#also some buildings are just damp and cold

[woundedearth]

my heart goes out to everybody living somewhere damp and cold. the mold still creeps into my windows in the winter but as an adult paying my own heating bills, i crank that shit up and just eat the cost. corners will be cut elsewhere, i will not be cold. i’ve lived in so many old freezing houses and gross moldy apartments, it’s just one of those things i can’t accept

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Miscalculation

AN: I don't write nearly enough for Felix. Luckily, that SKZCode lab episode planted this idea in my head, and it's taken a viciously hold on me. Also, just to be super clear, despite Reader being a year old experiment, she's very much an adult. She came into the world that way. Also also, I edited this while sleepy so, hopefully it's coherent lol.

Synopsis: Your first heat hits you unexpectedly and violently one day. Thankfully, your favourite person pays you a visit in an attempt to comfort you through it. However, you both severely underestimate just how much your heat affects you. Especially around him.

General tags and warnings: Lee Felix x Fem! Reader, Scientist! Felix, Cat hybrid! Reader, lots of unethical research, Reader is an experiment, Felix tries his best to humanise Reader, doesn't really apply here but, since Reader is an experiment and Felix is a scientist there is the potential for a power imbalance, Reader is in heat, Reader is manipulative and maybe in love with Felix and not much plot.

Smut tags and warnings: heavy dubcon, mentions of masturbation and exploration of sexuality, virgin! Reader, kind of sort of fingering (f. receiving), humping/grinding, over the clothes touching, scent kink of sorts, clothes being ripped, nipple play (m. receiving), Reader takes charge a lot throughout this, little to no foreplay for Reader and a very unrealistic first time, piv sex without a condom, marking and clawing (m. receiving), biting (m. receiving), one mention of blood, possessiveness from Reader, dirty talk, praise and creampie.

Word count: 3.8k.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

Everything burns. 

Your blankets are a crumpled mess on your floor because you're certain you'll shred them into pieces with your claws if they so much as touch your overheated body right now. The persistent buzz of the air conditioner brings you no comfort. Sweat dots your forehead and you'd take off the oversized shirt that clings to your body within an instant if Doctor Bang, red faced and avoiding your frustrated gaze, hadn't insisted on some sense of propriety. Aren't these men supposed to be doctors? Trained medical professionals? Have they never seen a naked body before? He's lucky that he's the only one out of the three older men that you can somewhat stomach because if Doctor Lee or Doctor Seo had suggested you cover yourself, you would have hissed and clawed at them. 

A frustrated noise builds from the back of your throat when you can feel your sheets starting to grow damp underneath you. You've already had to change them five times in the past two days and, you feel like you're losing your mind. Actually, you just might be. Worse than the burning that emanates through your entire body and the non-stop sweat that clings to your skin no matter how many ice-cold showers you take, is the perpetual ache between your thighs. You're not stupid. This lab may be all that you've known for the entire year of your life but, you have basic instincts and common sense. Coupled with all of the sessions you're forced to sit through with Doctor Bang in an attempt to understand you and aid you in understanding yourself, you're more than aware you're aroused right now. Or ‘wet’ as Doctor Lee and Doctor Seo put it, much to the dismay of the older of the three. 

You just don't understand why. 

In the rare moments that you've wondered about your sexuality and sex in these sterile walls, it's rarely gone beyond a few curious pokes and prods at yourself. It's mostly been a neutral experience and you didn't derive much pleasure out of it. You're sure your limited knowledge and experience on the matter has hindered your ability to enjoy masturbation much but, it's not as though the four men will just give you the material or knowledge to help pleasure yourself. You're not even sure you care all that much.

Except for when you do. Thinking back to quiet nights where the silence and loneliness of the lab was too much for your mind to handle and masturbation crossed it as a hope for distraction. A brief escape from the life you've been forced to endure. So, you tried it. Flashes of a kind smile and blonde hair making your stomach twist in a way that wasn't unpleasant, just unfamiliar. Full lips and memories of a deep voice causing arousal to trickle onto your inexperienced fingers. You'd even managed to make yourself orgasm once. It was one of the few sincerely pleasant moments you've had. 

The rest centred around him too. 

“–she's deep in heat right now, Lix.” You recognise the voice as that of Doctor Bang. Your ears twitch atop your head in interest at the conversation he's having with the only doctor you've grown fond of. You're always grateful for your hearing abilities in moments like these. 

“We can't just keep her in the dark,” Felix argues and your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Electricity zipping through you just at the sound of his voice and the knowledge that he's just beyond your bedroom door. The throbbing between your thighs worsens. 

“I know,” Doctor Bang sighs, “but, we won't be getting a shipment of suppressants until three days from now. We're just going to have to wait it out.” 

“We?” Comes Felix's incredulous reply, “We're not the ones suffering right now. I went to visit her last night Chris,” your eyes widen at the confession, “She was burning up and covered in sweat and, she's only had to deal with two days of it. You know it's not fair to her.” 

“What do you want us to do, Felix?” The older man argues, his voice heavy with frustration. 

“Treat her like a fucking person,” the younger man argues just as frustrated, “Tell her what's going on. We know she's incredibly smart. Maybe she has some biological way to make herself feel better that we haven't thought about or explored.” 

Silence stretches between the two for a few, long moments. 

“I don't think that's a good idea,” comes Doctor Bang's resigned reply, “Look Lix, I know that you care about her and the two of you have always been close. Too close for what could be considered appropriate,” you snort at that. Now he cares about ethics and what's appropriate? How funny. “But, Minho, Changbin and I care about her too. She's not just some experiment to us,” you find that hard to believe, “We just know when it's appropriate to step back and keep our distance. This is one of those times. We're going to try and help her through it as best as we can but, we're going to wait for the suppressants then feed them to her. That's it. End of discussion.” The sounds of footsteps echoing through the hallway are all that accompany his words. 

Well, at least you finally know what's wrong with you. You're in heat. Something they've apparently known you're capable of experiencing and have been suppressing since you gained consciousness. The fact that they're so blasé about letting you suffer in your room and wait days until you're able to find any kind of reprieve boils your blood in a way that has nothing to do with your biology. Yeah, so much for caring about you. You haven't even seen Doctor Seo and Doctor Lee since your symptoms first started. You don't even notice your claws prodding in your anger. You should have attempted to escape on those rare trips Felix had taken you outside of the lab. Consequences be damned. At least you'd have a shot at a normal life. You should have never let his warm eyes and compassion keep you coming back to this hellhole. 

Your furious, internal tirade is interrupted by your door sliding open. You don't have to turn around to know that it's Felix. His scent always betrays him before anything else. The familiar mix of bamboo and vanilla hit your senses. However, unlike the other times you'd bask in his scent, now it worsens the thundering of your heart and you notice the slick between your thighs increasing. 

“Hey,” he says gently, shutting the door behind him. All you can think to do is stare at your wall wide eyed as his scent grows closer with every step he takes towards your bed. Saliva begins to pool in your mouth just at the smell of him and the soft timber of his voice adds to the pit forming in your stomach. Your hands desperately grabbing at your arms in an attempt to calm you down. It's just Felix.  

“I just wanted to check up on you,” he adds when his greeting is met with silence. You have to fight extremely hard to not let your tail move wildly and to keep your claws retracted when he sits down on the edge of your bed. Fuck. He's so close now and his scent is overwhelming. The smell that used to bring you comfort now puts you on edge. A feeling that you've only felt sparks of now sets your entire body alight and the ache between your thighs starts to become unbearable. He needs to leave before your heat causes you to do something very, very stupid. 

“I know you've been struggling a lot lately,” the apologetic tone to his voice melts your heart and your impulses yell at you to crawl into his lap and nuzzle at him until he no longer sounds upset, “I'm sorry. We should have told you this when it started but, you're in heat. That's what's causing you to feel this way,” he explains, as though you hadn't overheard (more like intentionally listened in on) his conversation with Doctor Bang. 

“I know you're probably mad at us, at me,” you want to tell him no, you could never be mad at him but, you're afraid that if you speak now, you'll say something you can't take back, “I'm truly sorry. The suppressants will be here in a few days. Till then though, I'm here for you,” he says softly, laying a hand gently on your arm in what you assume is an act of comfort but, it has the complete opposite effect. 

Your blood turns molten in your veins and the fog that's been on the edges of your mind swallows it whole. All you can think about is getting your hands on him. Touching him. Feeling him. Mating with him. You've never felt more animal than human. 

One of the major perks of being a cat hybrid, you've come to learn, is your quick movements. Before Felix can process it, you're sitting up and pressed to his side within an instant. The confusion and concern on his handsome face is so endearing. He's so cute. You just want to devour him. 

“Felix,” your voice sounds near unrecognisable to even your own ears, “I want you to help me with my heat,” you practically purr into his shoulder. Grasping his arm and delighting in the pretty flush that spreads across his face. The ache of your canines extending doesn't bother you in the slightest. Your mind focused on nothing else but, the man that's been your lifeline for the past year. 

“I–I um I ca–can't do that,” he explains, his voice sounding strained. His attempt to pull his arm away proves to be futile. Not that he was trying particularly hard anyway. “But, Lix,” you whine, pushing your body closer to his, your breasts pressing against his arm, “Didn't you say you'd help me?” 

The way he attempts to stammer out a reply just makes him so much cuter to you. Nothing but, instinct driving you to press yourself even closer to him. Delighting in the shudder you feel run through his body when your breath hits his exposed neck. “Don't you want to help me, Felix?” You ask with a desperate edge to your hoarse voice, one of your hands travelling down the span of his lab coat until you reach his soft hand. Moving it until it's between your slick covered, inner thighs, “It hurts, Lix.” 

Felix, for his part, looks absolutely shell-shocked. Warm, panicked brown eyes staring at you unblinkingly but, he doesn't move his hand. Not even when your own is no longer holding it. Your body moves on its own. Hips chasing the brush that his fingers offer. Your lashes fluttering at the pleasure courses through you. You feel so sensitive, even his barely there touch is enough to cause you to gush further onto his fingers. 

And Felix watches it all. Watches the way you clumsily try to hump his fingers. Watches the minute expressions of relief and desire and frustration that all cross your beautiful face. Watches the way your canines sink into your bottom lip. Feels the way your sharp claws dig into his lap coat. He doesn't miss a thing. 

Impulse and maybe a fraction of ration desire push you to tug on his button up shirt and kiss him. You're moving completely on what feels natural and what you've seen a couple of movies he's watched with you. It takes him a second to kiss you back. Tentatively following the movements of your lips and guiding you in more comfortable and enjoyable directions. You swallow his stuttered groan greedily when your tongue invades his mouth. Searching for more of him to explore. To taste. To burn into your memory. 

As nice as it feels to kiss him like you've thought about far too many times in the silence of your room and, use his fingers and hand to help satiate the persistent ache that sits in the pit of your stomach, it still all isn't enough. Not even close. This time, you moan into his mouth when one of your hands snakes its way down the front of his body until it comes to rest on his lap. A particularly painful throb coming from the apex of your thighs when you feel how hard he is beneath your touch. 

“So you do want this just as much as I do,” you sigh dreamily against his lips, sparks of desire shooting through your entire body with every palm of your hand over his clothed cock. All of his adorable, little noises making your walls clench. You don't think you've ever felt pain like this in your entire, short life. Saliva pools in your mouth as his scent wafts to you. Much heavier and headier than earlier. Beneath the anxiety and fear, the arousal makes its presence known clear as day. 

“W–Wait, I–” Whatever he was going to say is cut short by you shoving him onto your bed. His wide eyes, pupils blown out and completely swallowing his irises, meeting your lidded ones as he watches you straddle his slender hips. You've always thought he was a good-looking man but, he looks even better like this, underneath you. 

Your eyes practically roll into the back of your head when you press down on him. Your drenched folds coming in contact with the evident bulge in his dress pants. Resting your palms on his stomach, you start to move. Chasing the friction against your clit desperately. Not caring all about the mess you're making of his pants. Your eyes focused on watching the way he tries very, very hard not to lose himself in the way you grind against him. His hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he lays there and let's you use him. 

Fuck. What a cutie. 

His eyes shoot to your face when you use your claws to rip his blue button up open. While the colour looks absolutely lovely on him, you much prefer the sight of his bare chest. Your tongue running over your teeth at all the skin that you now have access to. 

“He–Hey, I think we should calm d–down a bit and–” Felix tries to interject, the drop in octave of his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you. You disregard his words easily. Leaning down to shut him up with your mouth while your hands busy themselves with exploring his chest. Your canines nipping his bottom lip when he gasps into you while you trace his nipples with your claws. Sensitive too. Perfect. 

“Why stop when I can feel how hard you are for me, Lixie?” You whisper against his full lips, fingers tracing random patterns into his nipples. His hips jutting up to meet your drenched core every time you touch him a little too harshly or drag yourself along his entire length. 

“Don't you want to just give in?” You ask, meeting his blown out eyes as your hands move their way along his lithe body until they reach his belt buckle. 

“I–I–” he stutters out when you sit back up so you can gain a better view of his frustrating belt. He must see you preparing to rip his pants off too because he stops you immediately, “I–It's okay, I got um it,” he quickly responds. You shift down him a little to provide him with space to unbuckle his belt. Fortunately, he doesn't take too long. You're sure your impatience is rolling off of you in waves. 

Much to your surprise given how bashful he's been, he tugs his pants and boxers down in one go. His hard, pre-cum covered cock slapping against his stomach in his rush, his eyes pointedly looking at everywhere but, you. 

It's one thing to feel him, it's a whole different matter entirely to have his cock right there, ready for the taking. And take, you do. It's adorable how red his face is and the way he sneaks glances at you shyly when you shift back up his body until your dripping pussy is hovering over his twitching cock. Your shirt sticks to your damp body uncomfortably and, the reminder that you're still wearing it is an unwelcome one. So, you simply tug it off. Exposing yourself freely and readily to his shy eyes. 

Not that he's all that shy when you're bare for him to fully drink in. Bruised lips parting as he watches you grasp his cock with an impatient hand and align it with your dripping hole. He doesn't stop you when you begin to sink down onto him. Strained whimpers falling from his pretty mouth with every inch you eagerly swallow. The stretch only stings a little. The sensation of his scorching cock dragging along your walls more than makes up for it. It's your turn to moan once he's fully sheathed inside of you. Your clumsy attempts with your fingers don't hold a candle to this. 

The way Felix chokes on your name when you start to move will forever be etched into your memory. The pleasure clear as day on his face spurs you along with the desire to feel him inside of you for as long as you can. To make love with him in this awful place that only he gave any semblance of meaning to. To mate with him. 

You lose yourself in the way his cock feels easily. Fluttering lashes threatening to shut every time he hits a spot inside of you that makes your pace falter and your claws dig into his soft stomach. The faint, pink lines that decorate his skin cause you to preen. They look gorgeous on his skin. They look like they belong there. Like they were meant to be there. Based on the way his hooded eyes switch from watching the expressions your face morphs into, the way your breasts bounce with every movement on his cock and the way you swallow as much of him as you can, you don't think he minds or cares all that much. 

Your skin grows impossibly hotter when his hands touch you. He's careful. Watching for any discomfort but, there's none to be found. If anything, you revel in the gentle hold his hands take of your hips. Not controlling your movements but just enjoying touching you while you bounce on his cock. 

You might actually love him. 

The thought prompts you to lean down and smash your lips to his once more. The metallic tang of blood lets you know that you nipped him too hard but he doesn't care all that much. Letting you take everything you need from him right now while he lets you. You can feel the way he throbs inside of you. He tries to stop himself but, you notice the way his hips sometimes jerk up to meet you, to move with you. And the knowledge that, on some level, he wants you just as much as you want him sends you into overdrive. 

His sharp inhale echoes through your room when you sink your canines into his neck. The punctures aren't deep but, they're more than enough to satisfy you. You're not sure why or how you knew to do that but, instinct has been your driving force all night and you're going to continue to trust it. 

“We're mated now,” you sigh, thumbing his flushed cheek. 

He just looks up at you for a moment, attempting to digest your words before responding, “Mate–Mated?” 

“Mmm,” you hum in confirmation, purring when you notice the way his twitches like crazy inside of you, “You're my mate now, and I'm yours,” you explain breathlessly. A tension you're barely familiar with building in the pit of your gut that you chase. 

“But we fuck can't–” his sentence is cut off by the drawn out moans from the depths of his chest, his eyes rolling into the back of his head when you pick up your pace. He looks so attractive like this. A bruise already forming on his neck and his chest littered with faint marks from your claws. He's gorgeous. 

“I'm ah cl–close,” he gasps out, his glazed eyes meeting yours and his hands desperately gripping your hips, “You need to shit st–stop,” he manages to stutter out. You think it's amusing that he thinks you're going to stop now. Especially when you're just about to get what you want. Leaning down to his ear, you whisper, “Why, Lixie? You look so cute like this. Why would I ever want to stop?” You smile when you hear the way he whimpers and his cock pulses harder inside of you, “Don't you want to cum inside me?” His hold on you grows tighter, “I want you to. I want you to cum inside me until it's spilling out of me,” you emphasise your point by intentionally clenching around him, “For days.” 

That's all it takes for him to break. His cock throbbing as he shoots his cum into the deepest part of you. A mix of his whimpers and strangled moans of your name tickle your ears as his cum fills your eagerly awaiting pussy. Your tail swishes in glee and your ears twitch in happiness. Your own orgasm creeping up on you when you feel the last of his cum spill into you. Truly, the late nights alone in your bed could never compare to this. To him. Your first orgasm could never hold a candle to this. Your entire body is riddled with quivers and shakes, your wetness gushing onto Felix's softening cock. Your thighs are sticky with cum and you're drenched in sweat but, you've never been more at peace. 

For some time, your shared laboured breathing is the only sound in your room. Fondness bubbles up inside of you when you glance at his flushed, sweaty face. His golden hair sticking to his forehead while he takes some time to come back to himself. Your fingers move before you can even think about it. The fog retreating slightly while you play with his hair and enjoy the simple pleasure of watching him while your combined releases trickle out of you. Much to your displeasure.  

You smile at him when he finally blinks his eyes open to meet yours. Your fingers ghosting over his mate mark as something primal and affectionate simmers in the pit of your stomach. He really is yours now. Your tail wraps around his leg without you even noticing. 

The smile he gives you is small but, it's still one of his smiles and the way your heart hammers in your chest lets you know he really was meant to be your mate. 

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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Stray Kids Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[lxsunshine]

cckwarming w s4n

(dom!roomatesan x roommate!reader)

cw with s@n

you didn’t want to bother him, but he’s been in his room for almost 4 hours, just hearing some occasional yelling and groaning. you knew San was busy playing games with a group of online friends he called “ateez”, but you wanted to hang out with him, and you felt quite lonely from the lack of attention. it was the weekend so earlier, you texted up some of your other friends in hope for someone to interact with, but they were busy. so your last resort was your friendly roommate that you adored, and harbored a small crush on.

san was your age and worked as a personal trainer at a gym down the street. you had walked past his gym once and you were greeted with defined muscles covered in a sheen of sweat. he had damp hair and his grey tank top was drenched, making the shirt cling to his chest and you could see his pectoral muscles and abs on full display. you couldn’t help the rise of heat to your cheeks and the drop of your jaw if you tried. never have you seen your roommate so in his element, so sweaty so… fuck you felt a familiar heat in your lower belly and you had run back to your apartment and taken a cold shower in the shared bathroom.

since then, you’ve been noticing all the small things that San does that somehow turns you into a flustered mess. when he lounges around in grey sweats and a plain white wifebeater, your thighs clench together. when he’s in the tiny-ass kitchen with you and has to move past you, so he respectfully places his hands on your waist so he can maneuver around you, your tummy explodes with butterflies. when he makes you your morning coffee and presses a kiss to your forehead before he goes to get ready, fucking niagara falls accompanied by butterflies.

san also has a very rough voice when he first wakes up. he’s also a cuddler, which you did not expect. so imagine your surprise when you heard his alarm blaring at 7 am one morning and he wouldn’t turn it off, so you walked into his room and nudged him awake, making him groan and pull you by your arm right on top of him. then he proceeded to pull you flush against him and he nuzzled his head into your neck, groaning “not yet.” it would be an understatement to say you were burning red and almost shaking with desire.

san has never hidden his affection with you, and you’re sure that if people saw you two together, they would think you’re lovers. so now, waiting for 4 hours for some roommate bonding time, you were getting frustrated and sad. you really wanted to hang out with someone, and that someone being a buff-nerdy-gamer/personal trainer-roommate. building up your courage, you sheepishly knocked on his door and waited to hear a response. after nothing but more callouts, you sighed and opened the door. to your surprise, San was basically naked. he wore only a pair of basketball shorts and socks with his slippers. his black hair was fluffy and messy under the headphones, and his full chest was on display, hard nipples exposed to you. you swallowed hard and walked closer, making San finally notice you. he took off one headphone, seeming a bit sheepish, and he covered his chest with his arms.

“oh, hey, was i being too loud?” he asked, giving you a smile that made your heart burst. while he was taking a small break from gaming, he grabbed his water bottle and tipped it back, his throat swallowing deeply. your eyes locked on his throat and you felt yourself turning red. realizing he had asked you a question and was looking at you with a raised eyebrow, you stammered out a response.

“oh, n-no you weren’t. it’s just, you’ve been here for a while and i wanted to hang out with you for a bit… but if you’re too busy…” you trailed off, watching him fiddle with the rings he had on his right hand. your eyes greedily observed all the veins on his hands and his well-taken-care-of nails. his fingers were so nice and long, and so pretty with all the veins that clenched when he grabbed things. you imagined what his neck would look like gripping your neck, teasing your folds, finally sliding into you and curling upwa-

“hello, sweetheart?” he called you out of your filthy thoughts, a sly smile on his face and an eyebrow raised in a teasing manner. “your face is awfully red, what were you thinking about, hmm?”

you blushed even harder and nervously laughed, uncomfortably noticing how your panties were clinging to you, “nothing really, sorry i should go.”

his eyes seemed to narrow and a dark look came over his face as he grabbed your wrist, “i asked you a question and i don’t really appreciate you lying to my face.” his complete change in demeanor made you shiver with excitement and you weakly tugged at your arm. he didn’t budge and he pulled you closer to him. now your knees were touching and you looked down at him a bit.

you struggled to respond in the close proximity and you found it a bit hard to breathe, “ ‘m sorry. i was distracted by your hands.”

you wanted to die, the embarrassment heating your skin and making the room feel like a sauna. he hummed in thought, eyes flickering to your lips and then back to stare into you.

“what do you want with my hands?” he asked, voice low. his hand that wasn’t gripping your wrist reached to cup your jaw, and you felt your knees weaken at the intimacy of it all.

suddenly, his hand wrapped around your throat and he applied the slightest bit of pressure, making you whimper and fall to your knees. the sound you made spurred San on and his dick twitched in his pants at the sight of you on your knees.

“please,” you begged, not really knowing what you were begging for. you clenched your thighs together, seeking just a big of friction and he chuckled. his hand still wrapped around your throat and the other now tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“please what?” he asked, almost whispering, and he leant in so close that his lips were centimeters from your own. your eyes flickered down to his soft looking lips and you never felt a stronger urge to kiss someone than you did now.

“please touch me, hold me, anything!” you cried, one hand grabbing onto his thigh. he tsked, letting go of you and sitting back against the chair.

“you interrupted my game and now you want me to spend more time entertaining you?” he chuckled, messing with his headphones.

you felt ashamed and humiliated, but somehow that just made more arousal seep into your underwear. the way he was looking at you with lidded eyes, and his disinterested expression… you craved him. trying to express your apologies and desire, you leaned forward on your knees and nuzzled your head into his crotch. you mouthed wetly at his slightly chubbed cock through his shorts and he inhaled sharply, hand gripping his arm rest.

“fuck, you want me so bad, huh baby?” he laughed breathily and one hand gently raked through your hair. you just whined and mouthed at him again, wanting to express how much you wanted him. suddenly, his gentle caresses changed and he grabbed a chunk of your hair and pulled you, making your head snap up with a cry.

“my teammates are going to wonder where i went. i can’t let them down,” he said to you, sounding condescending and evil. you couldn’t help the flutter of your eyelids, and San laughed in shock.

“if you want me so badly, you can sit on me, princess,” he said, pulling you all the way upright onto your feet and then gesturing to his lap. you could see his hard outline sitting heavy in his lap through his damp shorts and you wanted it. you wanted him filling you up, pressing against your walls and all the nerves inside of you. you wanted him to twitch inside and fill you up with his hot release.

eagerly, you nodded and went to remove your panties from under your skirt. San’s eyes widened for a spilt second before it changed back into his nonchalant face. he leaned back into his chair and before you could step closer, he stopped you.

“you’re sure you want this? i’m going to be in you, love, and i truly want this. do you?” he asked, a bit of insecurity seeping into his voice. your heart stuttered in your chest at his consideration and you craved him even more. even though San was showing off a new exciting side, he was still your kind and loving roommate and your friend in the end.

you nodded and San cocked his brow. realizing he wanted verbal consent, you verbally agreed and he smiled with his cute dimple before he schooled his expression and motioned for you to come closer. he had you turn around so your back would be flush to his bare chest. he lifted his hips a bit and slid his shorts down a bit, pulling his cock out. he then pulled you down, so his cock rested against your folds. you ground gently a few times against him, addicted to the sounds that he made, and his cockhead caught on your entrance a few times. and then he finally slid into you. it felt a little painful from the stretch, but you were wet enough to make the slide easy. as soon as he bottomed out, you keened at how full you felt. he was thick enough to stretch you out and long enough to hit all the right places inside you. he kissed your neck, arms wrapped around your waist, and he whispered, “you doing okay? feels good?”

you moaned in response, wiggling around a bit before you tried to move. one arm wrapped tight around your waist and the other reached to hold your throat.

“i’m pretty comfortable right now,” San smirked and pulled you flush against him, making it impossible to move.

“s-san, what?” you whined, wanting to feel his cock catching on your walls and drilling into you.

“shh. sit still while i finish my round,” he bit your neck playfully while he unwrapped his arm from your waist and adjusted his headphones back on.

then he turned his mic back on and continued playing as if he wasn’t inside of you. you sat in shock but leaned back against his chest to stay comfortable. everytime he got too loud, you accidentally clenched around him, making him squeeze your neck and groan a bit.

“yo, san bro, you good over there?” a voice that was labeled Yunho in the chat called out.

he just squeezed your neck in a warning and your hips stilled (when did they start moving again?).

“all good, yunho. let’s counter-strafe,” he called out, clearing his throat. you whined softly when his hips bucked up into yours. san’s hand traveled from your neck to cover your mouth.

“shh baby, almost done and then i’ll fuck you for real. you can be good for me, right love?” he whispered, you clenched around him in response, making him curse and stumble in the game.

“clearly you can’t,” san grunted, trying to recover in the game. “don’t worry, baby. you’ll get what you deserve.”

[dearlyya]

TIL’ WE MEET AGAIN | Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

Chapter One-Persistence; When a coward turns hero.

Warnings; Angst, pre-canon, hurt/comfort, Zaunites, Piltians, revolution, violence, blood, gore, drinking, smoking, gambling, swearing, sex, brothels, drugs, slow burn, the reader is a coward at first, original character (Wynn), strangers to lovers, bittersweet, Old Silco being weirdly sentimental, Jinx being noisy, and major character death.

A/N; I don’t do taglists, sorry. I also want to thank my friend for supporting my writing, proofreading, and character creation of Wynn. Love you, bro.

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Undercity is considered an industrial stain nestled beneath the grand city of Piltover.

With air that hangs heavy, and its people feral. Towering smokestacks belch black smoke into the already smog sky, casting long shadows over the cramped alleyways and buildings. The streets are strewn with discarded scrap metal, chemical waste, and other debris of the relentless production that drives the Undercity's economy. 

The warm green glow of the gas lamps casts an eerie, shimmering light over the buzzing market stalls and their wares. Cautious eyes dart about, gripping the crate tightly, as your knuckles white with tension. You trudge through the damp, uneven cobblestone path. Your heavy boots thud, but the market muffles the sound. Wynn strides ahead of you, his boysenberry hair reflecting the green making his hair almost black.

Both of you carry large, sloshing crates of alcohol that clink and bounce with each jostle from the crowded lane. Your tattered cloak draped your form, the hood pulled low to fight against the season's coldness and obscure your face from the lingering enforcers.

You instinctively glance at the enforcers standing near a stall, their voices raised in angry conversation with the stall’s owner, who appears equally irritated. They are likely issuing citations for illegal imports or contraband. Detailed by the other armored man holding up a list and pointing at the merchandise. However, when the vendor suddenly shoves one of them, you quickly avert your gaze, choosing to ignore the escalating commotion and focus on navigating the crowded marketplace.

Fighting wasn’t something you could do against the enforcers unless you’d want a hefty prison sentence or killed. So, you allow them to conduct their inspections and searches, gritting your teeth if their hands linger on your body for far too long.

You did dream of something better, a fictional land where all is peace and harmony, but that's wishful thinking. Life gave the Undercity people the short end of the stick, so now all you want is to keep your life, provide some aid to wanders, and of course keep the tavern: The Last Drop. Afloat.

Some vendors attempt to grab your attention, but you politely shake your head. Keep your eyes trained on Wynn who glides through the people with ease. You stumble and slip between people straining to keep up with your friend. Cursing under your breath at the fact that you could’ve gotten your supply runner to fetch the cargo, but no. Coins have been getting slimmer and slimmer at the drop. One of the many reasons why your resentment, once directed at the enforcers, began to shift towards the rebels who fought against them. While their cause was just, their tactics often made life even harder for the ordinary citizens of the Undercity. Strikes, protests, and their thievery disrupted supply lines which left families and businesses like yours struggling to make ends meet. Of course, this is only rooted in fear. 

Fear of losing more.

The mines that delve deep into Runeterra. Extracting precious minerals to fuel the insatiable demand. Workers in harsh conditions, their health and safety were often sacrificed for the sake of profit. Stark contrasts the cutting-edge innovation of Piltover ‘coexisting’ with the rampant corruption and exploitation they cause the city below them.

Down in the fissures, where deep cracks in the earth have split open, a treacherous underground network of tunnels and caverns caused by the relentless mining and drilling operations. Was bustling with the activity of workers, faces smeared with grime.

You and your father worked in those mines, and many families did. Your life narrowed down to one moment. A vivid horrible memory. You knew you should’ve put up a fight, and struggled against the enforcers alongside the others. When the tears finally spilled over, streaming down your face in hot, bitter rivulets. You couldn’t help but cower. You remember his body and the way the world seemed to tilt and spin around you.

When you pushed yourself up, letting go of a rusty pickaxe. A strong arm shoved you roughly back to the ground. It sent shockwaves through your malnourished body. Your coal-covered glove scraped against the unforgiving, rocky ground as you trembled uncontrollably, shaking like a frightened animal.

A cacophony of screams and desperate cries pierced everyone's ears like shards of glass. Through ‘The Gray’ smog you saw people–workers–were fighting against the enforcers with a fury born of desperation, their voices raw as they tried to reach your father, who was knelt on the ground, clutching the back of his head. Blood, vivid red against the rocks, drips steadily from his fingers, staining the earth beneath him. A macabre work of art. The sight of it sears itself into your mind, something you still see to this day.

Your wide eyes locked onto your father, drinking in every detail of his face, committing it to memory, as the screams and shouts faded into a distant, muffled hum.

He met your gaze, his expression was steady and calm despite the chaos that raged around you. He's trying so hard not to look frightened, putting on a brave face for your sake. He gulped, and in that tiny gesture, you saw the truth of his fear reflected in his eyes. But there's something else there too, a silent message of love and reassurance that told you that everything will be okay, that he'll protect you no matter what happens to him. 

But the man behind him, the one through the smog, the one who raises his gun high above his shoulder–tells a different story. The gun glints harshly reflecting off the gold on the enforcer. Quick to get to your knees, a firm kick sends you forward along with a harsh boot on your back keeps you in place. You cried out at the pressure, as you squirmed to get closer to your father. 

It's a swift blow, brutally efficient in its execution. The butt of the gun connected with the back of his head with a nauseating crack, and he crumpled to the ground. He fell face-first onto the unforgiving rocks. His body would twitch, but the last sliver of life drained away in an instant. You barely heard the final, choked-off words that he never got to finish. His last confession of "I love you" was stolen away by the cruel hand of fate.

Your breathing gets heavy when you remember, each intact a painful reminder of the life that still flows through your veins, even as everything else feels cold and numb. You shakily grip the case. It takes a special kind of strength, and true courage to stand up despite others bringing you down, to crush your hopes and dreams beneath the weight of their fears and insecurities.

You're not sure what you believe in anymore. That day the foundations of your world were shaken when the very ground beneath your feet shifted and crumbled, leaving you feeling lost and adrift in a sea of uncertainty before you were taken by the hand and brought up to a raft. You’ll always be grateful to Wynn. Though, all you know is that life is rather unfair, especially in the Undercity, and all you want to do is survive. Is that selfish? 

Perhaps you are one of those pushovers.

You were too lost in thought when you got pushed to the side, sending you to your left, and letting go of the crate to catch your fall, gritting your teeth you look up but notice it’s those same enforcers now carrying off that vendor's supplies. The one that shoulder checks you, gives you a look, and even with its helmet on you can tell that they’re testing your reaction. You look down at your crate. It’s open and bottles–thankfully not broken–have rolled out.

Maybe you've always been that way, content to let others make the decisions, to follow the path of least resistance rather than forging your way forward. But with the aftermath of your father's lifeless body that laid before you and the weight of powerlessness bearing down on your shoulders, you can't help but wonder if there isn't more to you than that.

Maybe, deep down, buried beneath the layers of fear and self-doubt, there is a spark of courage waiting to be ignited, a flicker of determination that just needs the right circumstances to flare into life.

You carefully lift each bottle to the crate, ensuring they are securely packed. Reaching for a bottle of scotch, your hand accidentally brushes against its neighbor, sending the bottle rolling away. It clicks and clanks across the cobblestone path before disappearing into the shadows of a nearby alley.

You pause, considering whether to retrieve the wayward bottle, but the risk of Wynn ringing your neck for wasting good money has you sighing. A broke bitch during inflation is someone you don’t want to mess with. You continue to pack the remaining bottles and get back to your feet, crate in arms.

No one notices you entering the alley, with your head hanging low. 

The ground is littered with discarded metal scraps, used needles, and unidentifiable substances. Peering from beneath your hood, you scan the area for any sign of the missing bottle, but your search becomes useless. Instead, you hear labored breathing and pained grunts from further down the narrow way. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the scene before you. The glint of gold and blue uniforms mingles with the tattered red of the man's clothing. The sight is all too familiar. The enforcers’ figures huff up and down, laughing at each other in cruel satisfaction as they rain down blows on the man. Their boots connected with sickening thuds against his bloodied body. You can’t tear your eyes away from them. 

The right circumstance is all someone needs.

“Look at you, pathetic like the rest of those revolutionaries. You’re nothing but a filthy rat scurrying in the gutters and trash of refined people.” One of them coo, tilting their head at the body, you step closer.

You should move on, and let them take this man’s life if need be, so you can slip by unnoticed. It would be far more understandable than helping someone out of the kindness of your heart, but you have never felt such a surge of emotion before. The impending doom that bloomed in your gut yelling in your ear with a booming voice telling you that if you didn’t help this man you’d truly be the vermin that topside thinks you are. You can’t explain it to yourself, all your bitter-laced words and morals clashed when you heard them throwing those humiliating remarks. 

The right circumstance is all she needed.

The enforcers continue to beat him. You don’t think very much, the few thoughts that pass your mind are typically about personal survival, so thinking about beating these men into a pulp like they are with your fellow scum has you dropping the crate and racing towards them. Your heart is in your ears, bile backing up in your throat, as your coat flies off you. The knife you grip sinks into the nearest Piltie. Into their exposed armor between the helmet and chest plate. An honest, lucky blow to the neck.

He yelps, stopping his assault to cradle the wound that spurts blood between his gloved fingers. He staggers away as the other enforcer finally grasps the situation. With your dagger in the side of the other guy's neck, you quickly skimmed around the alley looking for a possible weapon, you spotted the bottle but you weren’t quick enough. The intact enforcer rushed at you and slammed you against the brick wall of a building. Your head hits it roughly dazing you. Your windpipe closes up when the enforcer pushes your throat with his forearm. His metal suit cuffs dig into your skin. You're frantic now. 

Shit–you didn’t think this through. Death was now a concrete possibility, and dying next to the man you tried so hard to save felt like the greatest irony. The pain shooting through your neck grew unbearable, causing tears to well up and cascade down your cheeks, despite the insults being thrown your way.

On this final night alive, you admit to yourself that you might have cared about the revolution after all. Your body was lifted off the ground, dangling up near this blue and gold-clad man. Both of your hands grip his gloves, trying to cause any damage by digging your nails into him. More tears roll. You weren’t crying because your own life was flashing before your eyes, but because you couldn’t save a symbol. A figure of hope.

The enforcer that you stabbed lays slumped against a gross dumpster, his hand weakly clawing at the stab wound in his neck. Crimson blood seeped through his armor, staining it a dark, glistening red. He twitched and spasmed as blood continued to spurt from the exposed injury. Despite everything a pang of guilt flickered in your chest. You had never taken a life before. Your gaze drifted to his neck, and realization dawned on you–your dagger was missing. As you slipped in and out of consciousness, the grip on your neck loosened.

The enforcer collapsed on top of you, pinning you beneath his weight as he sank to the ground his body took you with it. You coughed and gasped, and with a wave of nausea rising in your throat and bobbing pain around it you pushed the body off you. Looking up, you met the gaze of the man you had ‘saved’. He was huffing heavily, his eyes wide and wild mixed with shock on his pale face. 

Drenched in blood, sweat, and sporting bruises all over. His long hair clings to his face, some falling out of the low ponytail. His dark red tunic under a dirty gray cut-off vest. His body quivering on the brink of exhaustion. His gaze was glossy, only fueled by the last dose of adrenaline. With a final stumble, he crumpled to the ground. The knife in hand slipped away as he fell. You stare. Watching him lay defenseless, a newfound courage stirred within you, and for once in your life you know your stance. Now not cowering and licking the boots of those higher than you. You own up to the consequences, yet you still tremble. Your chest rose and fell with the rhythm of your heightened adrenaline as the footsteps of additional enforcers echoed.

You crawl to him, lowering yourself to his chest, and pray you still hear a heartbeat, and you do, it’s faint. Now kneeling, you carefully hoist his right arm over your shoulder, providing support for him to lean on. He was heavy, but his weight wasn’t overwhelming, allowing you to walk slowly with him. It was clear that he needed medical attention, and so did you. You can feel the cold blood dripping down the back of your head and the tight, painful bruise forming around your neck. You aren’t some hero, a normal citizen in a position of life and death—you’ll never become a foundation of hope in your city like in your childhood. 

And she never does. 

Your experience as a kid had given you an edge, as you used to steal from stalls and run away as they tried to chase you. Now, at the age of twenty, you thank your young self for your knowledge of the best shortcuts. It comes in handy when you hide with the unconscious man by your side, evading the enforcers who finally notice their dead brothers. From around the corner, you watch a group of them trek down the main street. You make your dash to the other side, going unnoticed.

“I got you, we’re almost there” Your voice croaks, not sure if you are trying to reassure the blacked-out man or yourself, probably the latter. There's a sign, not from Janna, but from The Last Drop. Dipping into the alley next to the tavern you head around back. Your arm that is wrapped around his slim torso is drying with his blood. More blood pools on your shoulder from his broken nose. You have to prop him up on the wall to open the cellar doors, and you both descend. 

Storage racks and unopened boxes flitter the basement. However, in the corner is a cot and stool. It’s the small medical area that you would use to aid people, usually, it was for small wounds like someone with a busted lip because they got into a fight in the bar.

So, with an injured rebel who hangs on your shoulder, you are well below practice. You manage to push the battered man off you and onto the cot. He slumps halfway off the bed, so you gently roll him back, carefully lifting his legs one by one to fully position him on the cot. Your hands tremble slightly as you work, the adrenaline running thin. 

You run a hand over your hair, feeling the back of your skull. As you bring your hand back to your eyes, you’re met with deep red staining your fingers. Your wound hits you, and you finally grasp the pounding headache you have. You slowly sit on the stool beside the cot.

“Shit” You mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, despite your possible concussion your priority is the very wanted rebel to your left. Take a deep breath to steady yourself and assess him.

His chest heaves in sparse, and uneven breaths through his busted nose. He’s still grasping onto the little energy his body has left to give. You rub up the bridge of your nose. The gravity of harboring a wanted revolutionary is not lost on you. Though at this moment, all that matters is saving his life, and not falling over while doing it. 

You lean onto your elbows while sitting, glancing at the empty bucket and washcloth, getting ready to work.

[appleblueberry-pie]

hear me out- yandere Miguel capturing us after we managed to escape from his lair (he kidnapped us) and us dealing w/ the consequences he put up for us 👀

Anyways thank youuu 🤭

I Thought You Knew Better Than This.

You've never thought your own home could look so ruined. He threw and destroyed everything. Your walls covered in claw marks in certain places with big and heavy pieces of furniture destroyed and laying on the opposite side of the room it's supposed to be on. You tried to make minimal sound as his hand on the back of your shirt continued to hurt you. Miguel hasn't stopped breathing heavy since he found you hiding in your little corner. He was seething. Absolutely furious with how the way things have turned out. It was supposed to be a simple day today. He drowns you in his luxury and money while he also indulges in the feelings of happiness that your happiness gives him. But when he was distracted and had his back turned, you disappeared without a second to spare, taking his patience and mercy with you.

Even though he wasn't wearing the symbol of his power, his spider-suit, something about him wearing just regular clothes while chasing you as if he was a predator catching his prey made your heart pang in fear. You said nothing and kept to yourself as he practically shoved you into the fully formed portal.

When you two were back into your very carefully decorated and designed (he would call this your real bedroom in your real home)bedroom meant for your comfort and safety, Miguel sat on the edge of the bed and had you planted on his lap. Your back touched his hot chest and your each of your legs were spread out with the outer sides of his own.

You swallowed thick bile and continued to keep your mouth shut. Your eyes roamed around your room in hopes of self soothing your erratic inner turmoil. Miguel grabbed the lower part of your face and turned you to make eye contact with him. His eyes held some sense of control within him, but you knew his heart was telling an entirely different story. You tried your best not to look away, knowing how he feels about eye contact.

"Por qué te fuiste?"(Why did you go?) His voice was quiet as he asked. He spoke to you as if you were a child, and truth be told, you really really didn't want to tell him why. But the last thing you should ever do is lie. Especially to him. "I just.....I didn't want to be with you." You silently croaked out the answer, guilt showing in your eyes, but he didn't care. "Hm? Don't I give you everything? Don't I take good care of you? Papi no te cuida bien?"(Doesn't daddy take care of you?)

You slowly nod and he shakes his head. "I don't understand. Help me understand why you thought it was a good idea to run away. Please." You stutter as you try to answer as his hand somehow sneaked past your pants to rub his cold fingers on your clit through your underwear. ".......B-because I-" "Because you don't think. You just act immediately on your thoughts and leave me to clean up your mess. This is why I make you stay home."

No matter how hard you tried to ignore his fingers, your body somehow managed to build pleasure from the constant stimulation he was giving you. "I'm sorry." He rolls his eyes and begins to take off your pants. "Yeah." You didn't want to think about what he wanted to do with you. You drop the pants onto the floor once they pool around your ankles and Miguel manhandles you over his lap.

"Wait, no, Miguel. I don't wanna do this, I'm not ready!" You feel his digits prod at your entrance as best as they could through the small and unnecessarily damp part of your underwear that he caused. "It never seems like you're ready for me to give you any of your punishments, mi cielo. But don't you think it's time for me to give you what you deserve?" You squirm under his hold, and he rightfully continues to hold you down.

"No!" He coos at you while staring down at your panties, shoving the piece of the cloth to the side to access you more easily. "Mmmm, I think I should." Two of his digits poke at your hole and your shame drastically increases as you automatically whine at the feeling, squirming in his arms.

You hated, hated getting sexual with him. It wasn't fair that he had more experience than you and could play with you like an instrument, making you sing every song known to man. He was so good at touching you, you never wanted to try it again since the first time it happened. Knowing how hard it was to not only ignore him, but also how hard it was to go against his word when you and him both knew he could make you feel so good in ways you didn't think was humanly possible.

Miguel looks back up to see your reaction as he inserts his fingers and you immediately go silent. His fingers thrust inside of you two, three times and then on the fourth time, curls on that spot and you squeeze your eyes shut. A very small upward curve makes itself known on Miguel's face. He softly praises you and continues working your pussy out. "There, we go, bebé. No se siente increíble? Déjame escucharte."(Doesn't that feel amazing? Let me hear you). Your hands tighten their hold on his thigh and you shake your head no. He suddenly pulls his fingers out, licking them clean before tossing you onto the bed, immediately taking his hard cock out of his pants. "Está bien, nena."(That's okay, baby) He almost seems to say his words excitedly, rushing to mount your ass, one of his hands on the small of your back to keep you in place, his head hanging to watch the hot tip of his cock slip between the plush doors to his only escape to reality, indulging in you entirely. "........Tengo otras maneras de hacerte cantar."(I have other ways of making you sing.) He was gone, too far gone to stop and it was all of your fault.

He lets out a shaky sigh, leaning down to connect his chest to your back, now moving the hand that once was restricting you so that his body can take that role, and instead putting his hand in your hair to move your face to meet his. You look up at him with those adorable glossy eyes, the tears threatening to drop down your pretty cheek only makes him smile. "You did this to yourself, baby. Don't be so sad. All you have to do is let me do the work, okay? Just relax." Then his lips connect with yours in a sweet, loving kiss that you fucking hated. But your opinion never mattered in these moments, and it especially didn't matter when he kept deepening the kiss, groaning into your mouth as you felt him very gently intrude your entrance.

His kisses. His kisses successfully distracted you. Those plush lips making you forget your words. And when his tip oh, so gently kissed that spot inside of you when he was fully in, you felt your mind begin to buzz and didn't even realize you stopped trying to resist. Miguel took that moment to let his hands roam your heavenly body. There were only a few times he got to do this, and sadly, it was only when he was having sex with you. He wanted to be able to touch you every day. He wanted his hands to touch your stomach, your sides like this every morning and every night. He wanted to soothe your mind and body like this every day in any way he could, outside of a sexual context, because he knows he could. He just wishes you would love him back so he can give you what you truly deserve. Own him like you truly deserve.

But then he remembers you telling him he wasn't shit, his love wasn't shit, you wanted him dead, wanted him gone, he was worth nothing and the only thing you'd enjoy would be him in the dirt. Dead, gone, cold and forever silent, out of your mind. But what about all of this he built for you? What about those mornings you'd be in his arms and immediately realized you cuddled him all of the damn time in your sleep? What about those times he had to help you cook, had to help you with those weirdos who cat-called you outside, had to help you with your stress? Your pain that he took away from you? Just like this?

What about that? "Nothing I do is ever enough for you." His hips slowly roll into yours and you focus on the sheets in front of you, ignoring his crazy talk. "Maybe I should try giving you all that I got. Maybe then, you'll learn to be thankful." He grabs you by the waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed. Both pairs of feet touch the ground, but you both remain bent over the bed. His hands grab onto yours and pulls them up, giving you no space or peace of mind to be able to ignore anything he's doing to you.

The soft rolling picks up speed and force, the jabs he makes inside of you increasing in pleasure with each thrust. You begin making sounds you can't control, and Miguel smothers you with kisses on your neck, praising your actions.

You hated him. You hated how you began leaning into his affection and relaxed at his words as he fucked the logic out of your mind. You hated how he numbed your tongue and continued to abuse your sweet spot constantly, knowing how sweet you'll be to him afterwards. And even when you grind back into him, all of your muscles tensing as he rubs at your clit during your orgasm, you still find a way to try and curse his name, only for it to come out of your mouth as if he was an angel from heaven.

Miguel pulls out to shoot his load onto the sheets, knowing the relationship you two have isn't something he wanted his child to see. It'd take a few more months.

You let him clean you, wash the sheets, feed you and put you to bed. And you couldn't find it in you to complain, let alone have any kind of opinion of what just happened. Not when you were this tired. Miguel decided to skip work for the rest of the night to sleep with you. You don't say anything.

You curled into his arms, knowing the next morning will just be a mental battle with yourself over giving in or continuing this exhausting fight you were putting up. His hand softly caresses your head, the other one holding your body close to his. He is whispering to you in such a soft and lovely tone, it just makes you wonder how obsessed he really is with you. Skin to skin. He lulls you to sleep and stays awake for a good while, just to embrace the moment he's never given. Then follows you into his subconscious.

[himbofan4444]

“Another day…” I say to myself as I walk through the parking garage. The is air still damp from the rainstorm yesterday. I look around. The garage is oddly vacant. Perhaps I’d come in when the buildings closed again. Determined to finish the day and get home quickly, I trudge past the puddles and cigarette butts. “God it’s freezing,” I say to myself, shivering.

I look around again. I’m used to a long walk to the stairs but today’s feels… really long. I can’t see my car but that’s all thanks to the thick fog that has been settled in town for a few days. I can’t see the stairwell either. The only thing I can see is the fog surrounding me. I sigh and continue my trek forwards, unsure if I’m even moving forwards anymore.

After a few more minutes of walking, I stumble upon an odd sight. In front of me is a shopping booth, something I’ve never seen the liking of before here. A faint concoction of aromas reach my nose: a strange mix of perfume, wood, leather, and some other implacable scents. At the booth stands a broad man. On the table, there are a variety of brightly colored liquids contained in erlenmeyer flasks. The man waves me over, a toothy grin across his dark, bearded face.

“Well hello there fine fellow! How can I help ya?” the man asks. His voice is gravelly and deep, the kind of voice that makes you weak in the knees.

“Oh, I’m not interested in buying anything, sir. I’m just trying to find the stairs,” I respond.

The man lets out a hearty laugh, “Please, call me Rohan! And I insist. I’ll even give you a hefty discount.”

I eye the flasks, taking in the colorful liquids. Each is bubbling and emanates an odd warmth, much preferable over the freezing air of the rest of the parking garage. “So, what are they?” I ask.

“Oh, just some herbal remedies. They’re very common in holistic medicine,” Rohan says, lifting up to of the flasks. “Would you like one, sir?”

“Oh I’m not sure if I should. I’ve tried these things before and they haven’t… agreed with me,” I say, letting out a small chuckle.

“Don’t you worry about that, sir. These are all natural. I insist, try one. Here,” Rohan picks up a pink one and holds it out for me. I reluctantly grab it and give him a half-smile. “That’ll be $5, sir,” Rohan says as he holds out his large palm. I search through my wallet and find a crumpled up $5 bill and hand it to him. He smiles and says with a certain satisfaction, “Have a lovely day, sir!”

I walk off with the flask in hand, still unsure of where the stairs are. I check my phone for the time. Shit! I’m late! I briskly walk through the parking garage but to no avail. I’m still lost. At least until I see my car. Damnit! I just walked in a big circle! Exhausted and angry, I get in my car and sit down. The car is almost as cold as outside, a small remnant of the heating still present. I start the car, deciding to head home.

Before I can put my foot on the gas pedal, my gaze drifts down to the flask in the passenger’s seat. “I should probably drink that…” I say to myself. I reach down and grab it, bringing the beverage to my lips. It smells like perfume. I lift the flask, the contents of which pouring into my mouth and down my throat. It’s almost unbearably sweet. So much so that it’s almost bitter. There’s also a strange salty aftertaste. I cough and drink from my water bottle, the flavor lingering in my mouth.

I drive home in silence, allowing myself to be bitter about today’s events as of now. As I drive home, I notice an odd, unfamiliar tingling in my butt. I itch it but it doesn’t help. “Maybe I just worked legs a little too hard yesterday,” I say with a shrug. Soon, my whole body feels tingly, almost numb. My work clothes begin to feel a bit tight on my body, specifically my pants. I’m sure I grabbed the larger size I have but maybe I didn’t. This morning was quite hectic after all. I shrug off the odd occurrence and continue my drive home.

On the way home, I pass a Starbucks and turn into the parking lot. I usually don’t buy such frivolous things, but I’d already bought that horrible drink so why not? As I walk inside, I notice a strange quality to my walking. Usually I have a quite confident strut but that has been replaced by something almost like a waddle. Odd.

Once inside, I’m finally warm. The warmth of the store is so refreshing. Before ordering, I sit at a table by the window. Sitting here feels weird. I’m not used to this amount of cushioning on these chairs but maybe I misjudged them. I take off my winter coat, setting it on the high top table in front of me. I catch a glimpse of my arms in my tight dress shirt sleeves. Jesus! I’ve always been in shape but I’ve NEVER been this big. I flex a small bit, blushing at my public flexing session. Damn, the gym’s been doing me good recently.

A short blonde barista walks over to me. She’s very cute but my still bitter attitude puts a damper on my lustful looks. She pulls out a notepad and a pencil, “Would you like anything sir?”

“Oh no-“ I clear my throat. My voice sounds less deep than normal for some reason. “I mean, sure. Could I have a vanilla latte?” Why did I order that? I always order black coffee, never that girl shit. The barista smiles and nods, writing my order down, “Got it. Is that all?”

“Yes ma’am,” I respond. Handing her the money for the beverage.

She walks off, immediately going to make my drink. I rub my throat. Why do I still sound so weird? She comes back over, my drink in hand. “Here you go sir,” she says, “Oh and by the way, I love your hair. Blonde is so your color. You look fabulous.” She walks away to serve other customers.

What? Blonde? I’m not blonde. I’ve always had brown hair. And… fabulous? Who does she think I am? One of those queers? Does my hair really look blonde to her? I pull out my phone and look at myself in the selfie camera. Jesus! My hair IS blonde! And it looks… curly. What the hell happened?! And my face… It looks off. Something is uncanny about it. I look like myself but also not… Like my lips look bigger and so do my eyes. My eyebrows look a bit neater than they should and my stubble is shorter than normal.

I get down from the stool, ready to leave and deal with this weird stuff at home. As I walk out, I feel a strange jiggling in my rear. I crane my neck around my shoulder to see what was going on with my butt. Holy shit! My ass is huge! I run out to my car, my big fat ass jiggling like crazy as I run. I quickly drive home.

Once inside, I strip off my damp clothes to assess the damage. My muscles do look bigger than normal, especially my pecs. They look like fucking tits. Jesus, they’re huge. My ass is enormous, any movement causing it to jiggle wildly. And that tingling in my ass still hasn’t gone away. I look like a poster fag. Like the dictionary definition of a faggot. Fuck…

I go up to my room and find a cardboard box on my bed. After opening it, I see a huge pink dildo and a pink jockstrap, both the same color as the drink. The dildo is easily a foot long. I shiver in disgust looking at the items. An odd feeling comes from my ass. My ass is tingling worse than before, specifically directly in my asshole. God I just wanna shove that dildo up my ass… No! I can’t be thinking like a fag! Looking like one is bad enough!

I shove the grotesque items back into the box and chuck the box across the room. I look at myself in the mirror, hesitantly touching my pouty lips. They feel almost numb, as if they aren’t real. Come to think of it… I feel my pecs and my ass, both having the same numb tingling. Oh my god…

My body stiffens up, my back arched, showing off my large muscle tits and fake fuckable ass. Goddamn why am I thinking like that? Against my will, my buff arms reach up and turn my baseball cap, which had gone from a cream color to a black and pink one, backwards. It’s like a switch got flipped. My brain goes from active and agile to slow and dull. MY thoughts become more lustful and… gay.

Damn, I wish Rohan fucked me earlier. He like totally has a huge dick. I pout, crossing my arms across my inflated chest. My heads turns, facing the discarded box. My body prances over to the box and extracts the faggy… I mean sexy things. I pull the pink jockstrap over my big round ass, doing a few hops to see my bubble butt bounce in the elastic material. I snatch up the massive dildo and lay in my bed, my thick beefy legs spread out. My body instinctively shoves the dildo as far up my ass as it can.

My hole feels oddly loose despite the lack of penetration it’s received. My brain pushes those thoughts into the garbage, conjuring up new memories of me being fucked by hoards of men, each hung like a horse and concerningly aggressive. I let out shrill, feminine moans with each thrust of the toy. Each thrust causes my room and house to become more pink and slutty looking. My wardrobe emptying of my work clothes and instead having pink slutty outfits. My bed begins vibrating, my old bed replaced with a vibrating one.

I cum out of my shrunken cock, my small load leaving me gasping for air. I’ve never felt this much pleasure in my whole life! I sit on my knees in front of the full length mirror in my room and take a picture for my Daddies.

This is me now, a stupid, horny, bouncy slut for any man who’ll take me in for the night.

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

stages - j. marino

summary: from gym girl to girlfriend

warnings: john x f!reader, swearing, fluff, mentions of a cold/flu and a broken wrist, mention of the reader running and catering business, consumption of painkillers/flu medicine

word count: 6.6k

“You’re not going to stick around?” 

You stopped walking, your attention solely focused on trying to find your car keys from the deep depths of a hectic gym bag, but even you couldn’t deny that the sound of an increasingly familiar voice distracted you. 

It was a consequence of using the gym closest to the rink, you supposed. That, or just sheer chance that your gym of choice was also the exact gym that John Marino chose to frequent. But it was honestly just one heck of a fucking coincidence that each time you stepped foot inside the building, he was also there. Somehow you’d – against your will – managed to go from polite greetings on the treadmill to considering each other friends.

It was a weird dynamic, one that didn’t particularly extend outside of this one gym, but he was clearly comfortable enough to insinuate he wanted you to hang around a little while longer. If you didn’t already know his plans for the day you’d have probably thrown him an amused glance, or maybe even entertained the thought.

You shook your head, fingers clasping eagerly around your keys, before finally turning to look at him. He was wearing a compression shirt, his hair only slightly damp because this short trip of his was only to warm himself up before he’d journey across the street to the practice rink, and there was a careful kind of look on his face. He was watching your reaction, head tilted, hands wringing a water bottle.

He already knew what your answer would be, because like you knew his plans, he knew yours, and even though he knew the effort was futile, it would never stop him trying.

“Are you ever gonna come and watch me skate?”

You shrugged, watching him walk over to his own locker and pull out a hoodie, “I’ve seen you skate.”

He shook his head adamantly, making for the door and holding it open for you to follow him, “Not in person, that’s different.”

You were about to protest, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading, but before you could, he pulled a face, and whatever was about to follow you knew was going to be a teasing jab in your direction, “Oh, wait. I think I get it, you just want to see me up close, because you won’t get that if you come to a game? You’ll miss looking at my face.”

You huffed a laugh, “That psychology degree is finally getting put to use, huh?” 

The teasing smile was still on his face, even as he turned to look at you right as you both walked out of the building and into the daylight. He was confused, the slight and fractional twitch of his eyebrow showed that, as did the way his mouth seemed to twist as his brain reworked your words.

It must have been because you didn’t deny his words that made him falter in his step and squint into the sun. You felt your cheeks heat up and your attention was thankfully stolen by the hollers and shouts from the other side of the street – you couldn’t make out the face from where you were standing, but from the size of the pairing alone, it looked like the Hughes brothers waving on the sidewalk.

“Maybe next time.” You muttered quietly, more to yourself than to the curly haired man in front of you, because if you didn’t say the words aloud like some kind of mantra, you knew you might actually never end up seeing him skate. This way, the promise felt real. And he seemed to have heard your voice carry over the slight breeze because he almost snapped his neck turning to look at you, and every morsel in your body recoiled at his quick reaction, “I’ll let you get going.” You stuffed your hands in your pockets, avoiding his eyes (he still hadn’t said anything, but there was absolutely no doubt in your mind that he had something to say).

“I’ll see you later.” He mumbled, nodding. 

*** 

You had a sneaking suspicion that John didn’t know you were here – in fact, it wasn’t really a suspicion, you knew he didn’t know you were here. It was partly down to the fact that he’d already asked you and you’d had to decline because, technically, this was a work thing, it just so happened that his work thing and your work thing were the same work thing.

You’d been debating on how to approach him, mostly when you should have been paying attention to whoever it was that you were in a conversation with, but he just kept catching your eye. You didn’t know if he was just in a spot that you seemed to naturally redirect your eyes to, or if his almost lonely mood was catching you off guard. 

He was a talkative person once you got to know him, but he’d spent the majority of the night stuck shoulder to shoulder with Luke Hughes, the two of them clearly muttering comments to each other under their breaths, usually one that would send them both spiralling into short fits of laughter before they’d inevitably straighten and try to look more professional in the face of a big boss or investor walking past. 

It was weird seeing him in such a formal setting, and in a suit nonetheless. Fuck, if you knew he could clean up that well, you’d have been eagerly accepting his game invites just on the off chance that you’d see him dressed up. It was certainly different to seeing him in his shorts or joggers and a gym top – not that an outfit choice such as that was entirely unappealing (it most certainly wasn’t – he wore his gym clothes very well) for someone like him; meaning he could pull off a plastic bin bag if he really wanted to.

You hadn’t really spoken to each other since the other day and that awkward comment was made. Even the texting seemed to have slowed a little bit, and if it wasn’t for his ‘are you busy tomorrow night?’ message, you’d have just assumed he wasn’t even interested and taken a hint and left him alone until you’d found yourself enamoured by someone else.

Though…looking at him now, smile lines making a full appearance and grinning mischievously, you weren’t entirely sure it would be too easy to even look in someone else’s direction when what was in front of you was so incredible.

That being said, the person in front of you wasn’t John in any way, shape, or form. You didn’t know who they were or what they did, but they were talking to you about something to do with hockey equipment–

“I’m the caterer.” You blurted, cringing almost apologetically when they halted with their glass halfway to their mouth, a look of mild shock passing over their features.

“Oh.” They started, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought you were the…nevermind, I apologise.” They hurried to correct themselves, and they were being so polite about it all you couldn’t help it when you jumped in.

“No, please don’t apologise, I should have said something sooner.” There was a brief pause where the both of you shared an amused look, “But if you want to know about the food?”

Their eyes seemed to light up, “Is there a dairy-free option?” 

“Yeah, there is. You want me to show you?” 

“Please.” They nodded gratefully, eagerly hurrying after you, and it was just then that John saw you out of the corner of his eye.

Granted, it wasn’t necessarily you that he saw, but a flurry of quick motion in his periphery. The kind of quick motion that would normally draw the eye under any circumstance, and it was as his eyes slid back to Luke that he felt something click in his brain – he didn’t quite understand what it was until his eyes returned back to…you.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and his lips parting, all completely against his will. He blinked once, twice, then three times just to be on the safe side, but…you were still there: talking animatedly to one of the sponsors and pointing to the food assortment along the table with a bright grin on your face. 

Luke’s mouth was moving but John swore there wasn’t any sound coming out, or nothing of that much value, anyway, because his entire attention was completely devoted to you, as he always seemed to find it. He felt his jaw clench, confusion beginning to stir as his mind reworked old conversations for something that he might have missed.

Boyfriend? No.

Family relations? He didn’t think so.

Did you know anyone else on the team? He was the only one, he was sure of it.

Work?

Work. He remembered you’d mentioned something about catering, but he’d just assumed you worked in a restaurant with how vague you’d been about it all.

But it made sense.

“Isn’t that your Gym Girl?” Luke bumped into his shoulder, his voice dripping with awe, and John wanted to cover his eyes. He wanted to grab Luke by the shoulders and physically turn his attention elsewhere, and that sudden desire to keep you out of his reach struck a nerve.

He’d never found Luke annoying before. He didn’t like it that much.

Instead, however, he schooled his expression into one that gave the impression that, yes, he knew you’d be here, and shrugged, still keeping his eyes on your figure, “She has a name.”

Luke ignored his comment, “She’s…wow.”

John frowned, turning to Luke and taking in the little glint in his eye and the drop of his jaw. He was beginning to find the child incessantly annoying, even if he was right in his words – “Jack wants you, look.” This time John actually laid his hands on Luke and twisted him to point over to where Jack was watching them rather curiously, sheer dumb look he supposed, and pushed him in his brother’s direction before making the rather bold decision to interrupt your conversation before he could psych himself out too much.

It had been a good few days since he’d last seen you, and since then he didn’t think he’d actually had any mental reprieve from your earlier conversation about him finally putting his degree to use, and if he was honest, John kind of wanted an answer. He’d like to bring it up somehow, maybe later on in the evening or maybe not even tonight – but if there was one thing he’d describe himself as, he’d probably say he was pretty good at checking off a to-do list once it had been established, and getting to the root of that was definitely on there somewhere.

It wasn’t a priority, though.

But talking to you must be, because before he could even register the sickening thump of nervousness in his chest, he’d found himself standing directly to your right, one hand awkwardly holding his tie in place and his other shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

You were still talking to the other person about the food, and he decided – for the sake of not wanting to interrupt – he’d made a dire mistake, and immediately changed course and darted left, only to find himself in front of a blank wall within a few short strides.

He sighed, placing his hands on his cheeks, and automatically pulled his phone out of his pocket with the faux urgency he’d mastered in the face of an awkward situation: wherever he felt a little bit too self-conscious in a public space, he’d reach for his phone. It gave his hands something to do, his brain something to be distracted by, and to onlookers it might make it seem like his awkwardness and fumbling was intentional: after all, no one could really avoid an important call or text, could they?

This time, though, he inhaled deeply, attempting to calm his nerves. He knew part of it was because he was technically at work, with his colleagues that were probably watching his every move if Luke had blabbed as expected – and that just added a whole new layer of pressure that he hadn’t previously considered before. 

Was it why you kept shooting down his invitation to a game? His teammates could be intimidating if they wanted to be.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, a string of messages – your messages to each other – pulled up. He blinked, frowning briefly, unable to recall even opening his message app, let alone seeking out your contact.

He’d been doing it more often, actually–

“Hi.” 

He whirled around on his heel, jacket flapping with the brusqueness of the motion, and came to face you. He slid his phone back into his pocket, never really finding the strength to concentrate too much on where he was placing it, and before he could even consider replying, there was a dull thud and you were holding his phone out towards him, looking equally as apprehensive as he was.

“Thanks.” He muttered breathlessly, a flash of warmth tingling his hands.

You just nodded, your own hands fiddling with themselves in front of you, and he was watching – at least, he was until you seemed to become aware he was watching you do it and then you hid them behind your back almost instinctively.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking back up to your face, “Fancy seeing you here.”

And he did fancy seeing you here, if he was being honest with himself. You looked lovely. You always do, but there’s something a little bit more thrilling to him about seeing you here wearing more formal clothes than seeing you inside a gym wearing sports gear.

It was a nice change, he decided.

You cracked a smile at his comment, and before he could think too much into it, he was echoing the same sentiment back at you, “I know, right? You’re gonna be sick of me by the end of the night.”

“Oh, please.” He shrugged, unable to help himself, “That could never happen.”

He froze, hand once again attempted to put his phone inside his blazer pocket. He couldn't do anything, not even breathe, as he waited for your reaction. His words had slipped out a little too easily and with not enough hesitancy. He hadn’t even had time to think that maybe he shouldn’t have said that, before you stepped in, thankfully not too taken aback by it.

“Never say never.”

And he swore, right as his phone dropped into the pocket, that he felt something in him snap at the expression on your face and your sudden change in demeanour. But you seemed to flick out of it almost as soon as you’d done it, because in the next instant you were happier somehow, and he just knew that teasing lilt in your tone was more self-deprecating than he would have liked to think.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you, I don’t even know, I guess I was trying to surprise you?” You got out, eyes darting everywhere but his face. 

Maybe it was because he was beginning to take the breath out of your lungs with every second you spent actually looking at him, or maybe it was because you were conscious of other eyes watching you both from afar, but there was something a little bit odd about the way you were feeling in that moment.

It felt like you wanted…John. The man in front of you. In a ‘hold his hand’ way.

Which was new.

So, the crush had intensified. It was the exact thing you had to realise at that moment in time. How terribly inconvenient of you.

It could only go downhill from here, couldn’t it?

John did something with his face, and you glanced at him, noting the smile lines in his cheek from a closed-mouth smile, “It was a pretty nice surprise.”

There was a lull in conversation, the both of you awkwardly looking at each other and then looking away, trying not to show the smiles on both of your faces. It was a weird coincidence that you’d been chosen as the caterer for such a large event for such a well-known team, but here you were, amidst John’s teammates – of who you’d been putting off meeting sheerly for the reason that it might be a little weird for the girl from his gym to purposefully attend a game or practice session with the intention of doing just that, but you supposed it couldn’t really hurt if it was classed as a ‘work thing’.

Although, the man next to you certainly made the entire night more bearable. An hour and a half later you two were still talking to each other, sitting down this time with your kneecaps touching and an elbow resting on one of the tables, unconsciously tuning out nearly everyone and everything else.

It felt cliche and you almost felt sorry for inadvertently stealing him away from his teammates just because you happened to be there, but you couldn’t really find it within yourself for that to be a genuine concern. It was the longest you’d ever talked to each other, really. A coffee after the gym was sometimes in the cards, but usually you’d just forgo wearing headphones when you saw his car parked in the lot and spend the hour in the gym talking to each other – but it never got this far.

Your attention was stolen momentarily by a sudden dimming of the lights and a change in the music, and a flurry of bodies slowly tiptoed out to the supposed ‘dancefloor’. The person you’d been talking to earlier was there; there were players with their partners; coaches with their partners; parents with their kids.

You turned to look at John, an eyebrow raised in question at the spectacle, but he had a kind of soft haze about him as he watched his people begin to dance with each other; it wasn’t anything particularly special – some people were off to the side chatting and some people were just swaying, but it was obvious it had become a kind of tradition at these kinds of events.

“All staff and players are recommended to stand up at this point,” he started talking, head still turned towards the floor, giving you a perfect view of his side profile, and you watched him talk fondly, “Apparently it encourages people to get ‘more involved’ or something.” And then he shrugged, inhaling and turning back to you, halting at the look on your face, “What?”

“You’re still sitting.”

“I’m talking to you.”

That shut you up a bit: he’d said it so quickly and with such fierce conviction, as though there couldn’t even be single other reason for him not doing as he was told, and all you could do was roll your eyes and breathe a short huff of laughter, trying with all your might not to read into it too much or blush under the lights.

You’d done so well not to, so far.

“You don’t have to, you…don’t you network at these things?” 

He blinked, tilting his head in an amused fashion, “Network? Hm, that’s cute.” 

You stared right at him, unimpressed, “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you have to chat up the sponsors?”

Instead of answering your question, he turned briefly to the crowd of people on the floor, not uttering a word – and if you’d known him any less, you’d have just assumed he hadn’t heard you at all, but the look he’d got on his face indicated he was clearly thinking about something. There was a slight furrow in the middle of his brows, and his mouth was twisted thoughtfully.

You hadn’t even realised you were staring until he turned quite brusquely back to you, a hint of a mischievous smile on his face as he did so, “Who are you going to dance with?”

You felt your face drop more than you realised you were doing it at all, and the comical jump of his brows was enough to tell you he’d anticipated your reaction. 

“I’m working.” You excused, almost scoffing at the question.

“You’ve already worked. The food’s been made and put out. Who are you going to dance with?” He repeated the question with a considerable amount of vigour, and you had an inkling he asked it sheerly for coaxing a specific answer out of you.

You narrowed your eyes, dragging out the silence a little longer than what was necessary. You contemplated teasing him – maybe mentioning Nico – but ultimately opted on the side of caution.

“With you.” 

He just grinned.

***

You blinked wearily, your head heavy and fuzzy and your wrist in so much agony is hurt to even stand up under the force of gravity. The hand in the cast was painfully cold, the fingers freezing to the touch, and you found yourself wincing on instinct as you used your other hand to curl the fingers into your fist. 

You felt a little bit sick, if you were being honest. The painkillers must have worn off mid-nap on the couch because as soon as you’d pushed yourself into a sitting position a shooting throb seemed to echo right from the crack in your wrist bone to the very tips of your toes, and you walked rather blearily to the pile of meds on the table, washing some painkillers down with water.

It hadn’t even occurred to you that you’d been woken up because of something else until a knock sounded at your door, quite frantically. You stood in the middle of your living room rather dumbly, only able to tug your hoodie sleeve further down the bulky cast to cover the tip of your fingers, your brain too exhausted to even contemplate what the knock could mean or who it could be.

Your feet didn’t move, and you found nothing in you reacted to the sound like you usually would have. On a normal day you’d have jumped up to peer through the peephole to see who it was – but that didn’t happen. 

At least not until a rather dull thump echoed across your door and an equally tired groan could be heard from the other side.

That sent your mind working again, because you knew that voice, though not in that context. There was just something recognisable about the undertones there that seemed to ring a rather important bell in your head, and you stepped forward, peeking through the hole just to be sure.

As luck would have it, there leaned a mop of curly hair just next to the number on your door, and you didn’t even need to see that familiar slope of his nose or the shape of his mouth to know who it was. He lifted his head, and from the resignation in his face you could tell he was just about to walk away.

You probably would have let him: you hadn’t actually managed to tell anyone other than your parents that you’d broken your wrist, for a variety of reasons: there wasn’t any cell service in the hospital; you’d got back to your apartment and immediately passed out from exhaustion and pain; and you’d broken your dominant wrist, which meant doing just about anything was twice the faff, and you hadn’t quite mastered the art of charging your phone or texting with one hand only without getting frustrated ( you’d actually thrown it across your bed and lost it in the small gap between the frame and the wall). And the idea of opening the door to him all ‘surprise!’ didn’t seem particularly appealing.

Or it wouldn’t have if he didn’t look as exhausted as you felt, with a red nose, pale cheeks and the packet of tissues clutched in his hand. He clearly wasn’t too well either.

“Wait!” You called through the door, voice still groggy and hoarse, and tried to unlock your door as quickly as you could without fumbling the chain or accidentally shutting the door before you could wedge your foot in the crack to prise it open with your non-injured hand.

You hid the cast behind your back, trying to appear chipper as you held your door open with your foot and smiled politely. It felt a little futile, though, with the way he seemed to blink uncertainty as his attention zipped to the bags under your own eyes and the lack of colour in your cheeks.

“Hi.” You mumbled, your brain still a bit of a jumble as you almost slurred your words.

He yawned, leaning his head against your door frame in an adorable manner and clearing his throat, “Hi.”

You had to stop yourself from lifting your hand up to comb his curls back from his forehead, and instead opted to give in to your instincts and smiled softly at him. 

He reciprocated it, albeit a little sadly, “I thought you died.”

The smile on your face turned upside down, and instead of replying, you opened your door further, letting him step inside, still ensuring to keep your hand behind your back and away from his eyes until you felt as though you could tell him properly.

“You didn’t come to the gym last night and I texted but you didn’t answer, and you always come to the gym even if you’re sick, and I was just a bit worried, y’know?” He rambled, wandering towards your bathroom, “And then I woke up this morning and had to phone in sick because I feel like shit and I remember seeing the cold medications in your cu–”

He stopped, eyeing the packets of painkillers on the coffee table with both intrigue and concern, before turning to face you, eyes trying to justify any possible reason for that many packets to be out and already consumed, until his gaze came to a stop on the arm concealed behind your back. One hand came up to point at you, but before he could get any words out, he succumbed to three rather violent sneezes, all in immediate succession of each other, and by the time he’d finished, his eyes seemed redder and his cheeks even paler than before.

In fact, he blinked hard before moving himself to sit on the sofa, his head between his hands, still and silent.

“John?” You frowned, coming to sit beside him, this time uncaring if he saw the cast on your wrist or not, and placed one hand on his thigh. His eyes were screwed shut and his jaw was held ajar and crooked, deep breaths inflating his lungs slowly.

“Dizzy.” He groaned, pressing his thumbs to the bridge of his nose, and you inhaled sharply, continuing his journey to the bathroom and pulling out the necessary packets for him. You poured him a glass of water, coming to sit beside him once more, this time having some trouble popping out the tablets with one hand, and it was a particularly frustrated sigh that had him blinking cautiously to watch you.

“So, you’ve come to steal my drugs and give me your germs, huh?” You muttered fondly, about to ask him for help, but he interrupted before you could say anything else.

“What the fuck?” He mumbled, clearly ignorant to your teasing comment, his eyes fixated on your cast before trailing up to your face, moving slowly so as to not disturb another episode of dizziness.

You cringed, “I broke my wrist yesterday.” 

There was a beat of silence when you watched him watch you, heart pounding a little harder than it usually would due to the unfamiliar situation. John was always caring, always wanting to help in some way, and you adored him for it, but this was a little different.

This time you guys were in a new relationship…and there was  a small part of you that was a little worried that he’d take this as you not trusting him.

“How?” He blinked, the one word obviously not the only thing he wanted to say, but something he’d settled for for the sake of it.

You shook your palm, trying to get him to take the pills from you, and he did, swallowing them with the glass of water on the coffee table, before physically turning himself to face you, the look on his face suggesting he wasn’t about to do anything until you answered his question.

“I was…” You inhaled sharply, eyes darting from his face and the flaming of your cheeks only seemed to make you more nervous for what you were about to tell him, and instead busied yourself with picking up the box of tissues on the coffee table and holding it out for him to take, “I was with one of my friends, and she was teaching me to skate.” Your voice trailed off pathetically, almost too embarrassed to even look in his general direction.

You could imagine he was blinking, trying to make the words compute in his head, eyes boring into the side of your face like a madman. Maybe he was managing a small smile, too.

“Teaching you?” He asked, voice somehow rough and soft at the same time, and it was the warmth in his tone along with the complete lack of judgement that had you hesitantly taking a peek at him out of the corner of your eye.

You’d been right – on some level. He was hiding an amused smile behind his hand, and his eyes were wide with pleasant shock.

You nodded, rolling your eyes, “Teaching, yeah.”

He faltered, mouth open as though he was going to say something and thought better of it, before ultimately deciding to go through with it, “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.”

“What’s so embarrassing about breaking a wrist?”

“No, it’s embarrassing that I don’t know how to skate. I didn’t call you because there’s no cell service in the ER and then it pissed me off that I couldn’t type quickly enough and now my phone is wedged down the side of my bed and I can’t reach it.” You rambled, eyes widening in a rather self-deprecating manner, “Then I passed out.”

He sniffed, plucking a tissue from the box, his other hand almost going to hold yours before thinking better of it, “Did you go to the hospital by yourself?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the sofa.

“What did the doctors say about it?”

“It’s a Colles fracture, so I’m gonna have to wear a cast for a few weeks before they change it for a splint.” You sighed, picking at the end of the cast with disdain. The painkillers had eased some of the pain to a throb that seemed to beat on time to your pulse, but it was still uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. And you were exhausted, as was the man next to you.

“I’d touch you but I don’t want to give you my germs.”

If he hadn’t looked so genuinely upset at that you might have said something else, maybe teased him a little, but with the heaviness tugging at his features already, you tilted your head, “You do look pretty rough.”

He rolled his eyes, a gap-toothed grin showing itself, “Thanks.”

“Still cute, though.” You grinned, nudging his hoodie clad arm with your own, unable to help yawning nearly immediately after, “Do you want to stay and have a nap?”

He raised his brows, clearly a little surprised by the offer, “Even when I’ve got the lurgy?”

You shrugged, “I’m probably gonna get it at some point anyway. Better to be ill together at the same time.”

“Even with your broken wrist?” 

You paused, acting like you were considering changing your mind, and John huffed a laugh. You could tell he was unsure about your proposal, maybe he’d feel a bit guilty giving you his cold when you were already in a state yourself, because it was clear he was holding himself back from being his usual affectionate-self.

“Do you have an ulterior motive?” He asked, raising a suspicious brow.

“Not entirely, but I might need you to reach my phone.”

It wasn’t even fifteen minutes later that you were both cuddled up under your covers, your phone now safely plugged in and charging, you on the brink of sleep when John seemed to jolt up in remembrance of something. His sudden motions had your heart beating and a shot of adrenaline coursing through your body, perhaps thinking he was en route to throw up or something, but when you turned on your bedside lamp, he was grinning lazily, his eyes a little sleepy.

“What?”

He breathed a laugh, “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t know how to skate?”

You shrugged, “I was gonna surprise you, I guess. You said there was that skate thing coming up, right? I was gonna suggest we go, but I wanted to practise and…it didn’t go very well.”

The cheeky grin seemed to melt off his face at your quiet admission, replaced by a softer, more sincere one, “You were gonna say yes to that?”

You pressed your lips together self-consciously, unable to help feeling strangely vulnerable with the intensity in his stare. You were very aware of the fact that you didn’t look your best, wearing Barbie PJ’s, and your hair was an absolute mess. Add that on top of not having had the chance to shower, you were pretty positive you didn’t smell too great either (you did douse yourself in deodorant earlier), so it felt almost unjustifiable that you were on the receiving end of such a look.

“Yeah.” You muttered, “I thought it best to at least try to look like I knew what I was doing if I was gonna be in the presence of professional skaters and cameras.”

His brows jumped up his forehead animatedly, head unintentionally leaning closer to yours in excitement. One of your favourite things about him had to be the way he was so unashamed to show enthusiasm for even the smallest things – it was always written so seamlessly and effortlessly in the way he’d nod his head when he was listening to you or the way he’d hold himself to show you he was interested. It had always tugged on your heartstrings, even when you’d first met him.

He didn’t say anything, but there was an odd expression on his face, like he was having an internal discussion with himself, and before you could stop it, you blurted a rather impatient “What?”.

He pulled a face, cheeks reddening slightly despite the chill to his skin, “I don’t know how to – I’m not good at talking about it, I’m not sure how to talk about it because it’s kind of overwhelming in a way that I can’t string the words together or something, but…” he sighed, “If I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more, and–Aargh.”

“You just quoted Mr Knightley.” You interrupted, eyes widening upon realising just what you’d interrupted him from saying.

“That’s what you got from that?”

You paused, eyes darting across the shadows of his face. You could just make out the smile lines on his face and the slow, weary blinks as he fought off the sleep he’d been dying to succumb to, and if wasn’t for the fact that he’d instigated this half-asleep conversation you’d probably feel a smithereen of guilt for teasing him in that state, but all you could do was nod and attempt to conceal just how smitted you felt. Fatigue tended to lower your inhibitions.

“Well, no, but…” 

His grin seemed to widen and he pressed his face into your pillow, curls begging for you to run your hand through, and sent you a rather expectant glance that had you rolling your eyes fondly.

“You know I love you too. It just…”

“It still feels weird, huh?” He murmured, raising a brow and widening his eyes after a snotty sniff, “I still get nervous.”

“With me?”

He breathed a laugh, “Saying it. You just constantly floor me, I wouldn’t say you made me nervous, not like you used to.”

“The novelty’s worn off a bit, huh?”

“I prefer it that way.” He gave a short, self-deprecating huff, “I can function around you now.”

***

Luke knew John had been hiding something for weeks, if not months. And each time he cast his mind back to trace the source, the one thing that kept coming up was that Gala and Gym Girl being the surprise caterer – probably one or two days before John had shaken his head rather despondently after Luke had asked if she’d said yes yet. After that night (each and every time Luke looked over their way, they were both completely enamoured with each other, ignorant to anyone else passing by at that moment in time), John had changed.

Whether it was just how generally happy he’d been lately, even without saying it; whether it was his sudden attachment to his phone; whether it was keeping an overnight bag in his car – it didn’t take a genius to figure out something was up, Luke felt he was proof enough of that. But what he wasn’t quite sure of, was if anyone else had noticed the slight change in the older Defenceman.

John was a quiet type, Luke could happily yap to him and he’d nod along and ask questions when it was appropriate to, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he was like that with just him, or if it was just a John-thing.

Yet, here they all were – the team, families, friends…John. With a girl. The girl: Gym Girl.

And because Luke had spent so much time with him, he knew that John wouldn’t bring someone to these kinds of events if it wasn’t serious. It’d have probably been serious for a while and just kept quiet to let them both figure things out between them – Luke understood that.

In fact, it was Jack’s innocently curious question that made Luke feel a little bit more smug than he probably should have.

“Who’s that John’s with?”

Luke glanced over at the pair once more: John with a sweet smile on his face that he’d never seen directed at anyone else ever before; his girlfriend with a cast on her wrist skating like a baby giraffe, John holding onto her pretty tightly as she wobbled on her blades.

It was a cute sight, Luke could admit that. 

“His girlfriend.” He replied, fighting a smile when Jack’s head snapped in his direction, shock dripping from every feature.

“His what?”

“Girlfriend.” Luke grinned this time, “Y’know, his romantic part–”

“I know what a girlfriend is, you little shit.” Jack sighed, “When did that happen?”

Luke shrugged, “A while back, I think.”

Neither of the brothers said anything, but Luke was wondering if anyone else had had the same conversation within the last twenty minutes. Nico was talking to Timo, Curtis was hanging around with some of the media people – had they all asked the same questions, or did they already know?

“If you could pick someone on our team to get married and not tell us until they’ve got kids, who wou–”

“John.” Luke interrupted Jack, the both of them sharing a knowing smile.

[joannasteez]

conejita

pairing: damian priest x reader warning: smut. nsfw!! use of pet name. “conejita” means “bunny” authors note: yeahhhhhhh…. expect more probably? this also works as a “sister fic” to @harmshake recent damian fic because we’ve been at it for days talking about this man lmaooooo. word count: like 800 i think…. tags: @333creolelady @kill-the-artiste

"mhphm".

a bright, little noise. sounding from the throat. a little broken. shuddered up really. far too breathy to be anything other than delicate. like a feather. flitting and fragile. a trembling in your legs, the weight of his touch—his caress and the sweep of his thumbs, just there, swirling over your nipples—a measured thing that makes your head spin. a swimming behind the eyes. 

you dig into him. needful. nails holding over the motion of his hands. searching for a reprieve, some grounding. thighs spread wide, an accommodation despite the ache. his frame, his build, kneeing into the sheets, your legs bent over his waist. that full, woodsy note to his cologne rushing your nose. bathing your lungs. everything of him, everywhere. a full consumption. lip bitten teeth, tender from that awful fight with patience. a taunting song under the skin, a quick tempo, pulsing deep, right there, trailing from the pit of your belly till its unfurling harsh in your clit. the tender little nub, untouched still, the fabric of your panties darkened and damp. the lavender color ruined by that awful fight still.

and he's particular about these things. colors and scents and temperaments. loves your skin in pastels and littered with spicy, sweet notes. drapes the room in a silent expectation. those eyes. those hands, kneading in again. a soft pinch that makes your breath hitch. and he's unblinking here. looming over. hair falling over his shoulders and his shoulders wide. littered with ink and flexing strong. 

and he's cupping your breast still. a deep thorough touch. a luring out that won't stop till his satisfaction warms over into a hot bursting. lips pulling in to join. a peak of tongue. sweeping the tip of it over. kissing sweetly. a dangerous repetition. soft slipping tongue, wet and curling. a hiss through your teeth and that faithful hitch in your hips. a sharp, ill-mannered grind into nothing but the fabric of your panties. a dirty mixture singing from your throat. a groan and a whine. that awful fight with patience. shallow breaths and a sweet little shake in your hands. 

he breaks off your skin with a pop. humming dark. his eyes closed. focused. fighting with his patience just the same. and what a terrible fight it is. his tight shoulders sagging just the slightest bit. suckling your nipple whole. like the taste there is too much of not enough. like perhaps if he stayed a little longer, that full satisfaction will come, only to find that it's a long ways away. so he stays, groaning into the skin. cheeks hallowing. a lewd sweeping over as he pulls in. your fingers in his hair. a lazy run into his scalp. 

"...fuck...", breaking brightly. thumbing the nape of his neck. arching up into him. the pillows stuffed under your hips soft, as you roll into him. 

he moves, catches your lips into a sloppy kiss. licking in to taste the balm there. another hum that speaks to that reach of satisfaction. a flavor that catches ahold at his tongue, sinking into the palette till he's breaking with a rough shiver all over. the tender split of your lips play into the air. a sweet twist. touch roaming else where, a fine grazing over your belly, closer and yet so far away still. his fingers done up with cold metal rings. that awful fight with patience seemingly the greatest losing battle. your breaths shallow still. hips canting again. eager and a little ways away from unmodified. 

he smiles. kisses your lips and your cheeks. pulls himself upright. pushes against the bend in your knee. the other hand playing and toying with the damp fabric of would be lavender panties. humming amused. your breath hitching again, his thumb sneaking under the messy fabric to glide faint. a dangerous tease of a touch, enough to verify his presence and nothing more. and when you moan annoyed, rife with a terrible ache, he pinches firm. snags your clit between his thumb and pointer for a short little tug. a softness to his eyes that make you melt into the bed. "...my precious girl", he breathes. amused still. "...what'd i say about breathing? about patience huh?...", a note of something firm in his tone. waiting for that sure compliance to befall. your body settling more, releasing, breaths coming easier. "...there you go". 

"damian...", you lament. a grief there in the tone from all that terrible build of an ache. 

and when he peels over the mess of your panties to reveal your pussy, a groan shifts the air. leaves his belly and urges from his throat. like he's been testing his own patience just as harshly, willing himself into waiting, delaying the sweetness of this for a tastier gratification. the thickness of his fingers sink in. a delicious, slow, agonizing stretch that leaves you arching off of those gentle soft pillows again. feeling him nestle deep, enough till he's wet and sticky at his knuckles. lip tucked under his teeth. "how's that feel baby?"

"..i want more..", you groan. grinding to stroke along his fingers. 

he pats your thigh. short bursting stings that keep you from falling too far too fast out of his methods. "...easy hermosa, you'll get everything you need, right? don't i always do that for you?"

you look to him. lashes wet from the overwork of your nerves, nodding quickly. 

he looms over again. the smell of him rolling in. his lips kissing at your ear. slotting his fingers through the tight pulse of your pussy for a lazy little working in. 

"my little conejita".

[blood-orange-juice]

Inspired by a discord discussion.

I keep seeing characters from snowy places portrayed as unbothered by cold or missing it, and every time I remember that it's completely counterintutive if you didn't grow up in freezing temperatures

So I thought I should write this post.

We are very bothered by cold. We are way more bothered by cold than southerners. Being bothered is what keeps you safe. Warmth is a resource.

There are few lucky people who simply never get cold (mostly guys of endomorph body type) but it's not a given and generally northerners start to complain and wear warm coats at the tiniest hint of cold.

Humans can only adjust up to a certain threshold.

For example, Irish and British winters allow you to ignore weather almost completely (you'll be miserable but you'll probably live), so there's a culture of stoicism, not heating your house above 16-18°C (60-65°F), wearing shorts and sandals (and a Very Big Scarf) when it's snowing and all that.

(I quickly got used to leaving the bathroom window open at 4°C when I was living there. who cares really)

So there's a common misconception that you can do the same with even colder weather.

However, once you are past that adjustment threshold (for most people it takes as little as -5..0°C/23..32°F lasting for more than a month per year) there can be no special built-in resistance to that type of cold (unless you are a yogi or a Taoist monk), instead you learn a bunch of behaviours that help you. You start to preserve warmth religiously.

You also start to differentiate between types of being cold and avoid some of them (some build up over time and it wears you down, so it's best to avoid them entirely). Anything that drops your core temperature (this is noticeable long before you start shivering, shivering is the equivalent of fire alarm) is a huge no. Fingers getting a bit numb from building a snow castle is nothing major though.

It can be hard to unlearn that even if you moved to a warmer place years ago.

Stoic northern characters who have moved to a warmer country are very likely to Complain About The Cold.

They'll start wearing coats at higher temperatures than southerners (because, well, the weather might get worse, or you might stay outside longer than you planned, or move less).

They'll get cold hands more often because their body panics at the tiniest signs of cold and diverts blood to the centre (my first impression of the Irish was how warm everyone was when we shook hands. I'm the same now).

Most will heat their houses to the point where it's possible to walk around in a t-shirt no matter how cold it is outside (those who don't will comment "thank gods that people don't do that in your country, I hated it back home").

They'll whine at +5°C (40°F).

Apart from heavier clothes they'll have a bunch of weird habits like Walking Really Fast when the weather is bad (it's for when you don't want to wear heavier clothes).

They might have a fondness for scarves and good winter shoes (warm shoes and a warm hat are even more important than a warm coat. the lack of hats in fantasy upsets me. scarves are less important but they are pretty).

When locals get surprised they'll reply with "yes, but this is *damp* cold, *dry* cold is different" (it's more complicated than that but this answer usually stops further questions, so we go with that).

It's not like they are actually less cold-resistant, they just take cold more seriously.

At the same time they can be weirdly unbothered by things that freak some of the southerners out because they know how their body deals with low temperatures and which things have no consequences.

(it's not something that you learn from books, it's practical knowledge of what you personally can get away with. for example, I often get completely numb thighs during winter walks, takes an hour to start feeling anything when I get home. but I know it's all right as long as my feet are warm and my core temperature is within normal range)

They also won't suffer consequences when it gets truly cold, while more nonchalant southerners won't notice when they get borderline hypothermic or just cold enough to get sick.

They'll probably consider -30°C (-22°F) exciting. It becomes enjoyable again, because the outside world is now a death zone and there's some macabre fun in resisting it. Oh, and your eyelashes get covered in frost and it looks dope. What's not to like.

Kids will make a point to eat ice cream outside in -30°C (no, they won't get sick from it). I can't explain it, it just works like that.

Generally people from colder countries are not bothered by cold if they can return to a warm place soon enough, it's the prolonged exposure to cold (even mild) they are worried about. Going out for a smoke without a coat is common.

If they are still in a cold country, it's also a bit different from what you expect.

There's a trope of drinking to keep warm. It doesn't work like that. You can drink alcohol to feel warm but not to keep warm and it's an important difference. When it's cold your body's proper response is to constrict blood vessels and to divert blood flow from extremeties to slow down the loss of warmth. Alcohol reverts that.

This means it's perfectly appropriate to drink eggnog or mulled wine at a fair (when you are supposed to get to warmth soon enough, so the illusion of not being cold is not harmful) or hard spirits when you get back from the cold (it will help you warm up faster), but not if you are staying in a cold place. During a hike through winter woods a thermos with sweetened tea and fatty food are your best friends.

Some won't know it and get drunk and frostbitten/hypothermic. People are stupid.

Food gets weird, fats start to seem even tastier than usual. People in Antarctic expeditions are known to crave sticks of butter. In certain weather sandwiches with frozen lard are delicious.

Anything can and will be made into tea.

Some tropes I personally disagree with.

Pain. Pain levels depend on the weather. Cold eases any kind of external pain (cuts or burns) but makes worse anything internal (broken bones, cramps, most headaches).

Hypothermia feels nothing like peacefully falling asleep. It's the most miserable state I've ever experienced, psychological trauma doesn't even come close.

Well, maybe there are people who do fall asleep but other people I've talked to seem to share my experience.

I'm not sure how exactly it works, I think it messes up your self-regulation, since most chemicals in your body require a certain temperature range to work properly. Basically you become Not Yourself. Your emotions go whack (usually it's either extreme self-pity or extreme anger). It feels awful. I hope you never get to experience it.

Most of us don't really miss cold.

Well, some perverts do, but there's a general consensus that cold is awful.

We do miss some things that only happen during cold days though. The stillness and the quiet or how pretty snow looks. How bright the stars are on a clear night. The colour of sunsets and twilight sky when it's freezing.

(in my opinion, the best experience happens around -5°C, it's already pretty but the world is not a death zone yet)

There's also an appreciation of contrast with things that are Not Snow.

Walking from the cold into a greenhouse with orchids.

Watching a blizzard rage outside your window while you sit in warmth with a cup of tea.

Jumping into a lake straight out of a sauna (then going back. do not do that if you have a heart condition).

Fireplaces. Holiday food. Mulled wine. Saffron in pastry.

There's also a lot of beauty in the world that is frozen. I keep stumbling upon the fact no one around me shares these experiences anymore and it saddens me.

The xylophone sound of first ice being broken by a passing boat.

Sea moving under the ice — when it's not too thick it rises and falls like some large animal breathing.

The whale-song-like sounds of ice cracking on large lakes.

There's a very special mood of waiting for first snow. The world is too cold and dark without it and then you wake up one night from the sudden quietness (snow muffles all sounds) and you know it's there even before you look out of the window,

There's the exhiliration of spring. The moment when the wind starts to have a scent — thawing snow smells a bit like watermelons but clearer. Winter smells like nothing at all.

The first tiny yellow flowers in mud. They are our hanami.

(I don't think anyone in Europe truly appreciates spring if they are not from Nordic or Baltic countries)

There's a certain attunement to the scent of ice too.

Like that barely perceptible tingle in the air in late September, long before you can see any ice.

I feel the scent of ice when there's wind from the right part of the Atlantic. No one ever notices but it's there. I love it.

It's nostalgic in a way.

But it's never missing the cold itself for me. For very few people it is, I think.

*

This is, of course, personal perspective and my experience is not universal. I'm a person from continental climate with harsh winters and hot summers and a city dweller with occasional visit to country houses and a tiny bit of mountaineering experience.

An indigenous person from a place with barely any summer or a character from a fantasy everwinter country will probably differ from me.

There are, after all, simply people who genuinely love cold. A lot of them. It is, however, not the default northerner's experience.

But hey, it's still more complex than it's usually written.

*

If you want to read something focused on winter descriptions, there's Smilla's Sense of Snow by Peter Høeg.

It's hauntingly beautiful prose and the main character is from Greenland.

‘It’s freezing, an extraordinary -18 °C, and it’s snowing, and in the language which is no longer mine, the snow is qanik – big, almost weightless crystals falling in stacks and covering the ground with a layer of pulverized white frost.’

And then there's Moominland Midwinter. I think it gets better when you read it as an adult and it's probably still the best thing I have ever read about winter solstice.

Anyway.

I think we need more good winter stories.

[rowretro]

Yandere Sunghoon ex plss

✧warnings: yandere/toxic themes, violence, death, forceful kissing, blood

 ♡synopsis: Park Sunghoon is y/n’s ex boyfriend. People assumed that you were at fault given how seemingly perfect he is, he’s good at everything he does, and he’s extremely handsome who wouldn’t fall for Sunghoon. It was a shame really, you loved him and he loves you too… maybe a little too much…

✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧

1 year of dating and y/n broke it off just like that. It’s only been a week and people have already spread all kinds of rumors as to what could’ve happened. Perhaps Sunghoon realized Y/n wasn’t all that some’d say, maybe y/n herself cheated on him. Whatever the rumor was, it was always putting you in a bad light. If only they knew why you broke up with him, if only they knew Sunghoon for who he truly was.

Not even the law itself cared for Sunghoon’s crimes.Y/n had walked into him hiding one of his crimes very well. Taehyun, who had asked her out quite recently, not even bothered by the fact you were dating Sunghoon at the time, was lying there cold and bloody. Sunghoon, dragging his body into the deep ditch. “This is nothing babe… he had no life anyway, no siblings, neglecting parents, and he was in a street gang…” he simply said as he dumped the somewhat damp soil on the man’s body, the ditch gradually filling up. 

Not even the police cared to take the case, why would they when the Park Sunghoon is the culprit. So she broke up with him. After a tense argument with him Sunghoon left the building to cool off, that’s when she decided it was best to leave. Most of her stuff was already at her old apartment, she simply breached his security system and left leaving a note saying that she’s breaking up with him.

Only been a week since then, just y/n and her thoughts alone in the cozy little apartment. She felt a little fear, wondering if he might kill her, or kidnap her, or do one of the most dark, sinister things she could never be able to think of. A little heartbroken because she loved him and he’s all she could ever ask for. She just wanted to move on though it was easier said than done. Heaving a sigh, y/n made her way to the kitchen, pouring some hot water into a pan, and boiling some ready-made tapioca pearls. 

The girl cleaned up the house a little before adding a little sugar to her now- ready tapioca pearls, using a spoon to dig right into it. As she took a bite out of her little sweet snack, she heard the doorbell suddenly ring, making her flinch. She wasn’t expecting any visitors… Sunghoon on the other hand, was still looking for her while remaining under the radar. Then it hit him, he had the perfect item to bring her back…She was hesitant, her hand on the door handle, a frying pan in the other, she peeked through the small gap as she opened the door. She opened it widely, a smile painting her face when her eyes laid upon the male at her door. “Jay!” she exclaimed as he smiled, hugging her.

“Y/n~ long time no see huh, what brings you back home?” he enquired as Y/n sighed. “I broke up with my boyfriend so I moved back home” she said as Jay nodded.The two conversed for over an hour before leaving the building in his car, the two driving to one of her favorite restaurants. “Jay- isn’t that the road?...” Y/n asked as Jay glanced at her in the mirror “Yeah, but I’m taking you to a different one, it’s way better” Jay reassured as she nodded, trusting his word. Then everything felt familiar… the road, the signs, the tattered billboard sign and that god forsaken house…

“Nice work Park Jongseong…” Sunghoon smirked his dark eyes now on you. How could he fucking betray her?! Park Jongseong? The Jay, your best friend for 5 years lead you back to her boyfriend’s hell. “Anything for you bro… also don’t forget mom’s birthday party” he simply said as he left the building. Of course. How did she miss it? They’re brothers. “Back home?... what is this about some break up sweetheart?... who talked you into it?...” Sunghoon asked as y/n just glared up at him.

“I fucking hate you.” she seethed through gritted teeth as he slapped her “No no silly… you don’t hate me… you love me. You love me like crazy but you just don’t know it yet” he explained in a sickeningly sweet tone that made her stomach feel like it was being squished in the claws of a demon. Sunghoon’s fingers softly threaded through her hair, his finger twirling a few strands of her dark hair.

 “There’s something you need to learn sweetheart… you’re mine. That fucking means you’re stuck with me forever. We WILL date. We WILL get married and we WILL die together. So no we haven’t broken up we never will you FUCKING UNDERSTAND?!!!” he asked, yanking her hair painfully harshly all of a sudden. “Y-yes… I do…” she trailed off, hating every word that left her word. Hearing her words, the male planted his lips on her, forcing his tongue into her mouth, a hand still gripping at her hair as another snaked around her waist. She was stuck with him forever.

✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧

[kitten4sannie]

𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔶

pairing: criminal! yunho x fem! reader (criminal) x criminal! jongho

genre: smut, cyberpunk au?? kinda, kinda lore compliant

summary: After finishing up a late night drug deal, you find yourself getting arrested by two suspicious policemen.

w.c: 6.1k

warnings: *possibly triggering content* drug usage, jongho and yunho play a little bit of bad cop nasty cop with reader jshshd <33, hard dom! yunho, dom! jongho, bratty sub! reader, dubcon elements, mxm, kissing, brat taming, degradation, praise, pet names, exhibitionism/voyeurism, manhandling, fingering, spit kink (so muchhh), face slapping, pussy slapping, spamking, oral (receiving), size kink, breeding kink, bulge kink, unprotected sex, sloppy seconds, creampies, squirting, slight dumbification

a/n: choo chooooo 🚂 next stop is smut cityyy – i mean, night city hehe whoops <33 just fyi i renamed the fic and changed the aesthetic to better fit the vibe. also i stg i gave yunho grillz before the teaser came out and i just - someone please write seonghwa with grillz,, i will kiss the ground that you walk on 🧎🏻‍♀️ anyways enjoyy bc this one goes on forever and everrr ٩( 'ω' )و

song rec: numb to the feeling, slow down by chase atlantic

☆ Masterlist ☆

➽───────────────❥

“How much for Night Serum?” a soft-spoken, disheveled man asked you, only allowing you to see his dry, quivering lips and the few beads of sweat that were rolling along his chin, the rest of his face hidden underneath the heaviness of his coat hood. 

Leaning your back against the slightly damp alley wall behind you, your fingers traced the outline of a small pocket that you had sewn onto the inside of your jacket. “120 for a vial.”

He pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket and smashed it down into your open palm. “I want two.” 

You counted the money and shoved it away into your tank top, then fished out two small vials filled with a glowing blue liquid from the small pocket, dropping them into the man’s eager hands. “Pleasure doing business with you,” you said mostly to yourself, the man already fast walking his way out of there and tossing his head back to down it. You watched with envy as he let out a blissful sigh and headed towards a hologram of a beautiful woman that was beckoning him inside the building she was posted in front of.  

With your hands shoved inside your hoodie pockets, you followed in the direction of the man, heading back out onto the semi-empty street and mindlessly walking down it, your eyes settling on the plethora of neon signs around you, some advertising 24-hour ramen shops and bars where you could drink your sorrows away, some flashing red XXX’s at you, enticing you to settle for a quick fuck with a lovebot of your choosing. None of it really interested you these days. No matter what you did, everything just felt numb. Muted. All you wanted was to feel alive again. Before you could think, you pulled one of the little vials out from your jacket and looked down at it, eventually opening it and swishing the liquid around. 

A pair of blue and red lights suddenly blinded you, an irritatingly loud siren joining in as well to overwhelm your senses. “Oh, fuck,” you reacted, suddenly taking a step back once you realized you had done something incriminating right next to an idle cop car. Just your luck. The vial smashed onto the ground just as you ran in the opposite direction, glancing back in horror to see an intimidatingly solid man with large thighs and equally large biceps already catching up with you.

“Stop right there!” he called out, reaching his hand out in your direction, amused by the fear in your eyes and the quickening pace of your steps.  

You carried your body down the pavement as fast as you could, your lungs already on fire from routinely panting and breathing in the cold night air. Your breath escaped your lungs completely when you were suddenly yanked backwards by the collar of your jacket, the color leaving your face once you got a good look at the serious man standing behind you. 

“Possession of illegal drugs and evading the law. That’s enough for a few months in the slammer,” the man said with a smirk, bending over slightly and lifting you up over his shoulder with ease. You squeaked at the feeling of his arms squeezing around your body, hitting your fists into his solid back and yelling at him to let you go. Whistling a bit, he simply carried you back to his taller, older looking partner who was leaning against the police car with his arms folded across his chest. 

“What do we have here?” Yunho mused, a mysterious glint hidden within his coffee brown eyes. 

Once Jongho placed you down onto the ground, you tried to take off, instantly being yanked backwards by the taller man and shoved down face-first onto the hood of the police car. “Trying to run again, huh? Seems like we have a little troublemaker on our hands.”

“Fuck you,” you replied with your cheek smushed into the cold metal of the hood, groaning from how rough Yunho was as he grabbed your wrists and forced them behind your back in an uncomfortable position. 

“She’s feisty,” Yunho commented to his partner, the two of them exchanging pleased glances with each other, just as you heard a click sound and the sensation of something cold and heavy hanging on your wrists. You were fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. So why were you elated? “You have the right to remain silent, pretty girl. Everything you say can and will…” his voice trailed off a bit, focusing on pressing himself against your ass, sighing at the sensation. “…be held against you.” 

“And you have the right to choke on a dick,” you retorted, squeezing your thighs together, both disgusted and turned on knowing that you could feel just how large the man was in every sense of the word. 

“She wants me,” Yunho stated, grinning at his friend. Jongho playfully shook his head at Yunho, who chuckled and stepped aside. 

Your fingers twitched behind you, biting down on your lip in anticipation for what was next until you began to feel strong hands sliding up and down your thighs, then to your ass, his fingers squeezing into them and spreading you apart through your thin joggers, making your brain feel a bit fuzzy around the edges. “Wh-what do you think you’re doing?” you questioned weakly, lifting your head up to look back at Jongho with a glare. 

“It’s called a body search, sweetheart.” Jongho continued, moving his hands up your waist, going in a slow, deliberate manner, like he was trying to memorize how your body felt inside his hands. Once he got to your chest, he kneaded and squeezed your tits, able to pinch your nipples through your thin tank top, drawing a stilted moan from your lips. 

“Y-you’re a fucking pervert,” you scowled, squirming around, Jongho’s hands continuing to grope at your tits until he pulled the wad of bills out of your top. Before you could protest, Yunho grabbed a section of your hair and lifted your head up to make you look at him, causing you to whimper. 

“You’re the little pervert here, princess. Moaning and squirming around during a simple search. I bet you’re wet too.” 

“Sh-shut up…” you mumbled, your cheeks hot to the touch, comforted by the cold metal of the hood when the man let go of your hair. 

“Uh-huh.” Yunho lowered his hand to your ass and grabbed it roughly, before sliding his hand in between your thighs, rubbing at the underside of your clothed cunt, pressing his digits down where he presumed your clit was. “Is this where you keep your drugs? In this little pussy of yours?” 

You didn’t know what the hell was going on, but you almost didn’t want it to stop. You knew Night City was going to shit, but were these two assholes really allowed to be a part of the force with the way they were acting? Well, anything was possible. “Show me your badges,” you suddenly commanded, only for you to get flipped onto your backside, looking up at the two men who were staring down at you with hungry eyes. “Prove that you’re real cops.” 

Yunho laughed a bit to himself, nudging Jongho out of habit. Jongho gave him a gummy smile, looking sweeter than he should have. His face sharpened when he looked down at you, his tongue poking into his cheek, casually holding what appeared to be a police badge in front of your face, which confused you even more. If he hadn’t just groped you and taken your hard earned money, you would’ve believed that he could listen to reason, unlike the psychopath that stood there gripping the outline of his unreasonably large package. “You want proof, huh, little slut? I got my baton right here.”

You looked as bored as you possibly could, tilting your head, responding with a simple, “Is that it?” The man didn’t appreciate that very much, simply yanking you up from the hood of the car and shoving you into the backseat before accompanying you. 

“I know you want to keep acting like a stubborn little brat, but I know you want this just as much as we do,” Yunho said into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe with his teeth, sending a shiver through you. “I bet you’re soaking wet. Don’t you think, Jjong? Our little plaything is probably gushing for us, huh?” 

Putting the car in drive using the stick shift, Jongho pulled out onto the street, eyeing you through the rearview mirror, the corner of his lips lifting upwards. “Wouldn’t hurt to check.”

Yunho slipped his hand past your joggers, cupping your bare pussy and hearing the audible squelching sounds of your abundant arousal. You were a mess. Is this what Night City turned you into? Someone who was willing to be used by two unhinged strangers? You didn’t like the answer, but at this point, you were too invested to care. “Fuck me, you’re even wetter than I thought. We got a little whore on our hands, Jjong.” 

“Are you gonna do something about it, or what?” you challenged Yunho, your heart ready to burst out of your chest due to the rush of adrenaline flooding your brain. 

On the drive back to what you assumed was their residence, Yunho and Jongho both appreciated your encouragement, resulting in your joggers being pulled down past your knees and your dripping cunt being pounded by two of the “officer’s” sizable fingers.  

As Jongho turned the leather steering wheel to the right to make a turn at an empty intersection, he cleared his throat, gaining the attention of his partner in crime. “Add a third finger, Yun. Stretch her out for me.” 

“On it.” Yunho didn’t even bother hiding his giddiness, chuckling to himself, before pursing his lips to drip some saliva down onto his fingers. Being finger-fucked by him was almost the equivalent to having a cock inside you, especially if he filled you with three. He had a habit of breaking his toys too quickly, so he decided he would take his time preparing you for the real thing. 

“I’m really starting to think that the two of you aren’t real cops,” you chimed sarcastically, finally having calmed down a bit, eyeing Jongho through the rearview mirror, who gave you a cheeky wink, before glaring over at Yunho, instantly annoyed by the smirk that his pretty lips twisted into. 

“What makes you say that, princess?” the man asked aloofly, slipping a third equally long, equally thick finger into your tight entrance and stretching it open, leaving with you a pleasant burning sensation. 

“You’re literally knuckles deep in me right now, asshole!” you spat in his direction, resulting in a quick, though rough slap to your cheek, a stinging imprint of Yunho’s large hand still left on your face. It made you leak, aiding him in his quest to make you fall apart. 

“Is that any way to speak to an officer of the law?” Reveling in your clear shock and the influx of arousal slipping past his thrusting fingers, Yunho shook his head. “Oh, you dumb little girl. I’m obviously doing a routine cavity search. Checking for drugs and such.” He began to curl his digits and rub at the little spongy area that made your eyes roll back, noticing how you started to clench around him. “Though I don’t think you can fit anything into this tiny pussy of yours, but you’re more than welcome to try with my cock.” 

“A-as if I’d want your disgusting cock anywhere near me. You’re only getting away with this because I’m fucking handcuffed!” you grunted out, trying to bite back the moans you so desperately wanted to let out, the fire in your belly about to erupt into something that you couldn’t even try to tame. “I’d be choking the fuck out of you if I could use my hands.” 

Yunho opened his mouth and dragged his tongue across his top set of teeth, the silver finishing of what seemed to be a bottom set of grillz glimmering in the light. “Kinky. I’d like that.” 

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to spit on him or kiss him, so you simply looked on, finding Jongho’s eyes routinely locking with yours when he didn’t have to immediately focus on the road. He had hardly spoken a word to you and yet you found yourself pulsing around Yunho’s thick fingers just from having him stare you down. You were getting close and you couldn’t quite hide it anymore, your eyebrows starting to move upwards, mouth beginning to hang open, and your moans coming out embarrassingly high pitched in response to the pads of Yunho’s fingers rubbing at your g-spot. 

Jongho chuckled to himself, licking at the corner of his lips. “Are you going to fall apart for him, doll?” You could see his arm shift a bit and the side of his forearm coming in and out of view from where you were sitting. “Are you going to–fuck–cum all over his fingers?” He was starting to sound out of breath. The motherfucker was jerking himself off and driving at the same time. To be quite honest, you were more disappointed that you couldn’t watch than the fact that he was risking all of your lives on the freeway. Maybe you were just like them. Just maybe. 

Yunho pressed his lips onto the shell of your ear, feeling you routinely squeezing around him. He needed to send you over the edge. “Cum for me, pretty girl. You know you want to.” You pulsed around him, giving him a good idea of what you wanted to hear next. Sending his tongue up along your earlobe and biting it roughly, making you shudder, he growled, “Be a good girl for me and fucking cum.” 

A ragged cry escaped your dry throat as Yunho shoved his fingers inside you one last time, keeping them there, your arousal pouring out of you, getting all over his veiny forearm and the leather seat below. Once you recovered, you cleared your throat and blew a bit of hair out of your eyes, side-eyeing Yunho. “This is the only way you get girls to fuck you, huh? By handcuffing them and putting them in the back of your car?” 

Yunho felt a surge of anger shoot through him, but it went straight to his cock. “Fuck, you really do like being a little brat for us, don’t you? Because you like how we put you in your place, huh, baby?” Yunho ran a ringed finger through your hair and pushed a few locks of it behind your ear, his dark eyes studying your flushed face with an intensity that made you throb. 

“We’re here,” Jongho interjected, pressing a button on a small remote he had in his hand, the sliding metal garage door in front of the car slowly rising up, revealing a spacious garage complete with a secondhand sofa, a TV, a large toolbox, and randomly assorted car parts wrapped in bubble-wrap lying on the floor in the corner. 

You disregarded their set up, not needing to ask to know that they were probably up to some shady shit. It didn’t matter, anyway. You did what you had to do as well to keep up with the city that was both decaying and upgrading itself at the same time. 

Once Yunho pulled you out of the backseat, you motioned your head to your restraints. “Can you take these off now that you’re done with your little show? If we’re going to fuck, I don’t need my arms to be going numb.” 

He chuckled, sending Jongho a quick, pleased glance as his friend took a step behind you and put the tiny key into the slot to unclasp the handcuffs, not letting you go before he reached around you, pulling your jacket off, leaving you in just a thin tank top. Jongho noticed the sound of two vials clinking together, feeling through the jacket and slipping his fingers inside the secret compartment. 

“Go on and get comfortable, sweetheart,” Yunho chimed, nodding his head up at you, watching you with dark eyes as you sat down in the middle of the couch, one leg crossed over the other. 

Jongho stood next to him, handing him one of the vials. “Is this the stuff she’s selling?” Yunho mumbled, holding it up in the light, eyeing the chemical blue liquid sloshing around inside. “Night Serum, huh? What’s a pretty girl like you doing selling something like this, anyways?” 

You shrugged. “I gotta make a living somehow.” 

He tapped his finger against the glass, watching as a tiny bubble formed inside. “You wanna try it?” 

“I mean, yeah, but are you sure you want to?” you questioned, tilting your head. “One of my regulars told me he downed a vial and fucked a lovebot so hard, its system shut down halfway through.” 

Yunho smirked at Jongho, before pressing his shoulder into yours. “I mean, you’re the one that’s acting as our little lovebot for tonight, so are you prepared for that?” 

Were you? You weren’t too sure of much, to be frank. Just that you wanted to be used and abused by the sleazy pair of fake cops (mechanics?) hovering over you. You simply nodded at him, licking at the corner of your lips. 

“Bottoms up,” Yunho purred into your ear, tilting the glass back and allowing the liquid to drip into his mouth. Before he swallowed it all, he grabbed your chin and forced his mouth onto yours. 

“Mmfff…” you mumbled into his mouth, looking back at him, barely able to handle him shoving his tongue down your throat. The effects were almost instantaneous; your senses and any physical sensations you felt were immediately heightened to the tenth degree. Not only that, but you felt the overwhelming urge to be filthy. You could see why everyone wanted to get their hands on it. 

This discovery almost distracted you from what was going on in front of you. Yunho had grabbed Jongho by the collar, his other hand clutching the back of the younger man’s head, their lips and tongues eagerly entwining, both occasionally biting at each other’s lips. 

Once Yunho sucked on Jongho’s tongue and swallowed down some of their combined spit, he pulled back slightly, their now swollen lips barely touching, the both of them breathing in the same air, sending pleasant zaps of arousal below the belt. “What do you want to do next, Jjong? Tell me.” 

Almost breathless, Jongho cleared his throat, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I want to eat her out,” he mumbled, looking past Yunho and making eye contact with you. “I want her to squirt for me, Yun.”

Yunho smirked, running his thumb across the younger man’s glistening bottom lip. “Mm, you want our pretty little toy to make a mess, huh?” 

Jongho nodded, smiling softly. “A big mess, yeah.” 

-

With your thighs being held open forcefully by two strong hands, you squirmed around inside Yunho’s lap, barely able to handle the visual of Jongho ravaging your swollen cunt, his nose grinding repeatedly against your clit, his tongue buried deep inside your hole, and his dilated eyes focused solely on yours. 

“Stay still, kitten,” Yunho purred, gripping the undersides of your thighs and bringing them upwards so that your knees were up by your chest on either side. “Let my pretty boy take care of you.” 

Jongho groaned softly at his friend’s sentence, his hand closing tightly around his cock, fisting it with diligence. He plunged his tongue in and out of you, only stopping to purse his lips and let the mix of arousal and spit drip down onto your clit. Eyeing the wetness longingly, he smacked his hand down onto you, sending a bolt of pleasure through your body,before going back down to slurp all the escaping arousal back into his mouth. 

“Don’t swallow, Jjong.” Yunho reached around your shoulder to clutch your jaw, forcing it open, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. “Let her taste.” 

Jongho slowly stood up and hovered over the both of you, sending the mixture of fluids into your open mouth, replacing Yunho’s hand on your jaw to shut it. 

Just as you were about to swallow it down, Yunho growled, “Hold it,” near your ear, smiling slightly at the small, obedient nod you gave him. He grabbed Jongho by the chin and pulled him in for a kiss that mostly consisted of teeth and tongue, tasting you on him. The two men grunted and groaned, their hands automatically reaching for each other’s cocks, haphazardly stroking them until they were dripping more and more pre-cum by the second.

“Mmmn,” you mumbled with your mouth full, your back warm against Yunho’s heated chest, your pussy throbbing with urgency the longer you watched them pleasure one another. 

Yunho rubbed his thumb over Jongho’s slit, making him gasp and pull away due to how sensitive he was, a few strings of saliva still joining their lips. “Cute.” He chuckled, almost forgetting you were there until he saw the way you were begging for his attention with your eyes. “Aww, poor baby. Here’s your reward for waiting.” He tilted your face towards his and sent a wad of spit down your throat, making you moan and pulse heavily around Jongho’s tongue once he had returned to the space he took up between your thighs. “Good, now spit it out onto your cute little cunt like a good whore.” 

Biting your lip, you angled your head down and sent the warm liquid down onto yourself in globs, feeling it spread out over your clit and drip down your puffy folds. 

“Good girl,” Yunho praised, reaching down to rub the rough pad of his thumb back and forth over your clit at a rapid speed. He pressed kisses onto your neck, licking and biting at it, enjoying the myriad of moans and whines you let out the closer you got to your release. 

It only took one forceful squeeze of your clit and the feeling of being stretched open by Jongho’s large tongue for you to cum so hard you saw stars. When you came to, Jongho was licking your squirt from his chin, his eyes hooded and hair completely soaked in your release. 

Yunho cupped your cunt and palmed it just to feel your body begin to shudder against his from the overstimulation, smiling fondly at the sight of Jongho’s rampant lust. “Did you like being squirted on, baby bear?” 

He nodded with enthusiasm, standing up to show Yunho his softened length that was covered in his own release, smiling cheekily. “Very much so.” 

“Mm, that’s what I like to see,” Yunho nodded approvingly, his fingers idly slipping into your soaked hole and scissoring his fingers apart. Moaning, you pressed your head back against one of his broad shoulders. He placed his lips onto your cheek near your jaw, humming against your hot skin. “Ready to take my cock, sugar?” 

-

Laying on the couch with your legs spread open, you suddenly stiffened up when you felt Yunho’s cockhead press against your entrance, his large hands gripping onto your hips. You looked down at his condom-less cock, asking, “And what do you think you’re doing?” 

“Aww, come on, princess,” he purred, grabbing one of your ass cheeks and kneading it around. “You’ll let me hit it raw, won’t you? Don’t you want to feel my big cock rubbing against your pretty little cunt?” Sensing Jongho’s presence near him, Yunho moved out of the way and spread your pussy open, watching as Jongho sent a wad of spit directly onto your slit.

You were practically melting in Yunho’s grasp from hearing his filthy words said in such a patronizingly sweet tone and feeling Jongho’s spit drip down your heat, barely able to handle his intense gaze. Yunho tapped your cheek with two fingers. “Tell Jjong that you want it. That you want to feel me pump you full of my cum.” He took a second to let out a pleased sigh, his cock throbbing inside his grasp. “Tell him that you like that he’s going to watch me use you before he gets a turn.” 

“I-i want it,” you murmured with a pout, your eyes solely focused on Jongho. “I w-want to feel Yunho’s cum inside me…and…” You were both so fixated on each other that you didn’t even notice when Yunho slapped his cock down onto your lower abdomen, pre cum smearing across your skin. 

“Finish the sentence, doll,” Jongho requested, his soft, though commanding voice sending a shiver up your spine. 

Your eyelids lowered, feeling yourself begin to pulse in between your thighs. “You’re going to watch me while I get used by Yunho before you get a turn with me.” After hearing Jongho’s small groan and seeing the lust take over his features, you unconsciously spread yourself further open like you were about to take him instead of Yunho, which they both greatly appreciated. 

Yunho suddenly slapped his length down onto your abdomen, lining it up so that you all could see just how far he would reach inside you. The tip of his cock reached just above your belly button. You whimpered, feeling dizzy at the sight of it, wondering how something so big was going to fit. Yunho, however, was having the time of his life. “Oh my god, I’m going to rearrange your fucking guts,” Yunho groaned huskily, sliding his cock back and forth across your clit, using your combined arousal to stimulate the both of you. Enjoying the sounds of your small, breathless moans, he smacked his cock down onto your clit, making you let out a sudden gasp. 

“G-go slow, okay?” your voice not coming out as commanding as you wanted it to, your eyebrows furrowed, despite giving the two men a pout. “I don’t want to be split in half.” 

Yunho could’ve cum right then and there, too delighted with your acknowledgement of your clear size difference.

Noticing his friend zoning out, Jongho wiped some of the drool that was starting to escape Yunho’s lips. “What’s on your mind, Yun?” 

Yunho smiled gleefully at Jongho. “I’m going to break her, aren’t I?” 

Jongho shook his head, returning the same glazed over look that Yunho was giving him. “We’re going to break her.” 

-

You couldn’t quite remember how you got here — getting pounded into next week by some pervert with grillz and a silver chain hanging in your face, letting him use you to his heart’s content, while his partner simply watched on, steadily fisting his cock with unwavering enthusiasm. You never would’ve guessed that you’d be getting your brains fucked out in some random criminal's rundown garage that night, instead of just heading back to your apartment downtown. 

“Jjong, she’s zoning out again,” Yunho spoke up in between grunts, letting go on one of your spread thighs to rake his fingers through his sweaty hair. “What should I do?” 

Repositioning himself on the couch beside you, Jongho grasped your chin and tilted it upwards. “Give her a little smack.” 

Smirking, Yunho backhanded you, just hard enough to bring you back to reality, immediately allowing you to feel the immense pressure of the man’s hips rocking into yours, his cock plugging you up over and over. “Fuck, if you’re going to smack me, then at least aim for my p–”

Yunho’s large hand slammed down onto your cunt, his calloused palm rubbing against your swollen clit, replacing your words with a choked moan and bringing a smile to his sweaty face. 

“Again,” you said, your demand coming out as a plea instead, your legs starting to tremble against the slippery couch. “Do it again.” 

“Who knew such a feisty little thing would become such a needy slut for us?” he asked his friend, who shrugged his shoulders. Yunho removed his hand from your pulsing cunt, instead lifting your hips up and slamming into you at a deeper angle, making you let out a yell of pleasure.  “Would you like to do the honors and help make our new little toy cum all over my cock, Jjong?” 

Jongho immediately brought his hand down and slapped it directly onto your clit, not giving you a second to react, before he did it again, both him and Yunho watching with delight as your arousal began to squirt out of you like a small fountain. "Good girl," he sighed, sliding his fingers through the wetness and spreading it over your swollen clit.  

You looked to Jongho for a moment, your cheeks burning from the way he was gazing down at you with his pulsing cock in his hand, but Yunho's grip on your jaw brought your attention back to the cock that was currently drilling into your spasming cunt. "P-please cum," was all you could verbalize, a line of drool escaping past your lips.

Yunho continued to fuck you through the overstimulation, leaving your inner walls slick and warm with the heavy amounts of pre-cum that were spilling out of his cock. “Mm, that’s right. I bet a slut like you wants to feel every drop of my load when it spills into your womb. Don’t you? You want to know the exact moment that you get pregnant for me, huh?” 

You let out a long, drawn-out moan, gripping the edge of the couch, chipping off some of the faux leather material from the cushion with your nails. “I’ll…nnngh…kill you if you get me pregnant…” 

“What, you don’t like the idea of someone like me pumping you full of my kids?” he asked near your ear, his body pressing heavily against you, smacking his hand into your ass so harshly, he left a lasting handprint. 

“N-no, dumbass,” you choked out, throwing your head back into the couch cushion once Yunho persistently bucked his hips into you, sloppily and without nuance, like you were just a sex doll he had just purchased from Night City’s local rundown sex shop. 

Yunho scoffed, shaking his head, his raven locks starting to stick to his forehead. “Then why are you throbbing around my cock, pretty girl? Why are you about to cum all over it?” He bit his bottom lip, pulling all the way out and shoving himself back into you, your combined arousal making a filthy squelching sound. “You want it so bad, you’ll let Jongho fill you up too, won’t you?” 

“Fuck, just fill me up, please, both of you,” you finally admitted, your voice barely coming out, the way Yunho picking up his speed and slamming himself repeatedly into your sopping wet cunt sending you into another state of euphoria.

“I'm gonna fill you up, baby. Oh, fuck, here it comes,” the man grunted in between thrusts, letting out a series of low, gutteral sounds, holding his hand down on the bulge in your lower abdomen, cum shooting out of his cock in long spurts, coating your walls with white. It felt so good, you almost lost it, whimpering and whining. “Yeah, you fucking like that, don’t you? You like how big I feel inside you? Like I'm gonna split you open, huh?” You simply nodded, unable to think, let alone speak. Chuckling smugly, Yunho pulled out, fisting his cock until a few more dribbles of cum leaked out of him and dripped down your mound. 

Before you could ever take a breath, you were suddenly being lifted up by Yunho and being set down onto Jongho’s lap. “Ready, doll?” the younger man asked, running his calloused hands up along your curves, squeezing at the softest parts of your body, his fingers settling on your tits and tweaking them.

“Yes, sir,” you moaned softly, your words flipping a switch inside Jongho’s mind. 

Jongho picked your hips up and lowered you down onto his thick length, slowly pushing the entirety of it inside, his hips already moving like it was second nature to him, efficiently fucking Yunho’s cum back into you, some of the milkiness dribbling down to the younger man’s heavy balls. “Feels good?” 

“Really good.” You panted, wrapping your arms around his neck, holding onto him. “So good. More, please.” 

When Yunho nudged his neck and jawline with his lips, whispering something into his pierced ear, his tongue eventually sliding across his heated skin, Jongho leaned his head back, inviting it. He kept one hand on your hip, the other moving to stroke his friend’s cock. “If you want more, you’ll have to work for it,” Jongho stated, smiling lazily at you, his hand moving down to squeeze your ass. “Ride me, baby. Make it bounce.” 

Feeling desperate, you obliged him, gripping his broad shoulders tightly, his muscles tightening underneath your grip, lifting yourself up, only to drop yourself down onto him, his groans of approval urging you to go as fast as you could. “I’m riding you, sir, just how you want, so please give me your cum. I need it.” 

Yunho sucked and licked at Jongho’s neck as he nodded weakly, finding his softer moans to be a lot cuter than the deeper, more masculine sounds he tried to make. “She’s our little cumslut now, baby bear. Fill her up with your honey, okay?” Jongho’s hand tightened around the older man’s length, squeezing out more clear liquid and using it as lube, drawing muffled groans from Yunho. 

Determined to take the strangers’ loads one after another, you bounced on Jongho’s cock with fierce determination, his cum-covered length stretching you open over and over, effectively setting your insides ablaze. “Please,” was all you could whimper out, wiping some sweat from your forehead, looking between Jongho and Yunho, hoping to bring attention to your desperate situation. 

Yunho pressed his lips onto Jongho’s earlobe, mouthing something into it, both of their hands eventually traveling to your pulsing clit, taking turns thumbing it eagerly and rolling it around. “Cum for us, sugar.”

Drawing short, airy moans out of Yunho with his skilled hand movements, Jongho smiled softly at him, then looked at you, his fingers roughly squeezing your clit, as he studied your pleasure-struck face, chiming in, “Make a mess.” 

Letting out a ragged cry and blacking out for a moment, you came undone, the sensation of warm creaminess spurting into you bringing you back to reality, your head spinning from the feeling, as well as the sight of Yunho shuddering and covering his chest in his own mess. “Fuck….” you exhaled, leaning forward into Jongho’s arms, who wrapped them securely around you, all your strength suddenly leaving your tired body. The drug was starting to wear off, and you were left accepting the decisions you made, some of it dripping out of your cum-filled cunt. 

-

“The comedown from Night Serum is really rough, you know,” you sighed, sliding your fingers through your damp hair and leaning your head back into the couch cushion, puffing on the cigarette that sat between your lips. “Hot flashes, the shakes, cottonmouth, fever, the list goes on.” 

“I guess we gotta keep busy, huh? Maybe I’ll just fuck the fever out of you since you love to take cock so much,” Yunho replied smugly with a short, brusque laugh, buckling his belt and nudging Jongho with his elbow as if he was asking him to laugh along with him. Jongho gave him a small exhale of air, barely a chuckle. A pity laugh, if you will. 

“Uh-huh, right.” You tilted your head to the side, batting your eyelashes up at Yunho. “You’re lucky I didn’t give you head. I would’ve given your cock a little chomp if I had the chance.” 

Yunho flashed you a wide grin, his silver grillz reflecting in the light. “Well, there’s always next time.” 

Not that you didn’t know before, but Yunho had to be a psycho. You weren’t quite sure about Jongho yet, but there was always time for him to surprise you. Were you actually considering sticking around these two after everything they did? Arresting you, manhandling you, fucking you within an inch of your life — were you really capable of handling that for god knows how long? 

You sat up, flicking the cigarette stump away onto the dirty ground and smiling over at Jongho, who quietly observed you with the same pleased expression he had the entirety of the night, before gazing up at Yunho, your eyes full of determination, fire, and maybe a glimpse of insanity. “I’m looking forward to it, Yunnie.” He took a small step back, caught a bit off guard, letting out a nervous chuckle. You suddenly stood up and bit down onto your bottom set of teeth, making Yunho stumble back into the cop car and slide down the smooth metal until he landed on his ass, resulting in a hearty laugh from Jongho. 

Yunho appeared to be shocked, until his pretty lips twisted into a mischievous smile, his eyes upturned with satisfaction. “The others are gonna like you.” 

“O-others?” you squeaked, feeling Jongho settle a strong hand down on your shoulder and pat it, as if he was already apologizing for what was about to come. 

➽───────────────❥

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© kitten4sannie, 2023.

[admirxation]

彡 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝐭𝐡 - 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

♡ 𝐬𝐮𝐦. Floch is obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, the one that should have never got away. (wc: 4.3k)

𝐜𝐰 — afab!reader x yandere!ex-boyfriend!Floch Forster. Dead Dove Do Not Eat (very dark oneshot), 18+ smut mdni, mention of previously established relationship (reader and Floch are exes), kidnapping, non-con and kinda turns into dub-con, obsessive yandere, tying up, groping, nipple play, gunplay (he fucks reader with a gun) -> you've been warned; continue at your own discretion.

You awaken slowly, feeling a cool sweat drag along your brow bone as blurred vision becomes sharpened clarity; your heart drops into the pit of your stomach as you notice the cold surrounding you, that biting chill that seems to seep into your bone marrow as the world felt small, the darkness in the room feeling suffocating as if the walls were slowly tiptoeing into your personal space.

Your wrists ached, feeling a throbbing and tight pain with the coarse road tightly wrapped around you like an animal, cutting into your flesh with every slight movement, a wince echoing the cold walls as you twisted them in hopes you could untie them, but of course, you can’t, they’ve been tightened by someone who knows what they’re doing—like someone who has been practising and planning.

Trying to focus, you blinked, but the room just remained in a shrouded cloud of shadow, illuminated only by a weak, silver light of the moon filtering through a high barred window. You could feel how the dust in the room was almost in thick clouds creeping into your lungs, the scent of dampness on the walls as if the room itself had been left to decay for lifetimes, forgotten by time and the living. You tried to sweep every memory, looking at every detail of what you could see outside the bars, trying to think of where you could be. The only possible answer you could come up to was that you were in a cellar in some abandoned building; you didn’t hear anything outside, not even the sound of a rat or bird, so you had to be somewhere far away from your usual dwellings—whoever put you in here knew what they were doing.

Your heart continued to race with that beating rhythm meeting your eardrums, feeling a weight on your shoulders and chest as the reality of the situation was drawing in; this wasn’t just some nightmare, nightmares make your mind shiver, not your heart. Your eyes just kept their shaky gaze at the unfamiliar room, its decrepit and rotting nature with how the walls seemed so empty, but also seemed like they were growing taller and closer.

As your heart continued to pound at the chamber of your ribcage, a low creaking sound from the far end of the room could be heard, pulling your attention into a snapping neck movement; your pulse quickening as the shadowed figure was looming in over you, its figure detaching itself from ambiguity into familiar likeness was making your blood turn to ice. He steps forward, and your heart lurches in your chest with that sudden recognition of who has seized you.

Floch Forster. Your ex-boyfriend and now captor.

He emerges into the pale light the window only allows, his figure towering above you, with his broad shoulders casting a dark and heavy shadow to take away the only light you could bask in. You noted the mess of his auburn hair, once perhaps kept and handsome in the light of day when you saw him, but now in a messy state with how the moonlight catches the edges like a sharp blade. The look in his eyes was only making this grotesque and rotten room feel more decayed as that smirk that was appearing on his lips sucked all the remaining life out of the room and in your consciousness. They trap you along with the tight ropes bound to your flesh, his gaze is cold and calculating as a predator looks at his prey. Once you might have thought of them as perhaps warm and inviting, how his eyes used to remind you of caramel, not only sending a shiver down your spine and making goosebumps appear in fear's wake.

You swallowed the lump that was formed in your throat, the fast of fear sharp on your tongue the moment your mind helped you reach recognition, only managing to let out a soft and exhausted whisper: “I should have known it would be you…”

Of course, you should have known. Floch and you used to be close, lovers on the brink of a whole new journey as man and wife when you accepted his grand on-one-knee gesture, but the more you kept being with him, noticing how his loyalty—once a trait you admired—was something that was ruining him and you with how you became his possession to keep, not his lover to please. The man would just look at you and he always had to do something, if you were out late by a millisecond he was trying to get in your mind and see if you were plotting something behind him; it became exhausting to love him when he sucked all your character out and left you a walking bag of skin and bones.

He never took the break up well, who does? Whenever people say they broke up on good terms, that’s a load of delusional and mature bullshit people latch onto to believe that of course they were good enough, just not the right time, because no one can ever just admit that the relationship was nothing but utter failure, everyone needs to be the good guy in their own story. But Floch took it further than anyone else could, you name it he did it. Constantly sent letters, waiting at the doorstep with flowers, but one thing he never did was promise to change; in his mind why should he change? Every woman wants a man so loyal they go crazy and only think about them… right?

His lips curled at the edges, a smirk that carried no warmth, only the smug satisfaction of a man who had been planning this moment for far too long.

“Should have known,” he echoed as he mocked your fearful tone as he crossed his arms against his chest, his gaze piercing right through you, “any more theatricals you have planned, sweetheart?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but your voice cracked under the pressure of suppressed terror; your mind running a race with your beating heart wanting to explode out and give you a lucky escape from any torture or suffering he was going to inflict upon you, making every morbid imagination run rampant through your freezing bloodstream.

He had you where he wanted you, cowering for him. His presence oozed arrogance as he crouched down and brought your face level to his, his rough fingertips on your chin as he watched you, up so close like your intimate moments in history; only this time, there’s nothing intimate about this, only fearful as his eyes watched you.

“Should have known you say,” he says softly with a false warmth surrounding you with the voice that used to comfort you, “but you didn’t did you? If you’d known you would have changed the locks to your house now, wouldn’t you?”

Your eyes widened as his words hung in the air like a decaying body on a rope, thick and cloying as the room seemed to grow colder and a phantom feeling tightening around your heart, squeezing and releasing it to make you pant under manipulation.

“What… What do you want?” the question weakly slips past your lips, so pitiful and pathetic; you’re supposed to be a soldier, and now you’re cowering to a man. Oh, how you have hit rock bottom.

“What do I want?” he repeats, having fun with how he had you on puppet strings, eyes raking over your form with possessive hunger that just made your skin crawl. “I want you, silly.” You felt an unbearable crushing of anxiety as he spoke to you like it was a normal day when you two used to sit on the sofa, whispering sweet wantings to one another, one this time, what was once sweet was turned bitter and tainted with the cold invasion against tenderness.

“I’ve always wanted you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as if he were claiming a priceless piece of art, marking it as his. “I always proved that to you, with how much I gave you and then… You throw it away just because of a little jealousy. I thought people were supposed to try in relationships… but no, you soon gave up.”

“A little jealousy?” you had an outburst of bewilderment, “you’re seriously downplaying—”

“Oh, how I loved not being able to finish a sentence,” he rolled his eyes in sarcasm and soon shut you up with a cold and metallic feeling in your mouth—a gun.

“Great… Now I can finish,” your eyes continued to widen and your body continued to shake as you felt the ending of life right in front of you, “I want you more than anything. We can work everything out… We were such a lovely couple weren’t we, I know you were scared and got cold feet, but I’ll forgive you, I’ll always forgive you, my sweetheart.” When he had finished whatever theatrical he had been cooking up for however long this plan was brewed up for, the gun soon came out of your mouth, your heart feeling like it had stopped and been restarted by a jolt as he pushed it back into his holder.

“You… You’re… You’re sick,” you managed to spurt out, your voice faint and trembling as if only the shell of your previous self was talking to whoever this man was. This wasn’t Floch, this wasn’t the man you had spent years with and built a love story with; you hated whatever time had done with the Floch you fell in love with, all his warmth and comfort now replaced with cold obsession.

He chuckles with a dangerous and arrogant tone lacing at the end of every inhale, filling the room like a rustle of dead leaves in the graveyard. “Sick?” he echoes in a continuation of his mockery and taunting. “If making you mine again is sick then—” he leans in closer with his lips brushing against your ear “—Then I am extremely sick… For you.” When he whispered that last part, you only felt dread trickle down your spinal cord, feeling like your blood had clotted into a icesickle; and god how you were wishing for that sweet escape than whatever mental torture this was.

His words kept twisting in your gut, so cold and venomous masked in your past lover's voice. Your body kept tensing with panic continuously flowing through you and your mind screaming for a way out, but there was no way out. The room was in the middle of nowhere, the ropes were tight enough to keep a beast chained to its master, and his looming presence was never going to leave you.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a threatening softening to his voice, “I’ll take care of you…soon you’ll see things, my way.”

He steps back, retreating into the shadows from which he came, his presence lingering in the air like the stench of decay. You were alone, bound, and utterly powerless, and terror gnawed at you. But even in the loneliness of the voic, you felt him like an omnipresent being. Floch is watching, no matter where he is, you feel his cold stare… He’s always watching.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You got no sleep when you watched as sunlight crept into the room, making all the dust and mildew stains of the wall visible; oh how you were missing the ambiguity faint moonlight gave, reality was much worse to a terrorised mind that had no room to be creative. You felt the ringing in your ears, and the heavy pain in your temples as you watched the door, knowing he would appear any moment.

You heard the plethora of footsteps upstairs and even near the door at times; it made your heart jump every time you heard the click of his boots on the floor approach nearer, making your body tense up to pray he wasn’t going to come again, and he didn’t for the whole night, but years with Floch you knew he likes to build adrenaline and anticipation within you, knowing he would save his second appearance for the morning—when you’re too exhausted fighting sleep to use any logic or remember anything.

For a moment, you just sat there still like a doll, it wasn’t like you had anything else to do but be one with the dull throb of pain anchoring you and trying to lull you into a sleep, not one of comfort, but one that would make your time here go by quicker; if your consciousness wasn’t around, you wouldn’t have to remember the nightmare, what was unknown to you was like a sinister and unknowing present. But that lull was soon brought to a halt when you heard the familiarity of his clicking boots against the hard floor.

It’s him again.

His footsteps were deliberate, the sound sending a spike of dread through your chest as you follow the vibration of sound from above you, then down the side, then in front of the door, hearing the metallic clanking of keys before that bone-chilling creaking was heard again. His tall frame was towing over yours, in his hands carrying a plate with chipped porcelain clinking faintly as he crossed the room toward you.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says in a voice was is too cheerful for comfort, too saccharine for this decrepit place with a smile that just sends a bone chilling effect through your body. He crouches in front of you, setting the plate carefully on the floor in front of you. Your favourite breakfast, but even if the smell of the food makes your stomach growl and beg, you still feel a mix of uneasy discomfort, not wanting to take it; if he could put you in here, god knows what was in the food.

You stared down at it, your stomach twisting in starvation; you wanted to devour every piece, lick the plate and beg for more, but the logical part that guaranteed your survival every time you ventured out the walls was shouting at you not to eat it.

Floch just watched you with that glint in his eye, expectant. “I brought you breakfast. You should eat. You need your strength.” His voice was soft, almost coaxing, but there was always something lingering underneath the surface when he spoke; something cold and something that made you shiver, turning your insides hard and freezing as ice.

You just looked up at him, hatred bubbling in your chest; you hated how fearful you were of him, but you needed to be afraid, you couldn’t play a hero who could get out of any situation, you needed to find more information. You could tell that—despite the insistent with the gun—he wasn’t going to kill you instantly. Sure, he was capable of hurting you, but he had been planning something, and killing you instantly would be a complete waste of time, but you never know, maybe Floch could have been a time waster.

“Look… I already have you down here, what benefit would it give me to drug your food… I’m just keeping my sweetheart alive.”

With a sudden, sharp, and fluid movement, you lashed your foot out, kicking the plate as hard as you could; watching how the plate skidded across the floor, the food splattering in an arc as the plate flipped and crashed into the far dark corner of the room. All that food was not smeared on the filth of the floor, leaving streaks on the floorboards and it just sat there, making Floch’s face darken in the heavy silence after the plate’s rotation.

His neck spikes toward you, a jagged shadow crossing his face as his jaw tightens, his gaze piercing right through you like a bullet, the creases on his face hardening in its sharp appearance as he looks down on you. But there wasn’t anger, he wasn’t going to lash out at you, no, he would punish you in ways that hurt more than an angry outburst.

“Oh, do you really think that was a smart idea, biting the hand that feeds you?” he asks with a low voice, fury and amusement intermixing with one another in a dance hanging on his elongated syllables. “Rookie mistake.”

You shrunk back instinctively, the rope biting into your wrists as you tried to pull away, but of course, there’s nowhere to go. His face comes closer to yours, and you can make out every detail of his skin, every crease, dark circle, blemish and the intricate clouding streak features on the brown circles of his gaze, feeling his warm breath almost suffocating you. You slightly jumped as you felt his hand caress your cheek, that warmth being familiar, but now it’s tainted; it’s no longer the touch you craved after a long day of training, it’s the touch that will forever live in your nightmares as you watch the intensity in his eyes that much makes your stomach congeal in churning.

“Hm, I guess you just need a push to remember how good we are together,” his voice is unnervingly calm, tension coiling and swirling beneath every single word he uttered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we all need reminders… You’re so forgetful sometimes anyway,” he let out a breath of amusement as his fingers trailed on your jawline, slowly trailing on your neck and collarbone.

Your whole body was screaming at you. Kick him and make a run for it, don’t let him touch you like this, he’s sick and he’ll pay for everything he’s done or whatever he was planning to keep doing, but you just remain there, stuck and still like a deer in headlights—the solider within you now vanished into a cowering girl.

His hands trail on your collarbone, feeling your soft skin underneath his fingertips again; you watch as his pupils swallow the brown colour of his eyes as he intensely stares at your body, letting his fingers take an invitation written by him and move further to the first button in the line of your shirt.

No, he’s not going to… Is he?

All your fears were coming true as you watched how he unbuttoned your shirt, popping each button with just one hand in skill of dexterity but also his craft of timing; he didn’t rip them off, he slowly calculated the pop through each hole in a way that made you pant every time each button came loose until your shirt was wide open, leaving your bra on show as your chest had a quick rise and fall, making his focal point go straight to your breasts.

“Floch… Please… Don’t do this.” You pathetically whimpered out, your gaze started to go misty-eyed.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” that sinister smile would just keep coming back and all you wanted to do was kick it off of him, but your limbs felt like sandbags that were permanently glued to the floor as if Floch commanded it. “You loved it when I used to touch you… Don’t you remember, sweetheart, you used to do crazy when I… did this.” That last word came out like a serpent’s hiss as his fingers plunged into the barrier of lace, feeling his cold digits rub and smooth over your nipple, feeling as your sensitive bud rose and pointed against his fingertips from that familiar touch your body had grown accustomed to over the years; it would always remember his touch, and it wasn’t listening to the rational inner monologue that was running rampant in your psyche, as you hated and wished every curse to fall upon him in karma’s name. But you just remained there, stiff and still.

“Mm.” You quietly reacted as you felt him tweak your perky nipple, making a coil spring into a knot inside your stomach, feeling a rush of heat upon your cheeks.

“Ah, I see… You do remember how much you loved this… You just want to keep acting like you hate it, okay sweetheart, I’ll let you keep up the act… like I’m the bad guy,” that uneasy chuckle escaped his lips as he watched your shaking and anticipating form.

He gave another pinch to your sensitive bud before moving the cups of your bra down and exposing your bare breasts into the cold bite of the room; a hitch in your breath and fogging out into the atmosphere as you felt his slender fingers around the swell of your breasts, making a mist gloss over your eyes as you felt his hands grab and paw at you in a grope. He didn’t look at you, he looked at your body, and you could see every thought and plan that was running and swirling within his inner monologue; watching as he continued to fondle your doughy breasts as the plush of your skin poked out between the gaps of his fingers.

“You’re still so beautiful.”

As he uttered his terrifying compliments you felt his fingers travel down the sides of your waist, and pull down on your pants, watching your legs twitch at the thought that you could maybe escape from him. All he did was look at how they remained glued to the floor.

“You’re not going to kick me… You’re going to lift up and help me take these off… Because you like it,” his fingers continued to pull down from your waistband, “don’t worry sweetheart, no one’s here to judge you… and I for one am certainly not judging… I want you.”

No words from you were needed as your lower half lifted as you scraped your back upwards on the cold wall, letting him drag your pants down from your thighs, past your knees, then flicked off from your ankles; his cock twitched in his pants as he watched your glistening cunt stare back at him once again, that familiar arousal coursing through his body and making that heart pounding sound ring in his ears as blood flowed to between his legs and hardened against his trousers. But he wasn’t going to give the satisfaction your wet and acing hole was anticipating as he watched your inner thighs shake, no, you still needed to be punished after that little ungrateful stunt you pulled. He smirked as he looked at you through his brow, that metallic sound coming back as you heard his gun being pulled out.

“No… Please, I’m sorry I—”

“Shh, shh, shh… I’m not going to hurt you… just trust me,” he elongated every syllable and kept you hanging on each word as you felt the cold metal run down the valley of your breasts, the muzzle at the end of the barrel grazing over your perky blushed nipple. Floch continued to bite his lip, taking in low breaths of amusement as he smirked at your body’s reaction to the cold metal as it started to run down the middle of your stomach, the phallic muzzle then prodding and pocking at your wet lips.

Floch wasn’t trigger happy, he wasn’t going to physically harm you, but what he loved to do was keep you on edge, having the constant question ‘What if he actually does it?’ keep repeating in that mind which he knew was running rampant with every scenario, self curse and insult against him; but your pretty body was still his to play with as he pushed the barrel of his gun inside of you, making your squirm as your tight walls spasmed against the stiff metal. Your lip trembled as your chest rose and fell in a broken shivering pattern in your pants.

“Oh, you’re so beautiful,” he says to your shuddering body and the way you were taking it so well, your body recoiling as you felt a clouded desire permeate throughout your body, pinching your eyes shut as you felt the cold metal be fucked inside of you.

Pure terror washed over you like a tidal wave, and it took all your strength not to sob, but as the gun kept being pushed in and out, in and out, you felt a tortuous desire bubble up inside of you, arousal ignited as you slick coated the gun as you panted for him. Floch—clearly liking the vulnerable position you were in—croached down further to twirl his tongue over your perked-out nipple, taking deep and warm sucks on your sensitive bud as the gun was still held inside you.

“Mmmph… ahh~” You were just a lazy puddle of sounds as you felt the thrusts of terror inside of you, as Floch drew out pain and pleasure as you arched your back further into his mouth, sucking in a sharp gasp as the entire barrel burries itself further inside of you.

“Can you cum for me, sweetheart?” he whispered before rolling his tongue over your chest again, “I wanna see that tight pussy cum for me… Like you used to.”

He gently nippled and sucked harder, hearing the suctioning noises as your pussy sucked in his gun further, feeling shame for getting wet and almost liking the terror that filled you up; he angled it to hit that post inside of you that he learnt very well, looking up and seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head and filling the echoing room with those moans that just made him cum in his pants, feeling his release as he bit down a bit harder of your chest before your clear released escaped out of you and socked his gun.

“Good girl,” he panted out as he moved away from you, slowly removing the gun and leaving your spent hole to want more, to want him. His fingers collected at the bottom of your chin and gently forced it up to who you know: “Now sweetheart, you will get to feel me again, when you have learned not to bite the hand that feeds you… Understood?”

“Understood.”

“There she is, that’s the girl I love.”

taglist: @wintrrxxo @sleazymac-n-cheesy @localkiss

a/n: FLOCH FORSTER CONTENT FINALLY OUT oh my god I've been lowkey obsessing over this man like ooo I love red heads. and before anyone wants to bitch he's a complex and well written character, I don't like everything he does I like his writing, blah blah blah... also if i here bitching f off you were literally warned before the reading content. I am defo gonna be writing more floch and this may or may not be turned into a full series on ao3 in january.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Heat on your skin

Written for the June pop-up challenge of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: summer

Rated: E

Tags: Established relationship; Sunburn; Dom!Steve; Sub!Eddie; Dry humping; Thigh fucking; Lotion as lube; Anal sex; Orgasm denial

Notes: Mickala said "anything you might do in summer" and my brain went "lather your badly sunburnt beau in lotion, then fuck him until he goes cross-eyed". You're all welcome.

“Impressive. I didn't know skin could turn that color.” 

Eddie unburies his sweaty face from the pillow to glower at his boyfriend. Steve is standing beside the bed, topless and perfect. His hair, still damp and disheveled, is alight with golden highlights. His skin is bronzed, a delicate flush blooming on his chest and cheekbones. He's flipping a bottle of lotion in one hand, eyeing Eddie’s shoulders and back. His expression is teetering between horror and fascination. 

“Go ahead,” Eddie grumbles. “Ogle me like I'm some circus freak. Sun-kissed bastard.” 

If the sun kissed Steve, it punched Eddie square in the teeth. Swept out his feet from under him as he went down, then kicked him in the ribs before stepping over his limp body and walking away, laughing at his misery. 

Steve chuckles. The bed dips as he straddles Eddie’s thighs. 

“To be fair, I told you to put on sunscreen. Which you not only refused to do-” 

“Because it's sticky, gross and smells horrible.” 

“But also,” Steve continues. The bottle plops as he uncaps it. “You fell asleep.” 

“And you didn't wake me,” Eddie gripes. “I think we're both to blame, at least a- fuck, what's that?” 

“Aloe,” Steve says. He sets the bottle down on the mattress, then starts spreading the cold gel between Eddie’s shoulders. “It might sting a little, but it'll help. Quit squirming.” 

It doesn't just sting a little, it burns like a bitch. Eddie fists his hands into the pillow and tries taking slow, measured breaths, but can't keep his shoulders from twitching. 

“I said,” Steve rumbles. “Hold still.” 

The touch of his hands stays featherlight, but his stance shifts, trapping Eddie a little more firmly against the mattress. Through the thin fabric of their swim shorts, Eddie can feel Steve’s cock pressing against his thigh. He exhales a long breath, forcing himself to go limp and pliant under those hands. 

“There you go,” Steve hums. “Good boy.” 

Eddie’s own cock twitches against the sheets. 

Steve takes his sweet time with him, working his way down his back. After a while, the burnt skin begins to feel cooler in the wake of his touch. Eddie sighs, letting himself drift on the sweet relief of it - and on the different, more urgent heat that’s building at the base of his spine. Steve notices, because of course he does, the sly little fucker. 

“Shhh, baby,” he soothes. His fingers are painting little circles over Eddie’s hip bones now, brushing the seams of his shorts almost as if by accident. Eddie lets out a shaky moan, and Steve rolls his hips, slow and languid, cock slotting between Eddie’s thighs. “Let me make you feel good, yeah?” 

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. And if it comes out more whimper than word? And if he sounds all desperate and pathetic, positively wrecked even though they’re both not even fully naked? So what? He’s red as a lobster, his skin will probably start coming off in flakes by tomorrow, and his perfect greek god of a boyfriend is slowly fucking his thighs through their shorts. He thinks he deserves to be cut some slack here. “Stevie, I’m not sure I can do that with my back. I can hardly even move, man.” 

“Told you, Eds,” Steve murmurs, and shifts his weight again. Eddie gasps as his shorts are yanked down, all the way to the hollows of his knees. “Don't want you to move.” 

Sun-warmed lips trace the base of his spine, only to be replaced by Steve’s fingers again, slick and wet with lotion. 

“And I'm not gonna touch your back,” Steve promises, voice tender and soothing as a caress. One of those large hands settles on Eddie’s hip. “I'm just gonna hold you in place like this and fuck you into this mattress, nice and slow. Would you like that?” 

“Yes,” Eddie sighs, as Steve starts to carefully open him up with one hand. “Oh God, Stevie, yes, please.” 

“Thought you'd say that,” Steve chuckles. “Always so greedy for me, aren't you?” 

How could he not be? How could he ever be anything but greedy for the care and attention that Steve showers him with? How could he ever be anything but desperate for the slow, delicious burn of being fucked open on those deft fingers. How could he ever do anything else but moan and shiver and beg for Steve’s cock as he finally lines himself up, grabbing Eddie’s hips on either side.

“Y’know,” he mutters as, after what feels like a beautiful eternity, Steve begins to move inside of him. He's starting to feel light-headed and tingly all over, and the words come out a bit slurred. “If this is what I get for forgetting my sunscreen, I might do it more often.” 

“Oh?” Steve laughs, all indulgent amusement. He snaps his hips sharply, once, before resuming his languid rhythm. Eddie moans as the motion squeezes at his hard, leaking dick, trapped between his own body weight and the mattress. “You sure about that?” 

“Huh?” Eddie wheezes. He's dizzy from the heat and drunk on Steve's touch, and he can’t fucking think straight. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Steve says, and picks up his pace. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath as the grip of those hands tightens, pulling him down a little deeper on Steve's cock with each thrust. “I said that I was gonna fuck you. I didn't say anything about letting you cum, did I?” 

“What the fuck?” Eddie squawks. “Oh no, Stevie, please, you're killing me here.” 

Steve tuts at him. 

“Don't be so dramatic, honey,” he scolds. The bed springs creak in time with his thrusts. “If you can take a little sunburn, blue balls won't kill you either, right?” 

And maybe the sun fried his head, and maybe Steve is slowly turning his brain into goo with each new thrust of his cock. The point is, Eddie can't really find the will to argue. 

[wonderlanddreamer]

The Rook

— Chapter One

Summary: Reeling from a recent loss and seeing no light at the end of the tunnel, Tommy drives with no end in sight. But what happens when he accidentally happens upon a quiet little pub and a barmaid with a smile like sunshine?

The biting wind whipped at Tommy Shelby’s coat, offering little protection against the icy despair that gnawed at his soul. Birmingham, usually a city pulsating with his ambition, felt suffocating. The weight of his decisions, the ghosts of his past, pressed down with the force of a collapsing mine shaft. He’d stared into the abyss, and it had stared back, promising oblivion – a welcome respite from the ceaseless turmoil.

He’d almost taken it. Almost yielded to the seductive whisper of darkness. The pistol, cold and heavy in his pocket, was a dreary reminder of how close he’d come. He’d driven aimlessly until the city lights faded, replaced by the inky blackness of the countryside.

Then, a single, flickering light emerged – a small, unassuming pub nestled beside a winding road. Its sign, barely visible in the gloom, read: The Rook. Curiosity, or perhaps a perverse instinct for self-preservation, compelled him to stop.

The building was low-slung and weathered, its stone walls stained by time. Mismatched window panes, steamed with condensation, hinted at warmth within, a contrast to the chill that permeated his bones. He hesitated, his hand instinctively resting on the pistol. The thought of seeking solace, of finding even a fleeting moment of peace, felt anomalous.

But bone-deep weariness, the crushing weight of his burdens, finally won. He pushed open the heavy oak door, the bell above it jingling a discordant welcome. The air inside was thick with the scent of stale beer, wood smoke, and something else… something indefinitely comforting.

A single barmaid, wiping down the counter with an expert hand, looked up. Rosemary King, with warm brown eyes and a kind smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, her name was embroidered on her apron in faded script. The bar itself was a rich, dark wood, polished to a high sheen, but cluttered with personal touches – a small vase of wildflowers, a framed sepia photograph weighted down by a miniature porcelain cat. Everything felt carefully tended, cherished, and loved.

The pub itself was small, cosy, radiating warmth and a sense of belonging. Mismatched chairs, some worn leather, others sturdy wood, were grouped around small, round tables, each bearing a unique chipped teacup or a faded photograph tucked into a cracked frame. The walls, painted a comforting cream, were adorned with family portraits – generations of smiling faces peering down from faded frames, a tapestry of lives lived and loved within these walls. A grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging rhythmically, ticked away the seconds. The scent wasn't just of woodsmoke and damp earth; a hint of baking bread and something sweet, perhaps apple pie, also lingered, enhancing the homely atmosphere. It felt less like a public house and more like a haven; a family's carefully kept secret.

Tommy pulled up a stool at the bar, the worn leather surprisingly soft beneath him, and stared straight forwards. He didn’t order anything, just sat, lost in the shadowy depths of his own thoughts, the warmth of the fire a meagre counterpoint to the storm raging within him.

“Evening,” the barmaid greeted, her voice as welcoming as her smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” Tommy replied gruffly, his tone sharper than intended. He wasn’t here for pleasantries.

She didn’t flinch at his brusqueness. Instead, she nodded and turned to retrieve a glass, her movements graceful and unhurried. “Coming right up,” she said, pouring the amber liquid with an expert hand. As she slid the glass towards him, she added, “Not many find their way to The Rook. You must be looking for some solace.”

Her perceptiveness startled Tommy. It was as if she saw right through the hardened exterior he wore like armour. “Something like that,” he muttered, taking a sip of the whiskey. It burned, but it was a welcome sensation—a reminder that he was still here, still feeling, despite the darkness that lingered at the edges of his mind.

Rosemary leaned against the bar, her demeanour open and unassuming, exuding a warmth that seemed to soften the sharp edges of the world. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. We’re not much for noise around here.”

For reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, Tommy found himself unwinding, if only slightly. Her presence was soothing, a gentle balm on his troubled mind. She seemed to offer a refuge, however temporary, from the turmoil within. “You been here long?” he asked, more to keep the conversation going than out of genuine curiosity.

“Long enough to know the regulars and their stories,” she replied with a soft laugh. “But you’re new. What’s your story?”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw no judgement in her gaze—only an earnest interest that was both unnerving and oddly comforting. In her eyes, he saw a flicker of understanding, as if she recognized the weight he carried. “Just passing through,” he said, deflecting, as was his habit.

“Well, Mr. Passing Through, I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” Rosemary said, a hint of playfulness in her tone. There was no pressure in her words, only a gentle encouragement, as if she truly wished for his peace. She straightened up and moved to attend to another customer, leaving Tommy alone with his thoughts and the unexpected warmth of her smile lingering in the air.

He sat for a long while, nursing his whiskey, the silence of The Rook a balm to his turbulent thoughts. Rosemary had checked on him twice, her kind smile a silent reassurance. He hadn't spoken much, but her presence, her quiet efficiency, had woven a thread of calm through the chaos within him. He couldn't articulate why, only that the pub's warmth had invaded him, a welcome intrusion he knew he'd need regularly.

He pushed himself up from his chair, the worn leather creaking a soft protest. He felt…lighter. The weight hadn’t vanished entirely, the ghosts of his past still whispered, but their voices were muted, dulled by the warmth he’d found within those four walls. The pistol, still heavy in his pocket, felt less like a solution and more like a forgotten burden.

He approached the bar, and Rosemary looked up, her brown eyes questioning. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, the gesture acknowledging her unspoken kindness. He placed a couple of shillings on the counter, more than the drink cost.

"Thank you," he rasped, his voice rough from disuse.

Rosemary smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that effortlessly reached her eyes. "Anytime."

Tommy stepped back out into the night, the cold air no longer biting, but bracing. The city lights in the distance no longer felt suffocating, but beckoned. He walked to his car, the decision to go home solidifying with each step. The Rook, and the unexpected peace he’d found there, had given him the strength he so desperately needed. He wasn't cured, not by a long shot, but the abyss had receded, at least for now, replaced by a faint, flickering hope. The drive home was quiet, the night a canvas of unshed shadows. He would face his problems; for tonight, home was enough.

[naomikozura]

Playing with Fire: Prologue

Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Fem!Reader (Criminal)

Trope: Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Romance

Warnings: strong language, harassment, fraud, abandonment, bullying, mention of violence, poverty, mention of kidnapping (mentioned as a worry), (Let me know if I missed any!)

WC: 5.9K

Summary: Weak, poor, bottom of the barrel, that's all you'll ever be. Forced to live a life on the street only to be swept away and for some reason have the odds of meeting Gotham's most infamous Vigilante's sidekick.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

Prologue

The nights this year had gotten colder than they had been the past few years. There had been something that went around Gotham the past few weeks, the sense of fear had risen the past few months, there hasn’t been anything you were more sure of. It seemed that crime rates had gone down this holiday season and that could probably be thanks to the amazing duo that was making more appearances as of late. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so safe in this horrid city.

The skyline seems to illuminate the city in a beautiful way, especially since the city seemed to die down so it was the only sign of life during the late hours of the night. You looked over the skyline and wondered if there could be a day you could afford to live in one of those beautiful buildings, to not move around from backyard to backyard or sneaking into hotels just to have a place to sleep at night.

It wasn’t easy being completely alone in a city like this, especially not as a 14 year old, it was absurd and dangerous. You had to find your own means to survive and more times than not, it was not the easiest thing to do. Staying up all night out of fear of being abducted, or spending afternoons going hungry, or not being able to sneak your clothes into the washers at the laundromat. You could find ways to keep up your appearances to make it seem like you weren’t at the absolute bottom of what was Gotham City, but in the end, that was exactly what you were.

Bottom of the barrel. A nobody.

You grabbed the small bag that was next to you and found your way to the door that led to the top of the building. Opening it, and going down the stairs, you managed to grab a key to one of the rooms in the hotel from the maids that were on the fifth floor. You had a way of perfecting the art of scamming your way into hotels so that you didn’t have to spend the night on the street or in someone’s backyard during the cold months of the year. Gotham seemed to bring in as much snow as New York does every year and being outside when the weather was at freezing level wasn’t something you were exactly looking forward to for the third year in a row.

You slid the key into the slot and pushed the door open. Setting down your belongings on the bed, you laid back and let out a breath, letting yourself relax in a way you hadn’t been able to in a long time. You grabbed the dirty clothes and put them into the small washing machine that was inside the unit and stripped down the current clothes you were wearing so you’d be able to shower. Having a limited wardrobe was nice, you never had to struggle on what to wear but also sucked since you wore the same exact thing every single day.

You let the warm water run down your body, your hair becoming damp from the stream that was hitting it. It felt nice to be able to shower and not worry about the cruelties happening outside for once, at least for tonight you could pretend you weren’t some street kid with no future.

The past three years were difficult for you. After you ran away from the orphanage, you found yourself on the streets of Gotham, fending for yourself and doing anything possible to just survive. You found ways to scam hotels by stealing key cards and sneaking into the hotel offices just to ‘access’ the system to book your room under someone rich in Gotham so that you couldn’t be caught sneaking in. It took about two years to truly perfect the art but it became muscle memory after a while. You hadn’t been caught since. Now, you had a flash drive you'd stolen that could connect to the computers and automatically do the work for you.

You felt the hot water burn on your skin in a satisfying way, something that seemed to be a luxury for you. It wasn’t often you could come in and be able to shower since your hotel scams could only be used so often to avoid being caught. You turned the water off and stepped out, you started drying your hair and decided to turn on the TV for a while, the first channel being the Gotham City News.

You turned the volume up and continued to dry your hair, taking your clothes and putting them in the dryer, only leaving you in your undergarments and a robe that was in the suite. The news rambled a lot over politics and the businessmen in Gotham but you could care less really, especially since the majority of the millionaires didn’t care about anyone beneath them, especially not people like you.

You heard the main reporter start bringing up the same headline, the masked vigilante in black and his perfect little sidekick. Your eyes looked back at the TV to see blurry photos of the two standing on a building, off guard, but it still felt posed. You felt a sort of resentment towards the two, but also an unexplainable trust in them. They helped keep Gotham safe, but you wondered if they truly cared about the little people in Gotham, like you or any other orphan.

You turned the TV off before getting into bed and falling asleep, hoping tomorrow would bring a new beginning to your seemingly repetitive life. You wish you could just disappear, never be seen again. Get on a plane and just disappear.

For now, the thought can only be alive in your head, hoping one day it could become a reality for you.

The streets buzzed with life, businessmen taking their morning commutes to the downtown estates and taxis flooding the streets causing traffic for all the early morning people. It wasn’t rare to see people rushing to get to work and finish out the week before going off to their second lives on the streets and nightclubs in Gotham. Businessmen in speakeasies cheating on their wives, city officials betting money on illegal races or gambling with their lives for an adrenaline high. That was all this city was built on, the rush, the gamble of life. People cared too much about money, power, drugs, sex, and getting to be as secular as possible. The gamble was worth it all in the end.

It wasn’t a secret to those on the streets that these people were in connections with the powerful drug lords in Gotham. The only people who seemed to turn a blind eye were the actual people who could maintain a regular schedule, no one below them could give a fuck about what truly happened during Gotham’s day to day, it was at night that everything would come out. Skeletons would be pushed into the open, the ghosts of the past, strenuous addictions, and life ending secrets. The night life of Gotham would bring out even the toughest of peoples’ true selves.

You walked down the street down to downtown, hoping to find some new clothes at a small shop that was decently cheap for Gotham’s standards. You couldn’t stand the swarms of people that came and went, pretentious high profile rats who dressed in fancy clothes to put up an act for the outside world. You were sick of dealing with people who acted like they were better than everyone. You wish you could meet a normal person, just one.

You walked past some of the buildings and made it to the center of downtown and walked by a group of people who were leaning on the walls by the alley, reeking of cigarette smoke, who decided today would be the day to test your patience.

“Hey, little girl, wanna give us a smile?”, one of the gross looking men said.

They wore suits and had their hair nicely done, just another typical businessman in this wretched city. You kept walking, hoping they would leave you alone.

“Hey, don’t you hear us talking to you?”, another one barked out, grabbing your arm and turning you around.

“Get your filthy hands off of me.”, you bit back.

Although you lived on the streets, you always managed to find ways to keep up with your personal hygiene. Scamming hotels was the only way that was possible, and you knew your appearance would attract attention. You knew you caught men's attention, you were a young female living in a city full of pretentious, uptight, privileged people.

“Oh, come on, loosen up sweetheart. We just wanna see that beautiful smile”

“And I said, get your filthy fucking hand off of me!”, you pulled your hand, hoping to get it out of his grip. You weren’t strong, you were intelligent, sly but physically strong enough to fight a guy twice your size and age was a whole other story.

“Stop being such a bitch, you aren’t pretty enough to be talking to us that way, cunt.”, the guy grabbing you said, the shit you had to deal with was revolting.

Your heart was beating in your chest, you hadn’t ever been grabbed like this before, you didn’t know exactly how to react to this situation other than trying to come off as rude as possible. You knew there wasn’t a way to get out of this situation other than hoping you had enough energy to run for your life.

You pulled your arm back, quickly, punching the guy in the nose, ducking under the other two guys’ arms and running out of the alley they pulled you into. You heard them yell and try to go after you. You didn’t look back and kept running, crossing the street and hearing the passing taxis honking and cursing at you. You bumped into people but kept going until you made it to the other side of the city. Your lungs were burning in your chest, you had ran for 20 minutes without stopping and you felt exhausted.

You looked up and noticed you found your way to one of the schools in the area. You saw the engraving on the stone plate outside, Gotham Academy.

You saw the students inside socializing, a tug in your chest, wishing you could have a normal life like that. They had rich parents, everything they could ever ask for, and yet, that was something you could never have. You tried catching your breath and you heard a voice next to you.

You turned around and looked at the courtyard. A guy, who was a bit taller than you, held out a water bottle.

“Need some water?”, you stared at him, unsure if you should accept the offer. Your trust issues seemed to always win over the internal debate between who to trust and who to avoid.

“No.” you said sharply.

“You just seem out of breath, so I figured it might help.”, he continued.

You looked at him, then down at the bottle. You ignored him and picked your bag off the floor, and started to walk away.

“Hey!” you heard him yell, couldn’t he just leave it?

“I said no”, you turned around and were met with his chest. You looked up slightly, his eyes looking into yours, green eyes, to be exact.

“No, that’s fine, but uh, you have a bruise on your arm.”, you looked at the evident bruise, you pulled your sleeve down to try and cover it and found yourself growing self-conscious.

“It'll heal.”, you answered lamely.

You turned and kept walking, ignoring the boy who, for some reason, found you pitiful enough to try and give you charity. You weren’t a charity case and you refused to let some pretentious, rich pretty boy try and help you. Your dignity refused to let you.

You couldn’t help but feel like the whole world was out to get you. Maybe it was trauma, maybe it was distrust, regardless you wanted to rely on no one and be your own person.

You decided the path of isolation a long time ago, and there would not be anything to stop you.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, you got caught at one of the hotels by the staff and decided to make a run for it but ended up getting tackled by one of the cops that had been on duty resulting in a bloody nose and a sprained ankle. They had called the GCPD to come in to take you to the precinct since you were a minor. You were asked some questions and were enrolled into a foster care program.

You felt a kick in your stomach, going to a pity family was the last thing you wanted, but you figured you could benefit from it. You spent the majority of the past three months in the foster shelter, later, a high class family took you in, claiming they wanted to help you, but you knew this would all be to make themselves look good in front of the other elite families in Gotham.

You were taken in a limousine, a black vehicle that would be worth twenty times anything you could ever dreamed of owning. The couple showed you to your room inside the manor, the family butler placing a new change of clothing and a robe on the bed.

You couldn’t help but feel anger dwelling inside of you, or the spitefulness of having someone take you in just to give themselves a charitable outlook. You would be known as the street orphan who got adopted by the rich and noble elite in hopes to provide a better life for them. It was pitiful, it was aggravating. You despised it.

Even so, you stayed. You stayed and prepared for the day you could leave this place. Training to keep your strength, using the technology to polish your intellect, preparing for every scenario. You always left a bag packed under the bed, a change of clothes ready and enough money to help you get food at any restaurant for a week.

It was more than enough for you to get out of Gotham and find a way to change your life entirely.

Nothing seemed to be more romanticized in your head than jumping on that plane and flying away to another part of the world and forgetting the cards of life you had been dealt.

Even so, you knew that leaving while being underage would be the most difficult part. You had no passport, barely enough money to start a new life somewhere else. All the possibilities came down to long term thoughts, though you only had short term solutions.

Your dreams of flying across the world would have to be postponed until you were more able, more of age, and more financially stable to pursue the dreams of flying to the ends of the earth to escape the wretched place you knew as home.

The goal was to leave this life, to leave Gotham.

Freedom from poverty, from abuse, from everything.

Even after you tried to escape reality, you heard the loud bell inside the academy ringing out, signaling time for classes to end. You grabbed your bag full of books and brushed the hair out of your face. You walked through the halls, trying to reach the exit doors and head home. You hated that your… ‘parents’ enrolled you into such a revolting school. A private academy with only the elite children of Gotham that were set up for success and nothing to worry about other than getting their trust funds once their parent’s retired.

You pushed through the doors and headed down the steps before you heard a group of girls sitting on the bench stare at you and start laughing.

“Is that…. Is that her?”

“Yeah, I heard that they took her off the streets after she got arrested”

“Who let a person like that into the academy? Have we started going downhill?”

Your eyes twitched at the comments of the people around you. You just so happened to be enrolled into the academy half way through the school year, so keeping a low profile would not be the easiest thing since you were the talk of the halls as the ‘new girl’. You had only been going to the academy for a few weeks, but trouble still found its way to you regardless of never talking to anyone.

You hated Gotham's elite, but hated their pretentious children even more.

You kept walking, but suddenly felt yourself losing your balance and falling to the ground. Your bag fell with you and you heard snide laughter off to the side. You lifted your head and turned behind you, looking up at a tall, blonde haired guy that had one of the girls from earlier standing next to him.

“Looks like you still enjoy picking trash off the ground, streetrat.”, he commented. The girl, presumably his girlfriend, laughed before pointing at you and your disheveled state.

I swear if they don’t leave me alone I will break her nose.

You quietly ignored them and stood up, ignoring the comments they were making, it was better for you to just walk away.

You brushed yourself off then felt a hand grab your arm, “Hey, I’m talking to you, street rat”, you heard the guy’s deep voice call to you.

You turned around, your fist already made, but not before you felt another hand weigh down your arm. You turned around and saw another guy, taller than you but shorter than the first guy that had grabbed you. He looked like he was glaring down the instigator.

“Now, let’s calm down, yeah?”, he said deeply. His eyes intently squinted hoping that the other guy would let you be. Who the hell was this guy and why is he trying to interfere in something that doesn’t include him. You felt a sort of annoyance growing inside of you, but before you could speak up, the taller guy backed away, telling his girlfriend to go with him.

“You’re lucky I don’t have time to waste on charity cases, Todd.”, and with that he left.

You wanted to punch the guy in the face and break his nose so badly but felt the anger leave you when Todd turned to say something to you. “Sorry about that, you okay? It looks like your arm might bruise up”, you looked at him and turned to grab your bag and started to walk away.

“Hey!”, he yelled after you, catching up to your speedy form. “You’re walking away again?”

Again? What did he mean by again? You turned around and met him eye to eye.

“Who are you? What do you want?”, you asked him with a sting in your tone. He looked at you with surprised eyes.

“I remember you, from a few months ago. I offered you water.”

You stared at him, confusion setting in, but you also replayed that memory in your head. Those green eyes weren’t something to just forget, you remembered how nice they looked the first time you saw them. Regardless, he wasn’t relevant enough to you to entertain the conversation any more.

“No, sorry. I think you got the wrong person.”

You said quickly before going off, ignoring the boy who just helped you from attracting more trouble. You were sure he was probably nice, but your lack of trust in others overcame any sense of truth that you could face in becoming friends or even acquaintances with anyone.

Never trust the elite.

The night was cold, it wasn't winter anymore, but the spring hadn’t settled in entirely so the crisp air of the night would entangle you in a cold front that almost seemed too much to manage while you sat on the roof of the building. You managed to sneak out after the family had gone to sleep. You were wearing a sweater and a pair of black pants.

You overlooked the city and hated the fact that there was so much happening down in the streets, it was dangerous for you to be out in the city this late but now that you had money, well the family’s money, you could afford a small bottle of pepper spray. You had your legs up to your chest, your arms wrapping around your knees and your chin resting on them. You tried to relax against the cold, but it found itself harder to do with each minute.

“It’s a bit chilly to be out here isn’t it?”

Your heart stopped in your chest and you turned around to look at who was speaking behind you, one hand in your pocket, ready to use the pepper spray if need be. You saw the person behind the voice step forward.

Tall, muscular, black domino mask on with the signature red and green suit, the yellow ‘R’ evident on his chest. He had dark hair and his physique made him appear a bit older but still seemed like he would be close to your age for sure.

“Shouldn’t you be with the Batman or did you finally get granted privileges?”, you muttered sarcastically.

“That’s funny, but I do go solo sometimes, get a feel of the streets.”, he walked over and stood next to where you were sitting. You felt him sit down with his legs hanging off the ledge of the building. “What are you doing up here? Don’t you have a curfew?”

“I snuck out. Don’t necessarily care what the family tells me.”, you answered him flatly, trying to get out of the conversation as fast as possible.

“I see, well, I’m Robin, what’s your name?”, this guy seemed way too talkative and it kind of bothered you. You just wanted to sit here in silence and this little sidekick had to come up and try to be your friend.

“If I tell you, will you leave me alone?”, you mentally begged him to say yes, wanting to be alone.

“Depends”

You glared at him, “Depends on what?”, you asked rudely.

“Depends on how this conversation goes.”

“(Y/n).”, you said through clenched teeth, your jaw tightening in annoyance.

He smiled at you before looking back over the city. “That’s a nice name”. He said before he pulled out a small bag. He handed it to you and you looked at it before meeting his eyes again.

“It’s a hand warmer”, you stared for a few seconds, examining the small bag before grabbing it from him and giving a small thank you. The both of you sat in silence, but for some odd reason, it didn’t feel uncomfortable or awkward. It felt normal, neutral, and calm.

“Why are you up here alone?”, his voice almost seemed like a whisper, before you turned your head looking at him, your hair blowing in your face. “It helps me escape.”. He looked at you, not saying anything while you continued.

“I don't have to think about the world down there, I can just escape reality for a while.”, you felt him looking at you as your eyes scanned the silent city below, hearing a few loud noises every few seconds. “This city hasn’t been kind to me, so being up here lets me escape that I live in this shithole.”

“Would you leave if you could?”, he asked curiously.

“Yeah, I would. If I could hop on a plane and disappear from this city forever I would do it in a heartbeat.”, you felt as though you answered too quickly, but you found happiness in your answer. "The goal has always been to leave."

“Yeah, me too.”

You looked at him and there was something that seemed to flood the air, and right when the moment seemed too perfect to be ruined, you heard a small radio signal. It was probably his cue to leave.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”, he apologized and you just smiled at him, waving a small goodbye. He went to jump off the building before he turned back to you and smiled. “I hope we can meet again soon, (Y/n).”.

And just like that, he was gone. A part of you was glad he was, but another strange part had hoped he could stay a little longer. For the first time since your first days in this city, you felt normal and at peace with having a conversation with someone.

You felt like there was normalcy to your life.

The next few weeks passed the exact same way, you would go to the rooftops, and almost like it was planned, the miraculous boy wonder would show up to converse and joke around. You were still cold towards him, not opening up or saying too much the first few times but after a week or two, you slowly started to open up. He helped give you a sense of peace in your life, you could slowly start trusting him. He would sometimes bring you things and would tell you about all the things he wished he could do once he was old enough to do them.

You both made a pact to pack everything once you were both old enough and leave Gotham for good. Thinking of all the places in the world to visit and being able to go out and see better parts of the world.

The both of you had grown to like each other a lot and create a sort of friendship that was unconventional, but exciting. You had similar interests, same humor, and both equally sarcastic and smartasses.

There was one night when the two of you were talking about how you both grew up. He told you how he lived on the streets and that he got taken in by Batman when he tried stealing the wheels off the Batmobile when he was 12. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing because who in their right mind would steal from Batman?

It was a nice story to laugh over and he told you about his training and how he got lucky to be able to get taken in by someone who genuinely wanted to help him. Your heart softened at his comment because it made you think about the couple who adopted you. You resented them but they had been nothing but good to you, they provided for you and because of them you had food to eat every night, new clothing, got an education, and yet your traumatized heart refused to trust them. Yet, here you were with a stranger you had only met about three months ago and already trusting them more than the people who took you off the streets.

It didn’t make sense but you tried to make it make sense in your head. You let him in on your life on the streets and you didn’t even know what he looked like, let alone his real name. There was comfort in the mystery for you, so it progressed into something more for you, wondering if the same had happened to him.

The two of you stood on the ledge of the building, you heard him mess with something in his belt and extend his hand out to you. You took it and he grabbed his grappling hook before grabbing you tightly, due to his training, you were light enough for him to carry. The wind blew in your face and your heart was pounding through your chest, the adrenaline flooding your body. He laughed out into the night and you followed. He used his feet to crash through the window of an old building and rolled to where you landed on top of him.

You looked down at him, trying to catch your breath, smiling and laughing along with him. You felt him raise his hand up and push your hair behind your ear, your smile still evident on your lips. He smiled back at you, and leaned himself up, the hot air filling the room and in a moment, you felt your whole world come to a stop. He had leaned into you, kissing your lips, and you pressed into him. Your first kiss being shared with a stranger, but was he really? You could consider him a friend now, maybe even more than that if he’d let you.

You both pulled apart and he smiled at you.

Yeah, there was something there.

The nights continued, for months and they were never boring but filled with laughs and stolen kisses. It made you happy. He spent your 15th birthday with you, bought you a small gift, a necklace with a green stone, he said the color reminded him of you and it brought out the color in your (e/c) eyes. There was one night in particular that was forever engraved into your heart. Robin had come back to the rooftop, you sitting by the ledge waiting for him.

“(Y/n), I have to tell you something.”, he seemed frantic, like he was nervous about something. You felt your heart start beating faster, expecting the absolute worst. “W-what is it?”

“I know that we.. we’ve been..seeing each other, and I know you feel the same things that I do.”, your heart couldn’t stop pounding, you were sure he could hear it. “I want to tell you who I am, beneath the mask, beneath the Robin suit. I want us to be able to go out together. I just need to do something else first.”, Your heart seemed to stop. He wanted to tell you his identity? He wanted to be serious with you, take it further. You silently nodded, not knowing what to say at that moment.

“I’ll be gone for a few days, so don’t think I’m abandoning you. It shouldn’t be more than a week, but I promise, when I come back, we’ll get a real date. You’ll know me as… me. I promise, wait for me.”, you looked at him and nodded, your heart filling with content at his words.

He grabbed your face and kissed you and you kissed back.

The moment couldn’t be more perfect than this.

You waited like you promised. You let a week pass by before you started going back to the rooftop again. You would go every night hoping that he would be back from his trip, not exactly knowing when he would be back. The first night passed and he didn’t show up. Then the second, and still a no show.

You were convinced he got held up, maybe his trip was longer than a week and he just got confused.

The third night, then the fourth, fifth, sixth, tenth, a month. 2 months. 3 months. Nothing.

Your heart felt broken, he had promised he would come back.

Why wasn’t he coming?

Did his trip get delayed?

Did something happen?

Why wasn’t he here?

Once it got down to six months, you stopped going back to the roof. On the last day, you stood on the ledge, staring down at the city below you, your mind in shambles wondering where he was. He left. He said he'd come back but he hasn't.

Was this the consequence of trusting him?

Did he realize he didn't want to be around you anymore?

You closed your eyes, lifting a hand to grasp the necklace he'd given you, your chest heavy as you felt the tears pour down your cheeks. Was this the world's cruel way of telling you you'd never get anything good in your life?

Your heart and your trust were completely broken, all because you trusted someone who never came back.

[deesblanketfort]

Sick and regressed ☆´ˎ˗ ︶︶︶ 

Well, while I'm writting this I'm bedridden (likely with covid), and for some reason I really want to spend my sick days regressed and take something good out of it at least.

Getting comfy!

🧦: Pajamas time! Is there anything more regressor-coded than cozy printed pajamas, an animal kigurumi or onesie? I'd say no. And since I'm staying on bed, I'm surely wearing those all day long.

🛏️: Bed setup! When you're bedridden, a bed table ends up being really useful in case you want to do stuff that requires a flat surface. If you have one of those, lucky you! I, however had to improvise with a smooth wooden board standing on my lap, therefore any kind of long, resilient and flat surface can do the job just fine.

🧦: Blanket fort! Alternatively, if you're able to roam around your house or have someone to help, you can build a blanket fort over your bed or a comfy surface to stay in!

🛏️: Sick gear! Runny nose? Bring tissues. Got a fever? Make a cold damp towel for your forehead. Tummy aches or localized pain? Make a hot water compress. And make sure to keep track of the meds you're taking, of course.

🧦: Get your plushies! Since what I got is very contagious close contact with anyone is out of the table, but my stuffies are completely immune to sickness and ready to cuddle! (I'll have to wash them afterwards to disinfect them though)

Games and activities!

🎮: Viddy games! Either on computer, phone or a console (handheld preferred), videogames are perfectly stationary and don't require much movement from your part.

🖍️: Table games! Table games are also stationary and can be played right from your bed if you have a bed table, although most games need other people to play with you, your plushies can serve this purpose.

🎮: Play pretend! Playing pretend can be limited when you're bedridden, but there are some scenarios you're perfectly able to do! Such as pretending you're a shop owner and your stuffies are the clients, pretending your stuffies are your doctors/nurses taking care of you, or vice versa. Things like tea parties and pretend schools are still on the table!

🖍️: Arts and crafts! Being sick won't stop me from wanting to draw and color, since I can do it from my bed anyways! Aside from drawing and coloring, I might as well do some collage and paper craft, just might need help to clean up afterwards.

🎮: Cartoon time! No better opportunity to (re)watch your favorite cartoons than when you're sick, bedridden and bored, right? And since this brings me comfort, here are some cartoon episodes that center on being sick: Bumpy and the Wise Old Wolfhound (Bluey), Steve Gets The Sniffles (Blues Clues), Bear Flu (We Bare Bears), Doctor Daisy M.D (Mickey Mouse Clubhouse), Arthur's Chicken Pox (Arthur)

Snack time!

🍼: Hot drinks! Specially if you're with a cold or a sore throat in general, hot drinks such as hot cocoa and tea are perfect for warming up an icky throat.

🧁: Spices for a sore throat! Like mint, honey, ginger and lemon. I'm sure there's plentiful of drinks you can make using these!

🍼: Give preference to healthy snacks and meals! Like fruits and veggies, yogurt, noodles, soup or sandwiches. Bonus points if they're arranged in a fun shape (animal, plant, star, etc)!

🧁: Keep your appetite in check! It's pretty common to lose your appetite when sick, therefore I'd say it's ideal to keep your meals smaller (and sometimes eat more often) than usual.

Taking care of yourself!

🧸: Stay hydrated! Water is always good, and if you're sick you likely need it more than usual, drinking from sippy cups, baby bottles, straw cups or any kind of fun themed cup is usually more fun and encouraging than boring adult cups.

🧶: Keep your temperature in check as well! Besides from checking if you have a fever ever so often, it's also good to keep yourself warm with blankets and heating if your body feels cold, or alternatively, turning on fans and using lighter sheets instead of blankets if you're too hot.

🧸: Beware the germs! If you got a contagious disease (like me), make sure to properly wash and disinfect anything you bring to your mouth such as pacis, teethers, bottles and cutlery before and after using them. Plus, it's important to wear a mask or ask others to wear a mask when near you as well.

🧶: Resting is key! Some of these days I'm too tired to do anything above, and I'd rather just nap the whole day, and that's okay! Sometimes being sick means not being able to do anything at all and it's important to have your extended napping time to get better.