. Halfway. Then deeper. Your throat takes him, stretches, the press of him filling your mouth, your ribs tightening with the effort of stillness.

Everything stills, quiet in your ears. His hand heavy at the back of your skull, his breath gone shallow. Your lashes flutter, eyes shut. Four long seconds, your lungs burning, and then—two quick taps to his thigh.

He pulls back instantly, his hands gentle when they frame your face. “Colour?” His voice frays at the edges, all rasp and need.

“Green.” Your voice is wrecked, breathless. You reach back for him, spit trailing from your lip, stringing low, silver in the dim light. “Please, again.”

His thumbs stroke across your cheeks, slow, tracing heat beneath the skin. “What have I done to deserve you?” His voice, a rasp of breath and want. He presses a dry kiss to your forehead, something reverent in it, then tilts your face up. “Does it feel good, when you can’t breathe?”

Your breath stutters. “Yes,” barely more than air, forehead pressing to his chin, hands clenching around his wrists. “God, yes.” The words slip free like a confession.

He lets you hold on, lets you bear down as he presses in again. The tension of muscle, the slow give of your throat around him. He watches, eyes dark, intent—reads the flicker of your lashes, the shudder in your ribs, the shine of spit where it slicks him. He sees the way your body makes space for him, the way your throat clenches, the way tears bead and slip from the corners of your eyes.

A long, shuddering breath. He pushes deeper. Watches himself disappear, faster this time. Pulling your hand with him, his fingers skate down, brush the column of your throat, mapping the way it stretches, the pulse leaping beneath his touch. He watches, always watching, eyes heavy-lidded, half-wild, but still careful. His palm flattens, thumb stroking over your skin as he rocks forward, measuring each inch that slides in, each tiny shift of muscle.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice fragmented. “Touch yourself.”

Hand leaves his wrist and finds its place between your legs when you part your thighs and dip into your underwear. It sticks to your skin, drenched, when you part yourself and try to not lose focus. You picture it’s him, somehow, touching you.

His hips roll, slow at first, feeding you the length of him, watching how your lips part wider, how your jaw strains to take him deeper. He feels your fingers flex around his wrist, grip tightening before easing, giving way. The first wet sound pulls a groan from him, rough yet quiet.

“There you go,” he says, as if coaxing something delicate to open. His thumb lingers at your throat, pressing just enough to feel himself inside. His grip at your nape steadies you as he moves again, guiding you, his restraint threadbare.

The wet pull of your mouth drags another guttural sound from his chest, and it sounds so fucking lovely you moan around his cock. His words break into rough blabber, heat-struck and low. “Tak nádherná... tak dokonalá…”

A stutter of hips, breath cuts when he swallows hard and fingers tease at your throat. “Breathe,” he reminds, voice fraying, rasping. “Tap if—” His voice cuts off as you swallow around him, as your tongue presses firm.

His jaw clenches, body tight, but his hand never leaves your throat, never stops searching for your breath, for the shift of muscle as he works himself deeper.

Your eyes flicker up, wet and wide. The sight of you like this undoes him.

His breath stutters out, a ragged curse, his head tipping back. Fingers tightening as heat coils, as his restraint snaps, and with a final shuddering groan, he spills into your mouth. The taste of him, heavy salt, the sight of his stomach hollowing out under the muscle cramp, tips you over and you suck him out, milk him, grunting around his sensitive skin, cunt clenching around nothing as you come.

You swallow around him until there is a vacuum, and Viktor hisses, his grip on your head tightening. He exhales heavily, unsteady, then pulls out with a wet sigh and beckons you up by the neck, guiding you back until your thighs bracket his.

Up there, in his lap, he kisses you—deep, grateful—licking himself from your mouth. A low hum rumbles in his chest as he wraps his arms around you.

“Not opposed, huh?” he teases.

You chuckle, warmth curling at the edges of your voice. “I suppose you can call me a fan,” you admit, sheepish, fingers idly tracing the back of his neck.

Viktor is already elsewhere, mind moving faster than breath, reading you even now. “How are you feeling?”

You exhale, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “So fucking tired. But good. Now good.”

He hums, then urges you to stand. His own movements are slow, careful—he rises with difficulty, a quiet wince caught in his throat. He stretches, rolling his shoulders, then glances at you. “How early do you have to wake up tomorrow?”

You shift on your feet, rubbing your arms. “I don’t… I have to do some things in the evening, but I have Sunday morning free.”

And Viktor tries not to come off as anything, face fully naked when he says, “I implore you to stay, then.”

Spacing out just a bit, not as strongly as the last time, you nod, sling the bag back over your shoulder and let yourself be walked to his bedroom. There, wordlessly, Viktor undresses down to his underwear. You catch the glimpse of a fresh bruise on his stomach, previously hidden beneath his shirt. He sits on the bed, stretching his leg out with a sigh, then looks up at you, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“You can change in the bathroom, you know?” he says, amusement curling at the edges of his lips.

“I know, I just—” you hesitate. “It’s just very domestic,” you say, cringing at your own immaturity.

Viktor exhales a laugh through his nose. “Only because we are at my home.” His gaze lingers, curious. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” you say and the fact that it truly doesn’t—that’s what bothers you. Viktor shifts from acting like he cares beyond measure to as if he would go wherever the wind blows. From being utterly excited about your discontentment to completely unbothered about anything you decide. He sits on the bed in just his boxers, giving you a lopsided smile. “Go change.”

As soon as you do, he falls onto his back and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters quietly to himself. After a long breath, he rolls onto his belly, reaching into the bedside stand. He pulls out a syringe, rolls back, sits up, and gathers a small pinch of skin on his stomach. On the opposite side of the fresh bruise, the needle goes in smoothly, but Viktor hisses at the sensation of fluid expanding the tissues. He massages it out and drops the syringe into the trash bin beside the bed.

By the time you come out of the bathroom, he’s already in bed. His arm is flung over his face, his body slack, only the subtle rise and fall of his chest betraying that he’s still awake. You settle into the farthest edge of the bed—just like last time.

Viktor chuckles when you slide under the covers and yawn. Shifting closer, he reaches for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest. His breath is warm against your temple.

“Why are you all the way over there again?” he murmurs, voice tired.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, arms trapped, fingers tapping his sternum. “I don’t want to invade your space.”

Viktor hums, his lips ghosting over your hair. “You are in my bed,” he points out, his tone dry but fond.

You hesitate, then offer, “I can go if you want me to.”

“Hush now,” he chides softly, arms tightening. A pause, then, quieter, “Do you mind this?”

Your breathe out a quiet groan. Then, “N-no,” you stammer. “But I’m fine today, I don’t need—”

“I do,” he interrupts, his voice lower, steady. His fingers splay against your back, pressing you close. “I need this.” A beat of silence, then, gentler, “Is that okay?”

And even if you were able to say no before, now it’s impossible. Because Viktor sinks, his face brushing against yours in something almost absentmindedly affectionate, his breath warming up your cheek. Being needed overrides the unease of non-sexual closeness.

“It’s okay,” you mutter finally. Then, “Viktor?”

“Hm?” he hums, the sound lazy, content.

“Why a skirt?”

“Ah,” A chuckle. “No reason really, other than that I like your legs. Also, easier access, if you please,” he says, squeezing your butt. “I might have gotten a better use of it, wasn’t my leg not up to it today.” That’s a quiet admission he hasn’t meant to share yet, but it just happens. And it lands softly in your clever brain that connects the dots quickly.

“Is that why your stomach is bruised?”

“Oh.” He shifts slightly, reaching back toward the nightstand. “Partly. It’s the brace,” he explains, retrieving a small syringe and holding it up for you to see. “These prevent blood clotting under the trapped tissue.”

You frown. “It looks painful.” Another piece of Viktor for your collection.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he assures you, setting the syringe aside. His mouth quirks slightly. “But I’m aware it’s not the most aesthetically pleasing sight.”

You scoff. “Your stomach is one of the most aesthetically pleasing sights I’ve had the opportunity to ogle.” You hesitate, then add, softer, “I’m just checking. Just curious.”

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle. “I like your stomach too.”

You snort. “Are you always such a sap after sex?”

“Do you want me to be mean?” he counters, brow quirking.

“No,” you say quickly. “No, please be a sap.”

He hums again, his grip on you tightening briefly. “You are a very strange creature,” he says at last, affection dripping from his tongue, though it seems he hadn’t intended it to. Mercifully, you don’t comment on it. You just nose into his neck, breathing in deeply—the stupid smell of him. —

Translations: Děláš mi to tak dobře – You make me feel so good Podívej se na tebe… tak nádherná s pusou plnou – Look at you… so beautiful with your mouth full Můj chytrý, drzý, krásný děvče – My smart, sassy, beautiful girl Vezmi si mě celého – Take all of me Tak nádherná... tak dokonalá… – So beautiful… so perfect…

#my writing #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #viktor x oc #arcane #arcane fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor nation #to be known

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 2 months ago

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Bob Reynolds X GN! Reader: Two broken souls, one mended heart.

A/n: idk what anyone says thunderbolts fucking ruled, i cried like a baby. Bob is such an angel i love him.

Warnings: angsty, fluff, happy ending, mental heath talk, my horrible story about the sun and moon (guys i thought it was a good metaphor 😩), bob being bob, gn reader, no use of y/n.

Word count: 1,4K

Bob is sitting on his bed in the Watchtower—but at the same time, he's not. He’s there, physically anyway, but his mind is somewhere else. He can feel it simmering beneath his skin.

The darkness.

He wills himself to forget it. Wills himself to keep it in, even though he knows this is only a temporary solution. It will consume him again. It’s only a matter of time.

You are nothing.

Bob believes it. The voice in his head—the one that has always been there and perhaps always will be. He knows he shouldn’t listen. Knows that Yelena is right. But it gnaws at him all the same. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. His fists are solid emptiness. He stares at them for a while. The ink has stopped spreading on his wrist. He closes his eyes again and focuses, trying to will the darkness away.

That’s when he feels something touch his shoulder.

“Bob?”

The word leaves your mouth just as you’re pulled into your shame room. You’ve gotten used to it now.The first time it happened, your heart raced so badly you thought you’d die right there. But after going into the void to rescue Bob, you stopped fearing your shame.There’s nothing you can do to save yourself in these moments, so you let the scene unfold, calling out for him instead.

In a flash, you’re back at the tower. Your butt hits the floor hard. Bob is standing there, hands inky and outstretched. He shoved you—not because he didn’t want you to touch him, but because he knew what it would do to you.

“I’m sorry.”

He moves to lift you up, stopping when he notices your eyes on his hands. You aren’t looking at him with judgment—but his brain tells him to shrink away, so he does. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and takes a step back. You notice the shift immediately.

“Don’t apologize. I know why you did it.”

You use his bed to pull yourself up. Bob keeps his distance. He watches you like a frightened animal, and that nearly breaks you. No matter how much kindness you show him, no matter how much acceptance—you know a part of him will always want to self-destruct. You take a slow breath, forcing down the tears threatening to fall. You raise your palms toward him.

“Let me see.”

Bob shakes his head, avoiding your gaze. You sigh and sit on his bed.

“I want to help. Will you let me?”

Bob opens his mouth, but you cut him off gently.

“Please, Bob.”

The way you speak—so softly, yet full of pain—makes his shoulders sag. He walks towards you and sits beside you. You give him a small, reassuring smile.

“Thank you. Show them to me.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

“Oh, my sweet boy.”

You place a hand on his cheek. Before he can flinch away, you speak again:

“You could never hurt me.”

Bob leans into your touch, eyes closing as your thumb brushes away a tear that slips down his cheek.

“Shh. It’s okay. Let me help.”

Bob pulls his hands from his pockets, letting you take them. The darkness hasn’t spread far this time so it won't be hard to make it go away.

“Have I ever told you the story of the Sun and the Moon?”

Your fingers move lightly over Bob’s palms as you wait for his answer. You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep your gaze focused on his hands.

“I don’t think so.”

“Really? Huh. I could’ve sworn I had... Doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you now.”

You lift your gaze to meet his. He stares at you, lips slightly pouty.

“How does that sound?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay. It’s been a while since I’ve told it, so forgive me if I’m a bit rusty.”

Bob shrugs, a silent go-ahead.

“So... there was once the Sun and the Moon. And the Sun always thought he was better than the Moon. People loved the day—when he was out, they’d go to parks and laugh and live. But when the Sun disappeared and the Moon rose, people would hide in their homes and sleep. The Moon started to think she wasn’t good enough. That no one wanted her. So one day, she simply stopped coming out.”

Bob’s brow furrows, but he stays quiet.

“When the time came for the Sun to go and the Moon to rise, the sky remained empty. The Sun found it strange, but being the egotist he was, he thought, ‘Finally—I get to shine forever.’ At first, people were thrilled. They stayed up late, enjoying the never-ending brightness.”

You pause, making sure Bob is still with you. He is. His eyes are locked on yours.

“But after a while, the constant light started to hurt. People were tired. They couldn’t sleep. The heat became unbearable. So they stayed inside. They hid—from the Sun. And for the first time, the Sun felt... unwanted.”

You gently rub a circle into Bob’s palm.

“Eventually, the Sun searched for the Moon. He found her, hiding on a nearby planet. He said, ‘You have to come out.’ And she asked, ‘Why? People don’t want me.’ But he told her, ‘They need you. They finally understand.’”

Bob leans in slightly, eyes wide and soft.

“The Moon didn’t believe him. But she agreed. She stepped into the sky, bracing for silence—for the usual loneliness. But this time, she was met with celebration. People cheered. Danced. Laughed. And she turned to the Sun and asked, ‘Why?’ He said, ‘They only learned to appreciate the light after living through the dark. They know now—we both matter.’”

You swallow, your throat dry, but you push on.

“Do you get what I’m trying to say?”

“That the Sun’s a jerk?”

You laugh, and it breaks some of the weight in the air.

“No... it’s about balance. You can’t be perfect all the time. Sometimes, you have to sit in the darkness and accept it’s there. Only then can you find a way to bring back the light.”

You raise Bob’s hands so he can see them. The inky blackness is gone. He stares, then looks at you with a shy, almost embarrassed smile. You smile back, wider—grinning now.

“Thanks. You always seem to know what to do to help.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “It’s easier when it’s for others, you know? It’s hard when you have to help yourself.”

Bob notices the sudden tension in your body. He hadn’t seen it when you walked in—too focused on his own problems to realize you were struggling too.

“Hey.”

He places a hand on your wrist, causing you to look up from your lap.

“You’re not alone. If you need help, you can ask me. I know a thing or two about feeling powerless.”

He gives you a small smile—meant to be a little funny, but sincere all the same. You’d been pushing the tears down all day, but in that moment—sitting on Bob’s bed, his hand warm against your skin—you finally allow yourself to feel the sadness. You let it wash over you, releasing the tears you’d kept hidden. Before either of you can think, Bob is pulling you into his chest. He wraps his arms around you, cradling your head gently as you sob into his neck.

“Today was a bad day?” he asks softly.

You nod against his skin, your crying slowly easing as you let out another sigh. Bob doesn’t let you pull away, even when your body stops shaking with sobs.He holds you close, surrounding you in a quiet, wordless comfort.

You manage to lift your head off his shoulder, coming face to face with him.

“Thank you, Bob. I needed that hug more than I realized.”

“Happy to help.”

Bob chews the inside of his cheek, clearly lost in thought. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“What’s going on in there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking maybe we could… I don’t know. Maybe we could be each other’s shoulder to lean on.”

He looks at you with a worried expression, afraid you’ll find his words silly or strange—but you just smile at him, gently brushing a piece of hair out of his eyes.

“I’d like that, Bob.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He grins, arms tightening around you.

“You think we can stay like this a bit longer? It helps me too.”

“Of course. We can stay like this as long as you want.”

With that, the two of you settle onto the bed, bodies curled into one another in quiet comfort. You weren’t perfect—and not every day would be easy. But you had each other. And in the end, that was all you needed.

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 1 year ago

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Infernal Shadows 03

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it. Carmilla and Velvet feud because I also live for that. I also really favor Zestial for some reason as a calm mediator.

Song for this chapter: Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61

A/N: Thank you all so much for your positive feedback & feedback in general on the last two posts!! I really didn’t think this would catch so much attention but I’m so glad people like it. For some reason Tumblr’s being weird and doesn’t want to let me tag certain people, I don’t know why but if anyone does please let me know because I really don’t like that ;/ But I hope you all enjoy this chapter!! Please note that some blogs cannot be tagged, so I recommend checking this post and to check your settings to make sure I can tag you! If anything I can always just message you when the next chapter comes out, and yes I am making this series longer :) it’ll also be posted on my Wattpad soon!

Word count: 3890

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote @froggyferrets @frompeach @absurd-ash @sillysillyxinnabun @urdariingdoll @delectableworm @immahuman @justaproudslytherpuff @local-mr-frog @angeli-fucking-cat @coldsweetsenthusiast @jadekomaeda @iaaeav @coffeethoughtsandanxiety @lunalixya @pretty-puppy-stuffies @lemonrolls @asimplikeallyall @lunalixya

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part two. // Part four.

Engaging with guests throughout the night had become an exhausting endeavor, and a part of you yearned for the solace of your absence. Nevertheless, you maintained the façade, acknowledging every sinner whose smile dripped with crimson mischief. Having greeted each guest, you discreetly slipped into a shadowed corner, your shadows enveloping your figure quickly, seamlessly disappearing from the expansive room in mere seconds and emerging into an intimate gazebo outside, meticulously arranged beneath the sweeping branches of a weeping willow, you marveled at its unique ambiance. Unlike the earthly counterparts that stood white, the willow in your realm bore a deep crimson hue, its leaves adorned with a subtle, luminous sheen. A gentle smile graced your lips as you leaned against the sturdy black iron railing, delicately cradling a piece of the weeping willow between your fingertips. In the distance, the grand mansion hosting the gala loomed, its opulence contrasting with the simplicity of your secluded retreat. Despite the awareness of etiquette dictating against leaving guests unattended, the need for a mental break led you to this haven, a safe space for you. Reflecting, you acknowledged a desire for better preparation and rehearsal with the shadows, realizing the repetitiveness of conversations with the familiar sinners had rendered the night somewhat lackluster. It almost felt like you had come out of hiding for nothing. Quite the disappointment.

You sigh, massaging your temples, the lace fabric on your fingertips only slightly soothing the growing headache. However, not too far behind, you hear the sound of soft grass. You straighten up and turn around, seeing none other than your long time friend Zestial, who just smiled, nodding at you.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial inquired, standing by your side with his back against the railing. You resumed your original position, taking a moment to appreciate his father. Mentally noting how much of your grandfather Zestial reminded you of, you kept the sentiment unspoken.

Tonight, Zestial adorned himself in an outfit resonant with his time period, preserving his distinctive color scheme. A dark, meticulously tailored coat with lime green accents draped over his slender frame, capturing the essence of his demonic class. The cloak, adorned with lime green spider webs, unveiled a mesmerizing display when unfurled—his lime green eyes radiating, the upper pair embellished with vivid red irises. Instead of the customary big top hat, Zestial selected a smaller, more appropriate hat with a touch of flair. Dark as the shadows you command, it featured a light grey patch at the front and was finished with a grey-colored skull and a lime green and red-striped feather on the right side, adding a distinctive touch that mirrored his nature.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial repeated, shifting toward you a bit. Yet you resumed your original position, savoring the quiet ambiance before finally answering him. “What shall we discourse upon during our repast this eventide?” Zestial asked. Though his wording occasionally posed a challenge for others, having grown up in a family of eloquent speakers, you easily deciphered his intent. Something he truly appreciated. Though he was learning to speak more ‘modern’, or as modern as he could be.

“Quite unsure of that. Everything is changing, and I fear I might be left behind,” you expressed bluntly. Zestial sighed in response, a mix of understanding and concern evident in his lime green eyes.

“Madame, thou art timeless,” Zestial said with a bow, his cup proofing into smoke. “I pray thee, vex not thyself o’er so trivial a matter,” he added, his words resonating with both reassurance and genuine care.

You nodded, handing him a card. His surprised expression upon finding two cards instead of one didn’t escape you. “What manner of thing is this?” Zestial inquired, prompting you to summon a shadow for yourself, knowing he would find his own means back to the Gala.

“Carmilla. I am no fool to the both of you,” you said, amusement coloring your words as Zestial shook his head.

“Thou dost astonish me on every occasion,” Zestial remarked, standing by your side as you walked into your portal. Two seats vanished, leaving four empty seats at your table and six occupied.

In your study, you floated scripts in front of you, checking off names on the table list for tonight. With a few overlords left to choose from, Alastor and Charlotte secured seats based on trust and connections. Vox, Zestial, and Carmilla, an unspoken but potent couple, promised intrigue. Reconsidering Velvet for her potential devolution, you weighed each decision with strategic acumen.

Valentino, the Von Eldritch twins, and other weaker options were dismissed, maintaining a careful balance of power and influence. As you weigh the option of inviting Rosie to the gathering, her unpredictable nature adds a layer of excitement and potential surprise to the upcoming discussions. However, this unpredictability could also introduce challenges, creating an air of uncertainty around her contributions. Hopefully with Alastor around, she’d feel more inclined to behave. You check her name off the list.

In considering Stolas, the Goetia prince, his personal issues and tarnished reputation pose significant hurdles. Divorcing from his wife, sleeping with an imp for fun, as well as losing control of his daughter on Earth, it all seemed too risky to get involved with. While his wisdom and influence could contribute positively, the shadows of his struggles may complicate the dynamics, stirring potential conflicts and requiring delicate handling. Someone might get out of line with a comment towards him. His power was incredibly useful, but not worth the risk.

Husk’s transformation from a former overlord to a bartender signals a decline in power and status. While his laid-back demeanor might bring a sense of unpredictability, his diminished influence raises questions about the relevance of his involvement in the current political landscape of hell. Though he was your friend, you needed to keep your reputation pristine.

As the you contemplate the overlords assets, a mix of excitement, caution, and uncertainty envelops the decision-making process. Each overlord’s potential positive contributions are balanced by the looming negatives.

“Madame?” One of your shadows materialized, prompting a nod for them to proceed. “There seems to be some trouble in the lobby between the guests. What would you like us to do?” it inquired. A grimace crossed your face, hoping the disturbance wouldn’t mar your night. “Let me handle it,” you declared, snapping your fingers, causing the script to vanish. The shadow nodded, blending back into a wall for you to step through.

Upon reappearing, you assumed the form of a taller shadow. The room surrounded by guests revealed Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla standing in the middle. Zestial, seemingly composed, stood close behind Carmilla, observing the situation. Carmilla appeared visibly upset, with Velvet in proximity, a pointed finger dropping as soon as she noticed your arrival. Alastor maintained his usual wide smile, though it bordered on the eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The scene unfolded, presenting a potential challenge to the serene atmosphere you aimed to maintain during the gala.

Everyone seemed to stop, slowly turning toward you to see your face. Except there was no expression, just the large shadow you had taken form of. In seconds the shadow disappeared, leaving you in the fog, the expression on your face anything but calm.

"Madame I-" Velvet began, but her words were halted by the sight of your lace glove, your hand rising to silence her. Approaching the overlords, you spoke with an air of cold authority.

"My quarters. Now," you commanded, and with a snap of your fingers, smoke enveloped your spot as you vanished. Shadows materialized around the overlords, guiding them to your quarters, leaving the stunned guests in the lobby.

"Well, that was interesting," Valentino remarked.

In your study, the overlords found you seated in your tall, black chair. Its ebony surface featured intricate carvings of black glass, elegant swirls, and patterns tailored to your essence, creating an atmosphere of undeniable authority and refinement.

"I hope you all had fun acting like children," you chided sternly. The overlords lined up, forming a unified front. Leaning against the right side of your chair, you crossed your legs, elbow on the armrest, pinching the bridge of your nose with a sigh. Annoyance laced your words as you questioned, "What did you feel the need to argue about now?" Before Velvet, Vox, and Carmilla could respond simultaneously, you halted them. "One at a time. I'd assume you all handle this like adults, if you even can." The tension in the room hung thick as the overlords awaited their turn to address your inquiry.

“She wants me at her table Vaggie! Me!” Charlotte said excitedly. Vagatha just smiled.

“That’s good! Now you can tell them about the hotel, and maybe someone will be interested.” Vagatha said, and Charlotte just nodded.

“Maybe they-“ Charlotte stopped, observing as people began to crowd around the center of the lobby. Charlotte and Vagatha stood from their spots at the bar to walk toward the center, where the overlords stood. Velvet and Vox were next to each other, while Carmilla, Alastor and Zestial were across. Carmilla and Velvet were face to face. “What’s going on?” Charlotte asked as Vagatha and her pushed their way through the crowds of people.

“Come on, Carmilla, always the mood-killer,” Velvet scoffed, a disrespectful tone tainting her words. Carmilla shot her a stern look, ready to assert her authority.

“Watch that tongue, Velvet. I will not let your insolence slide,” Carmilla retorted, attempting to rein in the escalating tension.

Vox, ever the smooth talker, chimed in, “Ladies, ladies, let’s not turn this into a drama fest. We’re all here for a reason.” Vox said, sternly giving a tight lipped smile to Velvet, silently telling her to keep her shit together.

Carmilla shot a glare at Velvet, who replied with a defiant smirk, “Drama or not, Vox, some of us aren’t here for the ballroom charm.”

Alastor, drawn to the brewing chaos, couldn’t resist adding his flair, “Well, well, a bit of spice never hurt a party, does it?”

Carmilla, unfazed by the chaos, spoke with a calm authority, “Velvet, your insolence is unnecessary. This is not a playground; it’s a gathering of overlords. Act accordingly.”

Velvet, seemingly undeterred, shot back with a dismissive laugh, “Poor Grandma, always trying to play the responsible one. Maybe loosen up a bit? Have a drink will you?”

Vox, ever the smooth talker, added with a slick comment, “Perhaps we can focus on the matters at hand. Save the theatrics for later ladies.”

Alastor, intrigued by the unfolding drama, simply grinned, “Oh the picture box has spoken! Quite intriguing.” The room continued to buzz with tension as each overlord, except Rosie, added their own flavor to the brewing turmoil. As the tension thickened, Vox, with a sly grin, couldn't resist adding his own slick comment to the mix.

"Ah, Alastor, the radio days were quaint, but it seems you're a bit outdated. Television is the future, perhaps you should tune in sometime," he quipped with a wink, the words delivered with a calculated smoothness. The room momentarily hung in a charged silence before the verbal sparring resumed, adding another layer to the complex interplay of personalities at the gala.

With Vox's comment about Alastor being outdated sinking in, the radio demon responded with a sly grin, sharp teeth on display, his eyes displays dials, as the rooms lights began to deepen, "Ah, Vox, your television endeavors are impressive, but remember, I'm not just audible; I'm unforgettable. A little screen time won't change that," he retorted, “This face was made for radio.” He said with a grin, tilting his head to the side, a sharp snap in his neck, his words carrying a mix of amusement and confidence. The verbal exchange between the two overlords added another layer to the already charged atmosphere, each comment becoming a piece in the intricate puzzle of conflicts and egos at the gala.

“See what you did grandma, now you’ve got the two of them fighting.” Velvet said, pointing a finger into Carmella’s chest. She scoffed, shoving her away.

“Don’t you dare get disrespectful on me you brat.” Carmilla said, beginning to heat up with anger.

That's when Madame stepped in, reappearing in the form of a taller shadow, casting a lengthened silhouette in the room brimming with guests. Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla found themselves at the center of the unfolding tableau, and Zestial, seemingly composed, lingered just behind Carmilla, quietly observing the escalating drama. Carmilla's visage betrayed a hint of distress, her pointed finger lowering as she registered your reappearance. Alastor, with his trademark grin, bordered on eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The unfolding scene disrupted the serene atmosphere you had meticulously aimed to maintain during the gala, presenting an unexpected challenge.

A hush fell over the room as everyone turned their gaze toward you, anticipating your reaction. However, your face remained expressionless, concealed within the depths of the large shadow you had taken form of. In mere seconds, the shadow dissipated, leaving you in a misty veil. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a storm brewed, ready to challenge the delicate balance of the evening.

Now, here you all were, sitting in the study after Carmilla had explained the situation.

“Madame, with all due respect,” Carmilla spoke, looking down. “I truly do not believe Velvet is mature enough to be at our table tonight.” Carmilla said.

“Are you questioning my judgment?” You asked sharply, to which Carmilla stiffened quickly, shaking her head then.

”No Madame, I would never-“

“Then do not say foolish things.” You said. Sighing, you shut your eyes, feeling the weight of the situation. Tonight sensitive information would be revealed and Carmilla did have some point here. Velvet clearly could not hold her tongue.

”Vox, control your associate please, or you both will be cut from the dinner tonight.” You said finally, to which he nodded nervously.

“Of course Madame.” He said, nodding to you.

“I wasn’t finished.” You said, looking to Alastor.

“I want none of this technology talk either.” You spoke, staring at Alastor who just smiled with lidded eyes. You knew he was very much upset, but you had forbidden anyone to fight in your home, anyone but you of course. “You all will act like mature adults wether you like it or not. I am not your guardian, I should not be having this conversation with overlords who should know better.” You said, standing. ”Now, all of you, out.” You said, snapping your fingers. Quickly the shadows began to move, ushering everyone out of your study. Everyone except Carmilla. “Not you.” You said to her, Zestial nodding to you and her as he stepped out, giving you both privacy.

“Madame, I didn’t mean what I said-“ Carmilla said quickly. You waved her off, straightening yourself out.

“Nonsense Carmilla, I know you meant well.” You said with a stoic expression. You sit back down, crossing your legs and snapping your fingers to form a chair in front of your desk, ushering her to sit. “I wanted to speak to you about your weapons.” You stated. At this her eyes went wide, before dropping again.

“Oh, very well then. What would you like to know?” She asked. You grinned, before standing again.

“Well, how much would I need to give you for you to make me a personal bayonet?” You asked. She went silent for a moment, before answering.

“Nothing at all Madame.” She said, standing to look at you. “May I ask what for?” She questioned. You shook your head.

“No, just to have on display. I want a new one, the old one I have is quite out of style for me.” You replied. She just nodded, before you waved to her, sitting back down and summoning a script again. “You may go now, and please, do not argue with children.” You commented. She just smiled and nodded, leaving you to your own vices.

It was half-past eleven, five minutes till the midnight bells chime. Everyone in the lobby was beginning to get excited for the entertainment you had planned for the night. Oh, you knew you would not disappoint.

“Madame would like everyone to accompany her on a journey tonight. She has sent me to retrieve you all. She would like to formally welcome you to tonight’s entertainment.” The large shadow said, standing from the topic of the stairs. Behind it was a large portal. It stepped backwards, into the portal, and nodded for the guests to start coming through.

The custom-built coliseum stands as a testament to Madame's vision, a grand fusion of opulence and dark elegance. The circular structure boasts towering columns, but instead of conventional pillars, thick chains rise, intricately linked and serving as both ornamental decor and structural support. The arches, molded in black, curve gracefully around the circumference, evoking a Victorian Gothic aesthetic that permeates the entire venue.

Two larger-than-life statues of Madame herself flank the entrance, capturing her regal poise and adding a touch of imposing authority. The statues serve not only as decorative elements but as a representation of the gala's hostess, a constant presence overseeing the proceedings, she is always watching, all seeing, perfection.

The overall ambiance is one of grandeur and mystery, with the black molding on the arches casting shadows that play into the darker undertones. Every intricate detail, from the chains to the statues, contributes to the unique Victorian Gothic feel of the coliseum, matching Madame’s home perfectly, matching her perfectly. The venue, finally being unveiled to the guests, now welcomes them who are treated to an appetizer course, surrounded by the striking architecture and entertained within the darkly enchanting atmosphere Madame has meticulously crafted.

Numerous shadows, dark and formless, line the entrance walls, extending silent greetings to the arriving guests. Their presence adds an air of mystique and intrigue as they blend seamlessly with the Gothic architecture. As attendees make their way into the coliseum, these shadowy figures create an ethereal welcome, embodying the unique atmosphere of Madame's custom-built venue.

At a separate entrance reserved for the handpicked members of Madame's esteemed dinner table, a solitary shadow stands guard. This entrance, reserved for a select few, hints at the exclusivity and importance of those who will partake in the upcoming dinner. The shadowy sentinels serve not only as silent greeters but also as guardians of the event's secrets, casting an enigmatic allure over the gala.

A singular shadows escorts Charlotte, Alastor, and the rest of the overlords to the exclusive section, leading them to an elevator to bring them to the best seats in the coliseum. The elevator’s interior is a striking display of elegance, with white and black checkered flooring lending a timeless touch. The walls, enveloped in darkness, exude an air of mystery, while black, smokey glass engravings on the ceiling add intricate detailing that dances in the ambient light. Each number on the elevator, indicating the ascending levels, glows a vibrant red, creating a vivid contrast against the monochrome palette.

“Oh I’m so excited! What do you think we’re gonna see? Gladiators? Sinners fight? Oh actually I hope not, I don’t want people to die.” Charlotte said to Alastor. Carmilla just chuckled at her antics while Zestial eyed her with curiosity. Where did Alastor find such a girl and why the princess of all people?

The elevator stops at the top floor, revealing the opening in the middle, which was surprisingly covered with water.

“What is Madame playing at?” Carmilla questioned as the overlords sat in a row at the top. From there they could see everything and everyone.

“I am quite uncertain, yet my anticipation is stirred nonetheless.” Zestial said. The lights around began to dim, and shadows began to pour glasses of water in front of all the guests. Down in the middle of the coliseum was the tallest shadow, the one that seemed to be Madame’s favorite, since it always spoke for her.

“Greetings all. It is Madame’s pleasure to invite you all to the special entertainment tonight. Madame has put together some of hell’s finest performers for your entertainment tonight. I would like to present, preforming here tonight, The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra preforming Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61.” The shadow said with a bow, before it vanished just as quick as it came. Then, other shadows appeared, but this time they were different. They were people, performers, with clear outlined silhouettes, faces and expressions, even clothes.

“Hey, Al?” Charlotte asked, leaning over in her seat to Alastor. He let out a ‘hm?’ In response.

“Does Madame own those souls down there?” Charlotte whispered, but before Alastor could answer, a shadow had already cut in.

“Yes. All the shadows here, even yours, Madame owns.” The shadow said quietly, filling Charlotte’s glass cup with water. Charlotte nervously, perked up, but said nothing as she shadow carried on with it’s catering.

The ethereal notes of the music filled the air as the performance unfolded. Around the musicians stood ballet dancers, their movements a delicate poetry in motion. Clad in all black, the performers created a stark contrast to the dancers, who emerged with an otherworldly grace akin to figures rising from the depths of water. The dancers moved with an angelic fluidity, their forms intertwining seamlessly with the haunting melody, creating a mesmerizing tableau that captivated the audience. The visual symphony of black-clad musicians and the whisky-hued ballet dancers painted a scene of enchantment and mystery within the grand coliseum. Even down to the dancers, this had Madame written all over it.

Velvet's keen eye captured the essence of the dancers' ethereal movements on paper. With each stroke of her sketch, she depicted the dancers as if emerging from a watery abyss, the fog enveloping their feet creating an illusion of water flowing upward. The intricate details on her sketch paper brought to life the dancers' graceful forms, their figures seemingly intertwined with the rising mist, evoking the enchantment of a waterspout captured in a moment of sublime artistry. Velvet's artistic interpretation added a layer of depth to the performance, transforming the ephemeral dance into a tangible and captivating visual narrative.

Water had begun to swirl, the dancers moving around it, the water getting taller and taller, similar to the way it had when you had first made your entrance at the beginning of the Gala. Now, it was water, and from Charlotte’s seat, she had struggled to make out what was going on. She turned to Alastor to see him holding a pair of opera glasses in his hand. Without you having to ask, he tapped the armrest of her seat. Charlotte turned to the side to see a pair tucked neatly against the front of the armrest. She grabbed them quickly, before looking through them and at the waterspout now forming in the middle. Her jaw flew open, as well as the loud screech of Alastor’s track playing. Vox had short circuited, and Carmilla gasped loudly. Velvet stood silent, but there was evident confusion on her face, while Zestial sunk into his seat, conflicting emotions flowing through him.

“Madame- she’s-“ Charlotte stuttered, and Alastor nodded, swallowing thickly.

“With an exorcist. I know.”

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