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nanivinsmoke · 7 months ago

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✩ Both Ain’t Shit

dilf!toji x fem!reader

♪ tender was the kiss when you held me captive….

he lying to me im lying to him…. ♪

warnings : features suguru geto & utahime, cheating, toji is married and has a child, age gap (late 20s late 30s), angst, cursing, break up-sex, mutual affair, slut shaming, pussy eating, blow job, face sitting, creampies, squirting, half a happy ending (?), mentions gojo and shoko, etc….

✩ notes: wc ~ 4.9k, finally gave yall a oneshot with a plot! and i seen the results for the poll for lost without you and im getting to it, dont yall worry—i got yall for real.

lying. I guess that’s what this whole relationship was made of. nothing but lies.

that’s how you ended up here, lying to him.

you hated liars, but this lie just felt so good.

“sh-sh…shit toji! please, don’t st—“ your eyes rolled back and you grinded on his face, cumming all over his scarred lips; as he sucked on your clit like he was an old person that found some butterscotch.

your legs shook, his lips still attached to your sensitive clit, working you to another orgasm; but much to your dismay his phone started to ring. you groaned and quickly removed yourself from his face, knowing exactly who was calling him at this hour.

grunting when he sat up, the older man reached and answered his phone, watching you as you began to get dressed. “yeah baby, im coming home right now….i'll pick up some diapers—alright, love you too.” he hung up, eyes focused on as you struggled to pull your light blue jeans over your ass.

“i can help you with, c’mere~” he flirted, pulling you close by your jean’s belt loop holes. you rolled your eyes and pulled away, jumping to finally get them up. “don’t you gotta get some diapers? go help with that. besides, I gotta get home before geto comes back.”

he sucked his teeth at your remark and started putting his own clothes on, ignoring his own hard on, “I don’t see why you still with him. he don’t even make you happy.”

“oh? you’re one to talk. remember why we broke up in the first place? only for you to go do what I wanted with her….” he was silent, the only thing that could be heard was the two of you moving around the apartment. both of you always came here whenever you wanted to get away from your partners, which always led to hot, sticky sex.

“oh. and don’t ask my why i'm still with him, when you’re still with her. did you forget that? cat got your tongue?” you egged on, watching his facial expression change. he slipped on his shirt and grabbed his keys, before brushing past you. “whatever, y/n.”

you turned the key into your townhouse’s door, slipping your shoes off and placing the key on the nearby island’s, marble countertop. “geto?” you yelled out, only to not receive an answer. you noticed some take out on the counter and walked over to it, while taking your phone off do not disturb—seeing a message from your boyfriend.

✩ ‘staying at gojo’s tonight, he’s having a get together with some old friends. hope you had fun at utahime’s. ordered you some dinner, goodnight my love and see you at work tomorrow’

you swallowed your guilt along with a spoonful of fried rice as you finished reading his message. a guilty heart only leads to disaster and disappointment, and right now you didn’t have time for either. you had your reasons for cheating, none of them forgivable, but you had them. one of reasons were that you were still in love with your ex. you hadn’t gotten over the breakup and yes, you should just break up with geto, but just thinking what he would say or do was killing you and you don’t think you would be able to handle that. so you stayed, cheating with the one who broke your heart.

after eating the food geto got for you, you turned on your shower and started slipping off your clothes—cringing when you peeled off your cold, sticky panties. your were soaked and flashbacks from earlier, turned you on.

you typed on your phone, sending a text message to toji’s second number and telling him how wet he made you—and that you were disappointed that he didn’t let you cum all over his dick. stepping into the shower you let the coursing hot water drip all over your body, washing away your guilt as the lust increased inside your body.

finishing your shower off with an electric ending and getting yourself ready for bed, your phone chimed with a text from toji.

✩ ‘pretty girl always wet for me. ill stretch her out soon’

your clit throbbed at his message and you quickly sent one back.

✩ ‘he’s not here tonight, you can come over and put that to fruition.’

he immediately liked the message and texted back that he was on his way. no longer than ten minutes later, he was here; wearing a black tee that hugged his muscular torso and your favorite pants of his—grey nike sweatpants. the man was fueled with need for you.

closing the door behind him, he picked you up with ease and sat you on top of your kitchen’s island; big rough hands immediately going underneath your t-shirt. his scarred lips turned up into a smirk, loving how wet you were for him and when his finger ran over your clit; he loved the way you jolted at his touch.

as toji kneeled down, you stopped him by holding his head with your hand. “toji….dont tease me—please just put it in already.~”

“shut up. if I wanna taste my pretty girl then i'm going to. she misses me—mhm” he dove straight into your middle, swiping his tongue between your slit and tasting your sweet silky fluids. you tossed your head back and gripped his raven locks as he ate you out with such precision. and when he added two of his fingers to the mix, stretching you out, it wasn’t long before you came—all over his face. you squirted, drenching his face with your sweet nectar.

this was your first time squirting for him and devilish smirk appeared on his face. “you could do that this whole time? don’t tell me, you’ve been squirting for him?” he sent a smack to your quivering cunt, making you yelp out. you and geto haven’t had sex in a while and when you guys did get in the mood, it was always something simple; like blow jobs or cock warming. maybe that’s another reason why you’re cheating…

“n-no, i guess i…—yes!—i just missed you….don’t stop toji, g’nna cum again~” he drilled his fingers back inside of you mid sentence, working another powerful orgasm out of you, ending it with the same result as before—with you squirting on him once more. he slurped up every last bit of your essence before removing himself from between your legs and pulling his gray sweatpants down—revealing his girth.

your eyes fluttered down to his cock, the glow of sticky precum on his pretty tip had your mouth salivating. “turn around,” he ordered while pumping his cock and you immediately got into his favorite position. you got on your hands and knees, ass up high in the air with your legs spread, so he could see your slick coated cunt in all its glory.

he pulled a hiss from your lips when he pushed his head through your tightness, you arched your back up too high for him, earning a smack to your plump cheeks. “lower it~” he grunted and you whined, slowly lowering your back down into the perfect arch.

“‘s..too big—shit, take some out please daddy~” you felt another stinging sensation to your ass and you whined some more. “you can take it—smack—now quit yer whining—smack—and let daddy make this cunt his again~,” with each smack, he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside of your sopping wet pussy; filing you to the brim was his cock.

he stayed like the for a moment, feelin pity on you before he pulled out and slammed himself back inside of you again; a scream crawling out of your mouth. he repeated the action, your walls clinging to him with each stroke, driving him insane. mewls spilled out of your mouth as his tip rubbed against that sensitive spongy spot, making you clench frantically around him.

“must’ve really missed me, hm? creamin all on my dick—fuck!” he held onto your hips, watching the cream build up, making his tan cock a nice shade of milky white.

the sound of your cunt squelching with each stroke drove the both of you crazy, minds fucked out with arousal. feeling that ball in your stomach increase with each pleasure-filled second. you pushed your ass back harder against him while reaching down to fondle his potent balls—egging on his orgasm. toji let out a loud grunt, his green eyes darting to your pretty face.

“so fucking good—please fill me up daddy, please~.” you begged, breathless as you looked at him from over your shoulder with hooded eyes, lashes fluttering.

“that’s what you want? want me to fill my pretty girl up—make you swollen with my seed? hm?” he pulled your head back by entangling his fingers into your hair, each stroke deepening as a result. you nodded frantically, and he pressed his lips roughly against yours, hips slamming into your ass repeadlty—clapping sounds echoing throughout the room. with each passing second and each stroke, your orgasm approached faster and faster; and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

your eyes rolled back as you gushed all over him, pushing him right out of your leaking cunt; your fluids soiling the bottom of his shirt and his sweatpants. he grabbed his throbbing cock and pushed right back into you, his pace hard and faster.

“making a mess all over my dick, just makes me want to breed your pussy some more.~” with a few more strokes, he painted your inner walls with his thick, pearly-white load, and a wave of euphoria washed over you. his cock twitched inside of you, and he grunted into your ear, pulling himself out and plunging his fingers into your sticky hole.

“gonna make you squirt over and over again, and im going to make sure there’s a kid in you by the end of the night. get that ass in the bedroom.~” he growled and helped you off the island, smacking your ass in the process.

the long, raven haired woman walked lazily over to the door, wondering who the fuck was pounding on it like a mad man, and when she opened it her face dropped. “suguru, what are you doing here?”

he leaned against the door frame smiling, letting himself into her house, kicking his shoes off by the door. “what’s the matter hime’, you didn’t miss me?” he held her by her waist, gripping her smaller backside into his hands. utahime shook her head, lying, stepping back to readjust her robe.

“you shouldn’t be here. does y/n know you’re here?” she asked, folding her arms underneath her breasts. he pulled her over to her brown soft sofa, and sat her on his lap, “no, does she know you liked to be fucked raw by her boyfriend?” her honey brown eyes widened and she looked elsewhere. “no…”

utahime was your best friend since forever, she kept your secrets and you kept her’s. she was your scapegoat when you wanted to go see toji, she considered herself to be a girls girl, despite sleeping with your boyfriend every other night. this little secret relationship started when geto popped up at her house one time, looking for you because you left your work badge at home. but, when he didn’t see your car outside and you weren’t inside either, he realized that you had lied.

it didn’t take long for him to put two and two together, and he figured out that you were lying from the start. he didn’t know what you were doing nor did he care, he just knew you had hurt him by lying. utahime took pity to him that night, she didn’t give you up, but she still felt for him. she hated seeing him hurt, and the way his eyes lost emotion, pained her. so, she pitied him in the best way she knew how; sex.

and here she was, about to pity him again for the third night in a row. she looked into his eyes and pressed her lips against his, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see his. she pulled away, a wave of heat washed over her and a trail of spit followed, she was breathless. utahime undid her robe, revealing her beautiful nude body. “make love to me geto~”

and that’s what he did, for the rest of the night, until sunrise.

“class is dismissed! papers are due friday and there will be no assignments for the weekend. see you until then!” you dismissed your class, watching the room empty out before you turned to dust off your chalkboard.

the muscular male eased into your lecture hall, tip toeing his way down, so you wouldn’t hear him; standing at the bottom to watch how good your ass looked in your pencil skirt, jiggling as you struggled to reach the top of the blackboard.

“need some help?” toji’s deep voice alerted you, making you stumble and drop the chalk filled eraser—causing the powder to fly everywhere. he chuckled and watched your pretty face turn into a frown. he was now in front of you and helped you dust off your outfit, sneaking in some loving grabs to your boobs.

“what are you doing here?” accepting his kiss as he pulled you over to him while he sat on the edge of your desk, his huge hands caressing your heavy backside. “got time for a quickie?~” he flirted, lips contorted in his infamous smirk. as you opened your mouth to reply, his phone began to ring and he reached back to answer it.

“what’s the matter, baby?” you pushed his hands off of you and your face contorted with disgust. you were jealous and that was a fact, his wife had everything you had ever wanted. she had his last name and his child, and she didn’t understand why he didn’t choose her?

toji stayed on the phone with his wife for a few more minutes, before he told her that he had to get back to work. he turned and saw the look on your face, and his softened.

“why’d you choose her, toji? your voice cracked as you spoke, while tears threatened to leave your eyes. he didn’t have a reason, he never did. so, he did what he did best, deflect.

“don’t start that again. you’re still in a relationship with him, dragging it on knowing there’s only one possible outcome for you two. the relationship is dead, y/n?”

“oh? but your’s isn’t? and don’t tell me nothing about mines when you keep coming back to me, when you’re supposed to be with her right? the woman you claim to love?! you gave her everything toji. I love you, how am I supposed to feel?” you were now bawling your eyes out, poking his chest with outrage, all while you poured your heart out. he didn’t know what to say to you, left speechless. you were right after all.

your phone chimed and you looked at the smart watch on your wrist, checking the notification. wiping your tears away, you went inside your desk’s wooden drawer and pulled out your purse.

“I don’t have time for this…do me a favor and just…stop pulling me back in, just for it to end up the same.”

you sat down with your best friend and boy friend, at a nearby restaurant, agreeing to meet them for lunch. it had been a while since you were all together, however there was one missing.

“where’s satoru?” you asked, picking at your noodles as you spoke—your mind still stuck on what happened between you and toji. you couldn’t help but to look at geto with soft eyes. for the first time you didn’t swallow you guilt, instead you let it through. you were sorry and thought about telling him everything.

“he’s busy flirting with some girl, as always.” utahime said with an eye roll, causing you to chuckle. you scanned your best friend’s face and noticed a bruise on her neck.

“utahime, is that a hickey i see!” you pointed out with a smile on your face. the girl blushed and felt her neck, sharing a look with geto before the two looked away. but, you caught that. and the longer you stared at the two, it dawned on you. as much as you wanted to scream, and curse the two of them out, you couldn’t. outing them right now with no evidence would only backfire. you had to play it safe.

you sent a smile to geto and held the top of his hand, a fake smile plastered onto your face. all the guilt you had washed away.

on the way home, you thought about what you saw. your best friend and your boyfriend? that was the worst thing to ever happen to you. yeah, you were the first one to step out of your relationship with geto, but you weren’t fucking his best friend. that was a different type of low.

you couldn’t believe utahime, after everything you both been through. she was more than your best friend, she was like your sister. you thought she had your back like you had hers, but it was clear that—that wasn’t the case. she was going to get hers, the both of them. however, for now only one of them were going to be punished.

you were fresh out of the shower, wearing a grey t-shirt and a navy blue thong; your hair laid freely in its natural state. you looked at geto, as he sat on your king sized bed and shook your head. you crawled on the bed and over to him, hovering over him; gaining his full attention. he smiled and leaned in for a kiss, but you pulled back and shook your head. he rose and eyebrow and watched as you grinded against his clothed crotch, reaching to hold your hips, but you swatted them.

he didn’t deserve to touch you. this wasn’t intimacy, this was goodbye. this was his punishment.

you rolled your hips, staring into his purplish eyes, biting your lip when you felt his boner poking your cunt. he watched as you pulled his boxers down and turned around, sliding your panties to the side—positing himself at your sodden entrance, before you lowered yourself down on him. he groaned, you were so tight; it had been a while for the two of you.

you rocked your hips before bending over slightly, your ass in view; as you began to ride him. you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning, he didn’t deserve to know how good he felt, how wet you were. he could tell something was wrong with you, the way you moved without looking back at him or letting him touch you. however, he wasn’t going to say anything, instead he laid back and watched as your ass collided with his pelvis, strings of your wetness sticking to him.

a singular tear rolled out of your eye and you didn’t bother to wipe away. you were hurt, for the second time in your life. how do you keep ending up in these situations? was it you? were you the bad one? no, you just happened to fall in love with the worst people.

“fuck, baby. g’na make me cum~” he warned and you worked your hips faster, your own orgasm approaching. feeling his cock throb, you rode faster and slammed your ass down on him, until you pulled him out of you; his seed dripping on your plump cheeks. he was too wrapped up in his pleasure to notice any of your tears.

suguru laid breathless and watched as you got up from the bed and over to the adjoining bathroom. geto sighed and grabbed his phone, snapping a picture of his semi hard cock and sent it to utahime.

as you sat on the toilet, your phone chimed and you looked at everything. when you got home, geto was the first to shower and left his phone in the bedroom, which allowed you to go into his phone and made a short cut with his messages. so, everytime he sent a text to utahime, it was sent to you phone too. you also sent yourself all of their previous messages before deleting it on his end.

you stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind you; alerting the long haired male.

“my best friend? out of all the people in the world you just had to go an fuck my best friend!” you held up you phone to his face, every single message, nude, love note—was in your grasp.

it was no use denying it either, he couldn’t. not when you had hardcore evidence shining in his face. so, he got mad and deflected.

“i wouldn’t have to cheat if you didn’t lie about where you were. I wouldn’t have to cheat if you showed me some love. now would I?” he retorted. youd eyes widened and you couldn’t help but chuckle. he had no idea where you actually were all the time and I guess you could thank utahime for that, after you kicked her ass.

“are you fucking serious? that’s why you cheated, because I lied about where I was? that’s your fucking excuse?!” you were seething, he was a fucking idiot. you walked over to your closet and began to take your things off of the hooks, shoving them into your huge duffle bag.

“you wanna know where I was so bad? getting my brains fucked out by my ex. every single night when I told you I was at utahime’s, I was letting him cum in me so much, i’m surprised I haven’t gotten pregnant.” now he was seething, he grabbed your bagged and tossed it onto the bed; getting in your face, but you weren’t scared—you were going to stand ten toes down.

“and finally the slut confesses! going back to your ex? isn’t he married? think he’s going to leave his wife for your raggedy, used up ass?” he started chuckling when he saw your face change, he had got you right where he wanted you. hurt.

you sniffed back the tears and moved past him, grabbing your duffle bag amongst other things, slipping on a pair of sweatpants before walking to the living room with suguru hot on your trail.

“you know you’re a fucking idiot. you call me a slut, but you went to utahime’s house on a whim to fuck her because you didn’t know my whereabouts, does she know that she isn’t the only one either? ive checked every single message suguru, icloud too,” you grabbed the rest of your things out of the living room, before you grabbed your keys.

“should’ve let gojo and shoko eat my pussy when they wanted to, then I’d really be a slut. fuck you, suguru. and go to hell,” with that, you detached the apartment’s key and threw it onto the island—slamming the door behind you, leaving him for good.

as you turned the knob to the apartment across town, the door swung open and you were face to face with toji’s chest. he looked down—opening his mouth to speak, only realized the stream of tears rolling down your pretty face. he quickly pulled you inside and hugged you; letting you soak his dark grey shirt with your sadness.

you dropped your bag as he rubbed your back, soothing you as you calmed down, before you pulled back and he placed you on top of the kitchen counter. “what happened?”

you told him everything, about him and utahime, to the nasty argument, to the break up; and by the time you got finished he was angry. “ill kill him,” he started to walk away, but you grabbed him by his wrist and shook your head.

“he isn’t worth it, as much as I would love to see that happen; he really is garbage and his karma will come.” you half smiled at him before you realized something. “why are you here? trouble with your wife?”

“actually…we just got a divorce. I had one of my lawyer friends bring over the paperwork that I asked for months in advance, and we both signed it. I told her about you, how I felt about you, and the affair. she was devastated.” you pouted, another person hurt by this affair, you felt like you only had yourself to blame.

and then he moved closer to you, picking your face up by your chin; your eyes fluttering as he stared into them, “I love you, y/n. never stopped. the only reason I married her is because she was having my baby. I was a fool who didn’t use a condom, but I was an even bigger fool for rubbing everything in your face. i'm sorry.”

your eyes widened. he had never said ‘I love you’ to you before, only you with him. and to here that he never stopped only made your heart swell. you couldn't give a fuck about anything else but what was happening now. “toji!~”

you cooed, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into a deep—passionate kiss. your lips moved in sync, your hands exploring each other’s body’s, just before you pulled away.

“what about your son?”

“she agreed on joint custody, which is good. we’ll alternate weeks and I gave her the house. now, ya got anymore questions? ‘cause, I need to make love to you.” you shook your head no quickly, and he picked you up, and carried you to the bathroom, almost sucking your face off in the process.

as soon as your feet touched the cool tiles, you proceeded to rip your clothes off, while he did the same—ignoring the cool, sticky feeling on your panties. he quickly turned on the shower, letting the water steam up all while he kissed you. he blindly led you into the shower, his hands glued to your ass; the plushness captivating him.

the steaming waters trickled across your bodies; adding to the sensual atmosphere, and helped your arousal peak. you kissed down his chiseled torso until you were face to face with his raging boner, not even hesitating to place him into your mouth.

toji groaned, his hand going straight to your wet hair, pushing your head down further onto his cock—deepthroating him. your eyes widened and filled with tears, but you kept him deep in your mouth; until you pulled away to catch your breath. you kept eye contact with him while you jerked him off, a mixture of spit and water coated his cock. “cum in my mouth, ‘kay?” you were so cute to him, he couldn’t help but nod; sucking in some air when you took him back into your mouth.

you swirled your tongue on his tip, frenching it; while teasing his balls. then you removed your hands and only used the back of your throat to please him, the sound of your gags were like music to his ears. and soon, he couldn’t hold back anymore—grabbing your head so he could fuck your pretty face to his liking.

“so…fucking…nasty!” he grunted, your cheeks puffing up with each thrust. your hand flew down to your throbbing clit, rubbing it while your eyes rolled back into your head. it didn’t take long before he spurted his thick warm load into your mouth—forcing your to deep throat him once more.

you swallowed what you can, before he let go and you pulled away; letting it trickle out once you opened your mouth, showing him the flowy white liquid before swallowing the rest.

toji pulled you up by your wet hair, kissing you again��tongue swirling on yours as he tasted himself. you moaned, feeling his fingers find their way to your wet cunt. he picked you up once more, swiftly pushing his head inside your aching entrance. “fuckkkk, baby.~” you dragged out, throwing your head back, walls stretching as he slowly pumped in and out of you.

the more he moved, the hornier the two of you became, and soon his pace quickened. the sound of your cunt squelching, and your heart beating in your ears drowned out the shower’s loudness, fueling his arousal. he gripped your ass with both of his hands and proceeded to pound your cunt—causing air to be pushed in, making you queef repeatedly.

“she’s talking to me, miss daddy’s cock. hm?” he grunted, listening to the lewd sounds of your moans and your pretty pussy talking to him. you moaned, unable to formulate a sentence due to the overwhelming pleasure. his cock rubbed against your spot with each thrust and you could feel that bubble inside, getting ready to burst.

“gna cum on this dick? hm, pretty?—answer me!” he growled into your ear, and held your waist, smacking your ass before putting his hands back onto your fatness.

“yes! yes! gonna cum all over your dick, daddy!~” you squealed and he slammed harder, bursting your bubble. you were silent as your cunt gushed, a complete contrast from the shower above you.

“that’s it baby girl, let it out. gonna get another one out of you~” his hands stayed glued to your ass and his pace stayed the same, overstimulating your leaky cunt. drool pooled out of your mouth as you let go once more, your liquids splashing the shower’s walls and drenching his cock once more.

he didn’t stop pounding once your orgasmed again, as his own was mere seconds behind you. with a few more thrusts, he slammed inside of you—holding you there while he painted your walls white, cock twitch as he emptied his load inside your tummy.

“let’s get you out of this shower before you pass out,” he chuckled and helped clean your body off.

after a few more rounds of love making, the two of you laid in bed, cuddled up to one another. toji had drifted off to sleep, after you took charge in the last two rounds; ultimately making him tap out.

you stared at his beautiful resting face, heart swollen with pure love and happiness. you had finally got what you wanted. turning on your side, you backed yourself into his embrace; ready to drift off to sleep—until your phone buzzed.

turning the brightness down, you checked the message from an unknown number.

✩ ‘we need to talk, now’

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whimsimille · 18 days ago

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KEMPS!

Minsung x Fem! reader

Summary: Where Minho uses sex and rough words to forget how shitty his life is. It all works pretty well until he meets two people that can only ruin his game.

alpha x alpha x alpha

Word count: ~ 10000

Warnings: angst with happy ending, ptsd mention, coping mechanisms, sex, smut, +18, toxicity, use of alcohol and drugs, knotting, piv, creampie, roughness, dom and sub undertones, f and m receiving, oral, anal, dp, light bondage, breeding kink mention

-------------

"When will I see you again?"

"There we go again."

Every time, the same scene played out: him tying off the used condom, thumb and forefinger working in sync while his gut churned with familiar self-loathing. His tanned legs slid from between the cheap cotton sheets like a lizard escaping midday heat and his shirt, reeking of cigarettes and bearing the evidence of pink lipstick on its collar, returned to its place along with what remained of his dignity.

"You didn't answer my question," she insisted, sitting up with her breasts exposed to the stale air. Her nose, red-tipped like she was fighting back tears, twitched as she caught his scent beginning to sour. "Why do you always run away like this? Is it because I'm a lower-class omega? Because I work at a convenience store instead of some fancy office?"

He had a headache, the kind that started at the nape where his undercut needed a trim and crawled upward. The kind that made his eyes throb as if someone was performing brain surgery with a rusty hammer. He needed to go home. He needed to go to her. He needed a scalding shower to burn away the shame. He needed to stop fucking thinking.

"Listen carefully because I won't repeat myself," he drawled while adjusting his hair in the mirror. "I'm not interested in seconds. I don't do repeats. I thought I made that crystal fucking clear. Or should I draw you a diagram?"

"But Minho-ssi..." she started, biting her lower lip in a way that probably worked wonders on lesser men.

"Cut the honorifics bullshit, Marina. We just fucked; we're not at a business meeting." He yanked his belt through the loops. "Got any coffee in this shoebox you call an apartment? And aspirin. Definitely need aspirin. My head's fucking killing me, and your omega pheromones aren't helping."

"Kitchen," she responded, finally pulling the sheet up to cover herself as if modesty had suddenly become a priority. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily as her own bitter strawberry pheromones filled the room, mixing with his acidic alpha scent to create something that smelled like regret. "First door on the right. We're out of sugar though. And for the last fucking time, it's Melissa. Not Marina, not Mariana. Me-li-ssa, you entitled knothead."

"Perfect. Sugar's for people who can't handle reality." He fished out the crumpled pack of Marlboros from his back pocket, tapping one against his wrist. "Don't wait up, sweetheart. Or better yet, don't wait at all. Find yourself a nice beta who'll remember your name and buy you flowers or whatever the fuck it is you're looking for."

And he wasn't lying, not even a little. Despite the fact that this omega—Melissa, definitely not Marina or whatever the fuck he'd been calling her—could do things with her tongue that would make a Catholic priest renounce his vows and had a laugh like wind chimes in a summer breeze, Minho simply didn't keep dead weight in his deck. Melissa was nothing but a two of clubs in a hand that needed aces.

It was like a game of Kemps, the same one he played on Sunday afternoons with his friends drunk on soju in Chan's apartment. In the game, four players formed two pairs, each receiving four cards from the French deck. The objective? Get four matching cards before the opponent, discreetly signaling your partner to shout "Kemps!"—a wink, absently scratching your nose. If you were wrong and shouted without your partner having four matching cards? You lost points, just like in real life you lost your sanity. If you missed your partner's signal? More points lost, like the nights of sleep he lost thinking about persistent ex-lovers. It was a game of observation, timing, and strategy.

In the game, as in life, Minho was an expert at this. A pair of toned legs here, full lips there, a cheeky smile elsewhere—he picked up the cards that caught his attention and handed useless ones to the other players. Players like Hyunjin, with his preference for frustrated betas with colored hair, or Felix, who had a thing for alpha literature students who wore thick-framed glasses and quoted Bukowski between one orgasm and another. Minho had been doing this with men and women for years, receiving his cards—their sweaty bodies writhing beneath him, their moans, their phone numbers saved as "NEVER answer"—and discarding those that never made sense with his game. Simple. Quick. Practical. Avoided hysterical screaming at three in the morning, endless crying, ex-lover sex fueled by regret, pathetic relapses fueled by cheap vodka.

But then, on some October night, with the smell of burnt caramel not so characteristic of an alpha and jazz playing softly, there was his jack, the highest card in the deck after the ace. The jack that passed from hand to hand each round like a curse, disrupting the flow of the game until the next round started and the card kept circulating, destroying strategies and ruining plays that seemed perfect on paper. Everyone had to deal with it eventually, but no one wanted to play that card.

That night, as you moved above him with the precision of a hunting feline—hips undulating like waves breaking on the beach, slender fingers tightening around his throat until he saw stars—you had become his jack. The card he held so tightly that the corners were starting to crease, even when he should have discarded it long ago.

Serious relationships and monogamy were never his style. How could he be? His mother taught him that lesson at 8 years old, after swallowing an entire box of Rivotril and writing an apology, not to him, but to her ex. He still remembered the sound her nails made scratching the wooden floor while she convulsed, glazed eyes fixed on the ceiling as he screamed for help. But for you? For you he had tried. Really tried.

"Stay," he whispered, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his fingers traced meaningless patterns on the condensation-slick window. His reflection looked pathetically hopeful. "Just... stay for breakfast this time." A pause. "I make decent scrambled eggs."

You shifted on the bed. "Define 'decent.'"

"Edible enough not to kill you," he replied with a laugh that sounded too raw, too honest. "Maybe even good enough to convince you to come back for seconds."

It turned into months of domestic bliss—or his twisted version of it. Months of biting back territorial growls whenever you walked in carrying traces of other wolves' scents. "Just work," you'd say with that infuriating half-smile, and he'd nod like the lovesick fool he'd become. He ignored Chan's concerned glances over soju shots, Changbin's muttered warnings about alpha-alpha relationships being psychological warfare. Tried playing the reformed playboy even when some omega calling herself @sexygirl22 slid into his DMs with explicit photos and "Remember last week's quickie in the club bathroom?" while you danced barefoot in his kitchen, humming "Somebody to Love" and making condensed milk pudding like some domestic deity.

"This pudding..." His finger traced the edge of the mold, stealing a taste of caramel. The gesture was so childlike, so unguarded, you had to suppress a fond smile. "Tastes exactly like my grandmother's."

"Your grandmother made pudding?" Like a flower in bloom, your legs opened naturally as you leaned over the counter. A few centimeters up, the hem of your shirt—it was actually his, stolen a week ago—rode up, exposing that constellation of freckles on your hip that he loved mapping with his tongue.

"Every Sunday after lunch," he answered, eyes fixed on the exposed bit of skin. "She used to say that sweets made with love tasted different."

It's that in the beginning it was simple: you rode him like you were born for it, scratching his chest and whispering obscenities in his ear that would make even a demon blush. It was about smoking a joint on the balcony at three in the morning, your skilled fingers rolling the joint while he kissed your thighs still trembling from orgasm, waiting for the knot to deflate. "I'm getting addicted," he would murmur against your skin, and you both knew he wasn't talking about the weed. It was about the sacred ritual of watching you dress in the morning: first the black lace panties, then the bra that made your breasts look like works of art, the thigh-high stockings he loved to remove with his teeth, the jeans that hugged your curves like a possessive lover. It was about how you never asked about the scars on his left wrist but kissed them with such reverence that sometimes he found himself crying after you left.

"Why do you do that?" he asked one night, voice thick, his fingers digging into the sheets.

"Do what?"

"Kiss me... like that. Like they're not scars. Like they're not..." he swallowed hard, "ugly."

"Because they're not just scars. They're part of you."

Until it became something different: he stopped you from running out after sex one Sunday morning, pulling you by the waist for another round in the jacuzzi. That's when he discovered you were a teacher at a school in the south zone and taught literature to rebellious teenagers, while he was heir to a chain of five-star hotels spread across Asia. That you loved Seoul with its violence and chaos, the underground bars and narrow streets full of people, while he longed for the peace of Jeju, with its deserted beaches and the smell of tangerines in the air. That you had three rescue cats—Sylvia, Virginia, and Edgar, all named after dead writers—who were your fur children and that, surprisingly, he developed a genuine affection for these creatures, even when Sylvia vomited hairballs on his shoes.

It happened when you stopped being a scheduled fuck and started pulling out, one by one, his fingers from the little bag he always kept next to his heart. You never even said anything, never stopped him from leaving and always left the door ajar, because you hated trapping people and making them feel obligated to stay.

"You can go, if you want," you would always say, wrapped in messy sheets. "You don't have to stay."

And maybe it was exactly that—that frightening freedom, that lack of demands—that made him want to stay. Until he didn't want to anymore.

That's why he bailed.

With your makeup all over the bathroom counter and your underwear discovered beneath the bed like evidence from a crime scene, he couldn't stand you taking up space like a terminal illness. Couldn't stand your caramel perfume and alpha pheromones impregnated in the pillows, your toothbrush next to his, you parading naked through the 300 m² penthouse as if you owned the place. Hated you burying your face in his neck when he woke up screaming at 3:47 in the morning.

"Shh, I'm here," you would murmur, running your fingers through his damp hair, your lips brushing his temple. "It was just a nightmare."

But the real nightmare was the dangerous glimmer of hope he began to see reflected in his own eyes every time he shaved while you played in the bathtub, humming "Here Comes the Sun" by The Beatles.

One day, his hand froze mid-stroke with the razor, watching your reflection dance in the fogged mirror as soap bubbles crowned your head. With the sun creeping through the window and painting your eyelashes gold, Minho's fingers twitched around the razor handle. His phone buzzed in the counter (probably that cute bellboy from the Peninsula Hotel confirming their afternoon rendezvous, or maybe the yoga instructor sending another photo of her impossibly flexible poses). He should check it. Should definitely not be watching you emerge from the water like some fucking deity, all glistening skin and grace.

His thumb hovered over the screen, already pulling up his contacts list. Delete them all. Ask you to be his. Only his. The thought made his stomach turn even as his pulse quickened and he gave up.

At the sound of his loafers, you lifted your head while he perched on the edge of the tub like some lovesick fool, watching droplets trace paths he'd memorized with his tongue.

"Keep staring like that and I might start charging admission," you drawled, reaching for the shampoo.

"You're going to make me deaf with that caterwauling, little alpha," he shot back. "And since when did you become such a Beatles fanatic? Thought you were more of a 'We Will Rock You' kind of bitch."

"First of all," you said, pointing the shampoo bottle at him like a weapon, "the Beatles are fucking transcendent, you philistine. Second," your lips curved into that infuriating smirk that made him want to bite them bloody, "you were the one moaning 'Yesterday' in your sleep last night. Right after you called me 'baby' and tried to spoon me."

"That's bullshit and you know it," he snarled, but his ears burned red at the tips. "I don't fucking cuddle."

"Oh really?" You stretched languorously, water sloshing against the tub sides. Wet toes brushed his thigh, leaving wet prints on his expensive slacks. "Because I distinctly remember you nuzzling my neck and whimpering when I tried to move away. Face it, Min," you purred, and the nickname sent a jolt straight to his groin, "you're going soft on me."

"Keep dreaming, sweetheart," he managed, even as his throat closed around the lie. "I just needed something warm to stick my knot in."

"Mhmm," you hummed, unconvinced. Your foot slid higher up his thigh. "That's why you sent flowers to my work last week? Because you needed somewhere to stick your knot?"

It was like watching an orange tree growing in the middle of his chest: first just a timid sprout, then branches spreading between his ribs, until the roots began to intertwine with his veins and arteries. And when the first white flowers bloomed, perfuming his entire circulatory system with possibilities, he knew he needed to cut it at the root before the fruits ripened and he found himself addicted to the bittersweet taste of your presence.

"Minho! What the actual fuck? It's four in the fucking morning, and you're here smelling like a distillery had an orgy with a perfume store."

"Still looking like a snack, my little alpha. Even with all these..." His hand made a vague gesture at your new appearance, "changes."

You watched as he staggered slightly, his bloodshot eyes trying to focus on a fixed point. Fragmented memories of a yellow taxi and questionable decisions in dark alleys flashed through his mind like a silent film. That you were different—unrecognizable, maybe—was the only thing that was certain. Your hair, now long and sprinkled with platinum highlights, framed your face in a profane halo. The thorny tattoo serpentined down your neck, disappearing beneath the loose collar. Beneath the typical caramel, you had a masculine, woodsy scent that made him sick to his stomach.

"You know what's funnier? I always knew you would do this. Always knew you'd leave me and then show up at my door wanting to stick your knot in some hole. It was just a matter of time, wasn't it, Lee Minho?"

Sylvia, that four-legged traitor who had always preferred him to you, was now rubbing against his ankles while trying to reach her favorite human. You pushed her away with your foot.

"Let's... let's talk properly, love. Smoke a joint, whatever. Like the old days, remember?" His hands were shaking so badly he had to shove them in his jeans pockets. "We always solved everything after..." A laugh escaped his lips. "Fuck, why is it so hard to talk about feelings without being high? Must be... dunno, must be the age, right?" The taste of blood in his mouth intensified. This time, he had bitten his tongue.

You let out a scoff—a sound that seemed to have been torn from the depths of your throat with a rusty hook. "Age?" Your head tilted to the side, and for a moment, Minho saw his mother in that same movement—moments before she swallowed the pills. "You were twenty-fucking-seven when you stood in the middle of Changbin's birthday party, so wasted you couldn't even spell your own name, and announced to everyone that I was, what was it again? Oh right! 'just another desperate hole begging for your premium alpha cock.' All because I had the audacity to ask if we could try being exclusive. Remember that night, Minho? Or did you drink that memory away too?"

As you eventually allowed Sylvia to come closer, he saw the cat rubbing her muzzle against your ankles as though she was aware of the precise location of the pain.

Love should heal, shouldn't it? Should stitch together the parts that were never united, fill the voids that echoed inside the chest like empty rooms from childhood. Minho knew this better than anyone—he had been sexualized his whole life, used and discarded like a broken toy.

"You don't have that right," you continued. "You don't have the right to show up here reeking of whiskey and..." Your hands gestured in the air, searching for words. "And talk about 'old times.'"

Minho swallowed hard, watching how your fingers now trembled against the doorframe—not from nervousness, but from contained rage that made your knuckles turn white.

Until his lungs pleaded for air, he had tried everything to fill the void you left: cigarettes. Strange bodies in his bed that never reached the right places, hands that tried to stitch him back together but always using the wrong thread. Like thieves in the dark, all stealing pieces from each other, but never finding what they were really looking for.

"Just let me in, yeah?"

A sob escaped his throat before he could contain it, words tangling in his mouth. Sylvia was now sitting between the two of you, her tail moving in a hypnotic rhythm.

You had been the only one to see through the cracks, the only one who didn't try to fix him like he was a puzzle to be solved. The only one who understood that sometimes a cat's rough tongue on the heels could mean more than a thousand empty words of comfort.

But he wouldn't, couldn't show you how much he loved you. Sex and dirty words were safer territory, familiar ground where he could pretend this was just another meaningless encounter.

"Do you still have that purple vibrator?" The words slurred out as his alcohol-heavy tongue caught on his canines. "You could use it on me today, yeah? Make me beg like I used to?"

Like a desperate merchant hawking counterfeit goods in some back alley, it was pitiful how he still attempted to use sex as currency. As if his body, marked with the fingerprints and teeth marks of countless strangers, was the only thing of value he had left to barter with. As if you still wanted that particular damaged merchandise. You had long since learned that his empty promises and fleeting affections were not worth the price.

"I guess old habits die hard, huh? Still the same horny kitten as always, Minho-yah."

At the sound of that old endearment, Minho's narrow hips jerked forward involuntarily, his lean body betraying him like a puppet with tangled strings. A bead of sweat traced the sharp line of his jaw as the lavender scent of his arousal began to saturate the air, mixing with the sour notes of whiskey and desperation.

"Just... just one more time," he begged. "I promise I'll disappear after. I swear on my mother's grave..." A sob ripped from his throat, more wolf than man. "I just need to feel you one more time. Need to remember what it felt like when someone actually gave a fuck about me."

It was almost poetic, you thought. The way Lee Minho could transform desire into pathology, how his lust manifested in muscle spasms and empty promises whispered through teeth that probably cost more than your yearly salary. His eyes, usually a warm chocolate brown, had taken on a reddish tinge that reminded you of blood diluted in water.

"Get out of here, Minho." You clutched Sylvia closer, her warm body and steady purring acting as a shield against the tsunami of alpha pheromones he was trying to drown you in. Her claws pricked your skin through your thin shirt. "Before I call the police."

"You'd never. You care too much; that's always been your problem."

"Try me." Your fingers found your phone in your pocket. "The last bus passes in ten minutes. But I think you'd prefer if I called your private driver. What was his name again? The one who always brought you aspirin and clean clothes after your... episodes?"

Minho's hand flew to the collar of his leather jacket, adjusting it with trembling fingers. "I don't need your fucking pity."

"I know you don't, Minho." You sighed, watching his shoulders hunch forward like a wounded animal. "But I also know you probably left another black credit card in the lost and found of whatever overpriced bar you were drowning in tonight. I bet you left without any cash. Again. Just like that time at The Rose, when you tried to pay for your cab with your Rolex."

"How the fuck..."

"Love, everything okay?" A sleepy voice emerged from the shadows of the apartment, warm and rough like honey mixed with gravel. The powerful scent of freshly ground cinnamon and handcrafted coffee filled your apartment and permeated the door, causing Minho's nostrils to uncontrollably twitch.

"Fucking hell," Minho muttered under his breath, watching as a figure emerged from the shadows.

Dyed an impossible shade of midnight blue that seemed to swallow what little light remained in the hallway, the man's hair stuck up in wild tufts, as if he'd been wrestling with insomnia rather than sleeping. A thin, silvery scar bisected his right eyebrow. Despite his cherubic cheeks and full lips, there was something lethal in the way he held himself, the casual violence of a loaded gun left on safety.

"Who the actual fuck are you supposed to be?" Minho's words slurred together.

The stranger's bare feet made no sound as he crossed the distance between them. Silver rings caught the fluorescent light as his hand found your waist, fingers splaying possessively across your hip.

"Han Jisung," the man's voice was deceptively soft. His tongue flicked out to play with the silver ring in his lower lip, a gesture that drew Minho's attention despite himself. "And you must be the infamous Lee Minho. The one who thinks it's acceptable to harass people at four in the morning because his wolf is feeling lonely."

The air grew thick with competing pheromones, your caramel sweetness, Minho's lavender, and Han's cinnamon colliding and transforming into something acrid and metallic, like blood left to oxidize. Minho's temple throbbed visibly, and he chewed the inside of his cheek until copper flooded his mouth.

"Christ, is this what you're into now?" Minho's eyes raked over Han's form--the scattered tattoos visible beneath his thin tank top, the messy blue hair, the multiple piercings. "Trading in a pure-bred for some street mutt with a DIY paint job?"

Han's scent soured, turning sharp enough to make your eyes water. "Babe," he addressed you without taking his eyes off Minho. "Should I call the cops, or would you like to watch me teach this trust fund pup some manners? Because I'm really curious if he's as tough when he's not marinading in scotch."

"Oh, sweetheart," Minho purred, stepping close enough that his breath ghosted over Han's face. His fingers played with the collar of Han's shirt, twisting the fabric like he was testing its breaking point. "You've got quite the mouth on you. Makes me wonder what other tricks you know." His gaze flicked to you over Han's shoulder, lips curling into something cruel. "Always did have a weakness for strays with attitude problems, didn't you, love? Tell me, does this one beg as prettily as I used to?"

Han didn't back down, but you saw how his fingers contorted—not into fists, but like claws ready to tear apart.

"Get. Your. Hands. Off." Gripping Minho's wrist, Jisung twisted it until he heard the gratifying sound of tendons being stretched to their breaking point.

What happened next made your breath catch in your throat. Minho—proud, arrogant, never-submissive Minho, who once told an alpha CEO to go fuck himself with a golden spoon—let out a sound that was pure, instinctual submission. His head tilted, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat where fading hickeys told stories of nights you didn't want to imagine.

The gesture was so fundamentally wrong, so against everything you knew about him, that for a moment you thought the expensive whisky had finally corroded something essential inside him. But then his eyes found yours across the space between you—wide, confused, and terrified—and you saw it: his alpha, for only the second time since you'd known him, recognising another as superior. It had been with you the first time. Normally curled in that angry smirk, his lips quivered.

"What the actual fuck..." With surprise, Jisung's eyes grew wide, and the scar through his eyebrow stretched taut. His grip loosened fractionally, more from shock than mercy. "Did you just..."

"Ah," Minho's voice cracked, desperation bleeding through as he fought to regain control. As he attempted to balance himself against the wall, his hands trembled. "So the puppy has fangs after all. Want to show me how to use them properly, Han Jisung-ssi?"

It played out like a slow-motion car crash, stunning in its destruction. Jisung slammed Minho against the wall with enough force to make the cheap prints rattle in their frames. Something dark and broken slipped out of Minho's lips as his forearm pressed against his throat.

"So fucking predictable," Minho rasped around the pressure on his windpipe, his pupils blown so wide the brown was almost swallowed by black. "All you baby alphas..." His fingers found Jisung's bicep, nails, leaving crescent moons in the flesh. "So easy to provoke. So desperate to prove yourselves. Tell me, blueberry, how many others have you pinned like this?"

"I said," Han snarled, pressing harder until Minho's breath came in wheezing gasps, "shut that pretty mouth before I shut it for you. You reek of spoiled lavender and mommy issues, street pup. Did she not hug you enough? Is that why you're here, trying to ruin what isn't yours anymore?"

Following that, there was too much movement to follow—a haze of tattoos and high-end clothing. Suddenly Minho had reversed their positions, pinning Jisung against the wall. Han grunted in surprise at the impact, his teeth clicking together so forcefully that you winced with pity.

In an attempt to humiliate the wolf who had dared to assert its superiority, Minho's thigh pushed upward between Han's legs and degraded him. Trembling but determined, his fingers tangled themselves into Han's blue strands.

"Who's the street pup now?" Minho tilted his head, letting his lips brush the shell of Jisung's ear. "So docile suddenly. Where's all that protective alpha posturing? Or does it only work when you're trying to impress my leftovers?"

What tore from Jisung's throat wasn't anything you'd heard before—not in your years of teaching children, not in nature documentaries about wolves, not even in your darkest nightmares. Kind of sound that made your bone marrow freeze and your hindbrain scream danger. At a frequency that made your teeth hurt, the cheap metal numbers on your door vibrated. A picture frame crashed to the floor.

Your own alpha stirred beneath your skin like a serpent uncoiling, recognising the precipice of violence you were all balanced on.

Sylvia pressed herself against your arms. Her tail lashed the air like a whip, pupils blown so wide the green was just a thin ring. You knew, with the bone-deep certainty of prey watching predators circle, that this wouldn't end with just bruised egos and wounded pride. The territory—you, this hallway, perhaps even this entire narrative—had already been marked with invisible blood.

"That's enough! Both of you, stop this-"

But the words died in your throat as Jisung moved. One moment he was pinned against the wall; the next he was pure kinetic energy unleashed. His body curved like a question mark before springing forward, teeth finding the vulnerable juncture where Minho's neck met.

The sound that followed would haunt your dreams for months: wet, obscene, like overripe fruit being crushed under combat boots. Blood, startlingly bright against Minho's shirt, bloomed like a macabre watercolor.

—-----------

As soon as Minho stepped out of the rehabilitation center, his fingers began the routine dance of coffee, lighter, and cigarette. His eyes, still heavy from group therapy, focused on the cracks in the concrete while he tried to juggle the cheap coffee cup and red Marlboro. A curse that reverberated throughout the alley was evoked by the hot liquid that trickled down his hand.

"Fuck's sake, I can't even do this right," he muttered, licking the coffee that dripped between his fingers.

It was a total and utter catastrophe for him. First, Seungmin had shown up at his apartment at 6 AM with some green tea mixed with ginger and honey that looked more like rat poison. "For detoxing," he'd said, pushing the steaming cup into his hands. Then, Bang Chan practically broke down his door, dragging him out of bed while yelling something about "corporate responsibility" and how the shareholders were concerned about his erratic behavior. As if he didn't know the hotel franchise was crumbling under his fingers since you left him.

To top it all off? Jisung was the embodiment of his headache. An irritatingly attractive alpha who had the gift of making his blood boil—and not necessarily in a good way.

Since the incident that led them to the police station (and subsequently to the emergency room, where Minho needed five stitches in his neck and had to pray the bite hadn't been right on his scent gland, linking Jisung to him in a way that gave him chills just thinking about it), the judge had sentenced them to five months of group therapy. Two hours per week sitting in a circle with other "violence-prone individuals," as Dr. Park—a beta who always smelled like old socks—liked to call them.

And now, to make matters worse, whenever he had the chance, Jisung liked to rub his scent gland against yours right in the middle of the room, masking your natural scent. It was as if he wanted Minho to witness firsthand how you had moved on—the way he adjusted his motorcycle helmet every night after the session, his fingers lingering on your nape; how he whispered stupid jokes in your ear that made you laugh in that way that used to be reserved just for Minho; how he made sure to leave visible marks on your neck, transforming everything that once screamed "Minho" into cinnamon and a blue-haired alpha.

"Hey, princess, still haven't learned how to drink coffee without making a mess? Or do you need me to teach you how adults do it?"

Eyelids fluttering, Minho closed his eyes. After four months in this therapeutic hell, his fingers, now bitten down to raw flesh, involuntarily contracted, imprinting his palms with tiny crescents.

"Jisung, I thought we'd agreed to keep our distance outside of sessions. Or is your memory as short as your self-control?"

"Yeah, but then I saw you here alone," Jisung approached. The smell of cinnamon and coffee invaded Minho's personal space like an unwanted heat wave. "And I thought: 'What a waste.' All this drama, all this tension... for what?"

Carelessly, Minho propped one foot on a crushed trash can and leaned against the filthy alley wall. The cigarette hung loose between his chapped lips, smoke dancing in lazy spirals around his face.

"Go fuck yourself, Han."

"Your ex 'little alpha' is doing that quite well," Jisung responded, running his tongue over the piercing in his lower lip provocatively. "Thanks for asking."

Minho clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The taste of cheap coffee still burned his tongue when he raised his eyes to face Jisung. There was something there, hidden in the shadows of those puppy eyes, that almost made Minho choke on the smoke—something hungry, dangerous, electric. Jisung seemed to be planning something behind those long eyelashes, and Minho recognized the familiar crossroads: run or face it.

He should run, of course. Especially after Han had made his alpha behave like a submissive puppy with a simple touch to the wrist. But Minho never had a sense of self-preservation, and if he was going to die today—if Jisung decided to finish what he started that night, now that you weren't here to stop him—well, maybe it would be an appropriate end to all this mess.

"What do you want?"

Old combat boots scuffing the concrete, Han stepped forward. Gently, he reached for the cigarette trapped between Minho's lips. The touch was brief, but it sent electric shocks down his spine, as if someone had connected his nerves to a car battery. Han's eyes, dark as spilled coffee, never left Minho's as he twirled the cigarette between his fingers before crushing it under his sole.

"Sleep with us," Han said simply. "One night."

Time seemed to freeze. Minho felt his toes curl inside his shoes, as if searching for something to grip onto. Like a bird in a cage, his heart pounded against his ribs, and his tongue felt too heavy for his mouth.

"What the fuck?" The laugh that escaped his throat sounded hysterical even to his own ears. "After all that shit at the police station? After the stitches?" Unconsciously, his fingers brushed the scar on his neck.

Han shrugged. "You think I don't notice?" He moved closer. "How your eyes follow her during sessions? And how you stare at me when you think I'm not paying attention? How your pheromones change when I'm around?"

Minho knew your story with Jisung—it was impossible not to know. In the corridors of the rehabilitation center, the whispers reverberated like poisonous snakes. How you, the beloved suburban teacher, had started frequenting Han's studio to cover old scars. How the tattoo sessions turned into confessions, then into coffees shared in paper cups, then into stolen kisses against walls covered in faded flash tattoos. How Han had restored each broken piece of you—not with empty words or grandiose promises, but with small gestures: americanos left in paper cups with your name always intentionally misspelled, colorful post-its hidden with silly cat drawings, nights spent simply holding you while the world collapsed around you. How he spoke of you with a kind of reverent love that made Minho want to vomit—because he only knew how to express affection through bruises and cutting words.

But if Han loves you so much, why is he here offering you up like a piece of meat?

"You're sick."

Han tilted his head. "Maybe. But so are you. And her..." He paused, letting the word hang in the air like smoke. "She wants us. Both of us."

"Spare me this bullshit," Minho spat the words. "You talk like she's your property. Like you can just throw me into your bed like a new toy and expect me to..."

"Don't be naive," Jisung interrupted, taking another step forward. Tattooed fingers found Minho's chin, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "She has more free will than both of us combined. And knows exactly what she wants." His thumb traced Minho's lower lip, collecting a drop of blood where he had bitten too hard before bringing the same finger to his mouth. Minho almost moaned at the sight. "Just like I know exactly what you need. What all three of us need."

"You don't know shit about what I need."

"No?" Han teased, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "Then why are you trembling?" His fingers moved up to Minho's nape, playing with the short strands there. "Why is your heart beating so fast I can feel it from here?"

"Tell me then," Minho challenged. "What does someone as fucked up as you think I need?"

"Mutual destruction," Jisung murmured against his ear. The cold piercing made Minho's earlobe twitch. "The kind that burns everything to the ground and rebuilds something better from the ashes. The kind that only three equally broken people can create."

A sound escaped Minho's throat. His hands found Jisung's chest. He didn't know if he wanted to push or pull, if he wanted to punch that irritating smile or taste it.

"You're poison," Minho whispered, his nails digging into Jisung's chest through the thin shirt. "The kind that kills slowly."

"And you," Han smiled against his skin, "are too thirsty to care about the antidote."

-----------------------------

Your diaphragm fluttered like a moth stuck to your ribs as you let out a deep breath. Main focus? Not choking on the saliva accumulated behind the gag.

There you were, tied and exposed like an avant-garde artwork on Minho's carpet. With the city lights watching your debauchery like voyeuristic stars, the floor-to-ceiling windows provided a panoramic view of Seoul's horizon.

A muscle in your left thigh spasmodically contracted, making the rope sink deeper into your flesh. It was a map of knots—legs folded and bound in a way that made you think of the origami cranes Minho used to fold when he was nervous. The hemp rope bit at two precise points: just above the ankles, where the bone slightly protruded, and at the top of the thighs, where the flesh was softest.

The metal spreader bar kept your legs open. Your pussy was exposed to the cold air of the penthouse and to the hungry gazes of both men.

From this height, you could almost convince yourself that the entire city was watching. Your wrists were bound with soft leather cuffs (Minho's contribution, always valuing luxury when it came to his house and sex toys), connected to the bar in a way that made your shoulders project backward, presenting your chest.

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It all started on one of those nights when the air conditioning failed intermittently, making an irritating noise that competed with the sounds of the city outside. A casual observation escaped your lips while you watched the shadows dance on the ceiling, alcohol uninhibiting your tongue and bringing up memories of Minho in therapy sessions—the way he would shrink in his chair, fingers drumming nervously against his knee, eyes jumping between you and Jisung like an anxious pendulum.

That specific night, you were sprawled on the Italian leather couch that Jisung so hated ("Who the hell spends so much money on furniture that sticks to your skin in summer?"), one leg hanging off the edge while the other rested on the back of the couch. The ice in your whiskey glass had long since melted, diluting the amber liquid into something more palatable.

Sitting on the Persian rug, Jisung's restless fingers were causing the strategically placed tears in his black jeans to further fray. The smell of caramel and cinnamon mixed with the residual aroma of cigarettes he had smoked earlier on the balcony.

"Jesus," you murmured, running your tongue over your dry lips. "Do you remember how he trembled? Standing there against the wall, with your hands on his neck..." Your voice failed for a moment. "Like a damn kitten lost in the rain. God, in all these years, I never saw Minho crawl back to anyone like that. Not once. I always... always gave him space to run when he needed it." A bitter laugh escaped your throat. "Never thought that after a whole year he'd still believe the door would be open, you know? That he'd still find..." You gestured vaguely with your free hand, searching for the right words. "...warm milk waiting."

Jisung tilted his head to the side, and he had that glint behind his eyes—that same look you saw when he was about to do a particularly painful tattoo on someone. "A kitten? What an... interesting choice of words, love."

You propped yourself up on your elbows so quickly that your head spun, alcohol and adrenaline making your heart stumble. Every vertebra in your spine screamed in unison as warning signals crackled through it. Shit. Shit. Shit."Ji, fuck, that's not what I—"

"Is that what you used to call him?" He interrupted while crawling towards you like a predator. "When he was between those thighs of yours?"

When Jisung's fingers found your ankle, your throat became parched. Just enough to remind you that he could, but not enough to cause pain, his thumb pressed the pulse point there.

"I bet it was." His other hand slid up to grab your knee, spreading your legs, "I bet you whispered 'kitten' when he had his tongue buried in that pussy of yours. That you told him what a good boy he was while he tasted you like you were the last drop of water in hell."

Since then, after each group therapy session, Jisung would extract your confessions like venom from a wound. Methodically deconstructed your sanity while fucking you against any available surface—the bathroom wall, the car's backseat, the kitchen table where you were supposedly meant to dine like normal people. He fed that part of you that you tried to keep locked away, the bitter and vindictive part that yearned to see Minho undone by both your hands. The words poured from your mouth unfiltered—how Minho's arrogant alpha became docile under your touch, the way his spine arched when you squeezed his throat ("Harder, please, harder"), how he begged for more when you fucked him with that ridiculously large purple dildo hidden in the second drawer of the dresser. How he moaned your name when you forced him to cum for the third time in a row, his muscular thighs trembling.

"Tell me more. How did he sound? How did he squirm? I want every dirty detail."

You swallowed hard. "He... he trembled. His whole body shook when he was too close. And he bit his lips until they bled, trying to hold back his moans. Sometimes... he cried."

"And when you tied him up?" Jisung played with the elastic of your panties, making small circles that made you squirm. "Did he fight against the ropes?"

"No," you answered, your voice breaking into a moan when he suddenly sank two fingers inside you. His thumb found your clit, making your thighs shake involuntarily. "He... God, Ji... he stayed completely still." Your nails dug into the leather couch when he curled his fingers inside you, easily finding that spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Fascinating," Jisung laughed, the low sound reverberating against your skin while he felt you getting even wetter around his fingers. "The great alpha Minho, reduced to a submissive and desperate kitten. I can almost see him now, tied up and begging." His fingers sped up their rhythm, making you arch your back. "Do you think he'd do the same for me?"

"Ji..." You arched against him, your fingers burying in his dark hair, pulling slightly. "Please!"

His smile was pure sin against your skin. "Please what, love? Use your words."

Out of your mouth came the thoughts in a torrent of desperation. "Can we... Can we fuck him? It's just sex! One night!" Your voice trembled, betraying the desperation you tried to hide under a facade of casualness. "Just... just once. Please! I need to feel him again. I need to see you destroying him too."

"Shh..." His fingers continued their merciless assault inside you while his other hand rose to squeeze your neck lightly. "It's okay, baby. I thought you'd never ask. We'll make our kitten meow so pretty for us."

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Minho didn't bother with his belt, fingers trembling slightly as he unzipped his trousers. He reached in, fabric rustling against skin as he freed himself from the confines of his designer boxers.

"You remember how she's good with her mouth, right?" Jisung's voice was honey-thick with anticipation as he sprawled on the sofa, legs spread wide, one hand absently tracing patterns on the armrest.

"God, yes." Minho's throat bobbed as he swallowed, kneeling beside your head. His fingertips ghosted over your temple, barely touching. "She doesn't just do it—she worships. Makes you feel like you're her whole fucking world." The muscles in his thighs twitched as he shifted closer. "You have no idea how I missed seeing such a pretty alpha like this."

"Show him then, darling.” Jisung commanded. "Show him what that mouth can do."

Minho's hand trembled slightly as he reached for the gag. The buckle clinked softly as he worked it loose, his breath catching when your lips parted automatically.

Honestly, Minho wasn't in the right headspace to think. After a terrible day at the hotels, he was thinking about how he would cherish every moment of this one night ever since he got home and was counting down the minutes until you and Jisung arrived. This last relapse. This final chance to have the duke in his hands before handing him over to Jisung definitively.

Due to the ball gag, your lips were red and swollen and glistening with saliva.

"There's that pretty little mouth," Minho breathed, tossing the gag aside. His thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, spreading the wetness there. "Fuck, I missed this view."

He still kept some photos of you on your knees in front of him, lips stretched around his cock. Most were carefully cropped, faceless and anonymous—they could be anyone's lips, anyone's throat. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the reality of you here, now, looking up at him with those eyes that seemed to strip away every layer of his. He slipped his thumb between your parted lips, a soft groan escaping when you immediately began to suck, your tongue swirling around the digit the way you knew drove him mad.

"Open that pretty little mouth for me," Minho purred.

Without thinking, you opened your mouth and offered a silent sacrifice. As Minho pulled his thumb away, the velvet-steel heat of his cock replaced the metallic tang of the freshly removed gag, leaving your taste buds free of its lingering effect. A single drop of precum pearled at the tip, and your tongue darted out to catch it, earning a sharp intake of breath from above.

Minho was longer than memory served, thick enough that your jaw already ached. The familiar weight of him filled your mouth inch by devastating inch, while his hand cradled your cheek with deceptive tenderness. Your eyes watered as he paused halfway, not from discomfort but from the overwhelming sensation of having him here again, real and solid and trembling ever so slightly.

A groan tore free from his throat as his head fell back.

"Fuck..."

Jisung laughed from where he sat, drinking his whiskey. "Yeah, well, wait until you feel her tight cunt again."

The crude words sent a bolt of electricity straight to your core, making you clench helplessly around nothing but want.

When Minho drew back, his cock dragged against your tongue in a slow withdrawal that had your toes curling against the carpet. He thrust forward with the same measure, but you could see the tension coiling in his thighs, the way his abdominal muscles jumped beneath smooth skin. His gaze raked down your body like physical touch, lingering on the slick folds. The sight alone made his cock twitch against your tongue.

He couldn't remember any of the times when he was the one who dominated—it was always you who reduced him to incoherent pleas against the silk sheets. It was always you who destroyed and rebuilt him as you wished, piece by piece, moan by moan, until nothing remained but a broken alpha begging for more. It was always you who made his wolf—the same one that growled at anyone who dared challenge him in the hotel corridors—wag its tail and lower its ears, submissive as a newborn pup. But now, with the ropes biting into your wrists and Jisung commanding your every breath, he couldn't deny that this was more exciting than any fantasy his feverish brain could have conjured during the long nights without you.

As his hips started to move more purposefully and each thrust struck deeper than the last, his fingers became more taut in your hair. The wet sounds of your throat working around him filled the room, punctuated by his increasingly ragged breathing. Your nose brushed against the dark trail of hair leading down from his navel with each forward motion, inhaling the musky scent of arousal and expensive cologne that was uniquely Minho.

"Look at how well she takes it," Jisung observed. The ice in his glass clinked as he took another sip. "Such a good little cocksucker. Always knew exactly how to make you fall apart, didn't she?"

Minho's response was lost in a choked moan as you hollowed your cheeks, tongue pressing firmly against the sensitive underside of his cock.

Words slipped out between clenched teeth as he cursed in Korean due to the slight constriction that caused him to hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, fuck, I can't—" His voice cracked as you swallowed deliberately around him again. "She's still so-nghh... So fucking good."

Just before heat filled your mouth, you felt him pulse against your tongue. With a broken sound that could have been your name, he came with fingers that squirmed in your hair, gripping you almost painfully. Oversensitive and quivering, you forced him through it, draining every last drop from his dick until he had to back off.

"Jesus Christ," he staggered back a little and panted. Between your lips and his softening cock, a thin strand of cum-infused saliva stretched before shattering. "I forgot how fucking good you are at that."

Jisung's low chuckle made Minho’s vertebrae tingle in anticipation. "Oh, we're just getting started, aren't we, kitten?" Approaching from behind Minho, his footsteps reverberated on the hardwood floor. "Now scoot."

Minho obliged with the grace of a chastised cat, crawling a few paces away on hands and knees, his designer slacks dragging slightly against the floor. Only then, through the post-orgasmic haze that clouded his vision like morning mist, did he notice Han had undressed. Perhaps he'd blacked out for a moment and lost track of time.

"You doing okay, baby?”

As Jisung pushed deeper than Minho had ventured, you nodded enthusiastically around his cock, your eyes watering. Hissing through gritted teeth, your throat tightened around him. Minho watched in awe as the music sent chills down his spine.

"Fuck yes, look at her take it." Jisung's voice was rough with pleasure as he gripped your hair tighter, the slight pain making your cunt clench. "Such a good little slut for us, aren't you?"

Minho couldn't tear his eyes away from where Jisung's cock disappeared between your swollen lips. A drop of your arousal slid down your inner thigh, and his own spent cock twitched with curiosity. Your hips moved restlessly, searching for friction that wasn't there, and the diamond plug caught the light.

Unable to resist any longer, Minho crawled between your spread legs. Your scent hit him like a physical force—familiar yet somehow more intoxicating than he remembered. His tongue darted out to catch that glistening drop of wetness, tracing it back to its source.

Both men shuddered at the moan you uttered around Jisung's dick. Jisung looked back over his shoulder, pupils blown wide with lust as he watched Minho worship your dripping cunt. That wasn't the damn plan, but you were making such beautiful sounds that it made him reconsider.

"Well, well," Jisung purred, rolling his hips forward until you gagged slightly. "Looks like someone's eager to taste what's mine." His free hand reached back to tangle in Minho's hair, forcing his face closer to your heat. "Go ahead then, kitten. Show me how badly you've missed this pussy."

Minho needed no further encouragement. His tongue delved deep, gathering your wetness like a man dying of thirst. Above him, Jisung's thrusts grew more erratic as your moans vibrated around his length.

"That's it," Jisung groaned, his grip tightening painfully in both your hair and Minho's. "Make her cum on your tongue while I fuck that pretty throat raw."

You clenched again as you gagged. The sight made both men groan in unison.

While two fingers twisted inside you, locating that secret place that caused lightning to dance behind your eyelids, his expert mouth plunged deeper. Legs shaking as they clamped around his head, your spine arched off the floor like a bow being drawn. The tendons in your neck strained against skin as you fought for breath around Jisung's length.

Minho's free hand traced idle patterns on your hip, thumb pressing into the hollow there as if to anchor you to earth. He remembered how you used to fight this—how your alpha pride would make you bite your lip bloody rather than surrender. But tonight was different. Tonight, you were lost in a haze of sensation, caught between Jisung stretching your throat and Minho's wicked tongue.

"I missed those little sounds you make," Minho whispered against your inner thigh while his fingers never stopped their relentless assault inside you. "Remember how you used to fight it? All that alpha pride... But look at you now, dripping all over my chin like the prettiest little slut."

Your only response was a desperate whimper around Jisung the vibrations making him curse and grip your hair tighter. Minho's palm spread across your lower belly, feeling the muscles there coiling tight as a spring. He could read the signs in your body like a familiar book - the flutter of your walls around his fingers, the way your toes curled against the carpet, the endless slick that coated his chin and neck.

It should be impossible, actually. You were an alpha, technically more prepared to lubricate less than omegas and less sensitive, but that was never an obstacle for Lee Minho. He had a talent and he was going to rub it in the blue one's face.

"There we go," he purred, voice rough with want as his fingers found that perfect rhythm. His tongue flicked rapidly against your clit. "Show Jisung what he's been missing. Show him how pretty you look when you fall apart for us. Bet he's never seen an alpha gush like this before."

Unstoppable and overwhelming, the pressure increased like a tsunami. As Minho's tongue pounded viciously against you and his fingers struck that spot with devastating accuracy, your thighs trembled uncontrollably. Above you, Jisung's grip tightened in your hair as he felt your throat contracting around him, your gag reflex working overtime.

"Holy shit," Jisung groaned, watching transfixed as Minho buried his face deeper between your thighs, his nose grinding against your button while his tongue worked magic. "Is she actually going to—?"

“Yeah. Just watch, blue.”

Your muffled scream cut him off as the dam finally broke. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the saliva on your chin as you came hard around Minho's fingers. He moaned against your pussy, the vibrations prolonging your pleasure as you gushed over his hand and face. You thrashing beneath him, totally undone and beautiful in your surrender, made his own cock harden once more. He didn't stop, though, working you through each aftershock until you were sobbing around Jisung's length, your whole body trembling.

"Such a good girl," Minho praised, his tongue darting out to catch another drop of your arousal from his bottom lip. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he swallowed, savoring your taste like a man starved. "Always so fucking perfect for us. Still tastes like honey and sin."

"You okay, baby?" Han's voice was velvet-soft as he ran a loving hand down the center of your chest, fingers trailing fire under your tied arms and over the plane of your stomach. "You never let me see you like this before."

"Never saw her absolutely drenched like this before, did you?" Minho wiped his chin with the back of his hand, though his face remained gloriously debauched. A drop of your arousal caught the light as it rolled down the column of his throat, disappearing beneath his collar. "Takes someone who knows exactly what buttons to push."

“Funny how you think you know her better after abandoning her for two fucking years, kitten."

Minho's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, catching the light like a cat's in the darkness.

"I may have left." A cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth. "But at least I knew how to make her fall apart properly when I was here. Every." His tongue clicked against his teeth. "Single." Another click. "Time." His head tilted to one side, challenging. "Can you say the same, blue boy?"

Han’s scent turned sharp enough to burn, filling the room like smoke. "Continue running your mouth like that," his fingers traced patterns on your hip, but his eyes were fixed on Minho's throat. "And I'll show you exactly how I can reduce your precious wolf to a whimpering mutt while I spank that pretty ass of yours until it matches your fucking pride."

Your throat burned deliciously as you swallowed, tasting the remnants of both men on your tongue. Both of them turned back to you as you shifted, the ropes biting into your wrists. "For fuck's sake," you managed to rasp. "Shut up, both of you. Less alpha posturing, more fucking. I didn't get on my knees and let you both use my throat just to watch you measure dicks like teenagers."

"Uhm... Sorry, baby." Jisung's chuckle reverberated through his chest. His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, thumb pressing against your swollen bottom lip. "Since it's this dumb alpha's special day," he shot Minho a look that made the older alpha blush, "I'll let him decide if he wants his knot in your tight little ass or that pretty cunt. Okay?"

With eyes darting between your dripping core and the jeweled plug that winked teasingly between your cheeks, Minho's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"I want..." his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one knee to the other. "Both." His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to touch Jisung but not daring. "Please, I need both."

One sharp look from Jisung—just a slight narrowing—and a disapproving click of his tongue was all it took. It was like watching a proud statue fall apart—the change happened instantly. Minho's shoulders curved inward, the proud line of his spine melting into something more pliant. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

Almost apparent, the aroma of cinnamon, lavender, and caramel wrapped itself around Minho like silk strands.

"Cunt," he finally whispered. "Please... I choose her pussy. Want to feel her squeeze around my knot like she used to."

A slow smile spread across Jisung's face. "Good kitten," he purred. His fingers tangled in Minho's dark hair, tugging just hard enough to sting. "Pussy it is. What do you say now?”

“T-Thank you.”

“There you go.”

Jisung's hands were surprisingly gentle as he worked at the knots, each brush of his fingers against your sensitized skin making you shiver. With a whisper, the rope slipped away and gathered on the ground like discarded snake skin.

"Up you go, pretty thing," Jisung whispered as he assisted you in standing up, his palm extending over the small of your back.

Your legs trembled like a newborn fawn's, muscles still quivering from the aftershocks. The room swayed and tilted like a ship in a storm, reality blurring at the edges until Jisung's bruising grip on your hip became your only anchor to consciousness.

Leather greeted your heated skin with a shock of cold that drew a hiss from between your teeth. Jisung's knee pressed insistently between your thighs, spreading you wide enough that the muscles burned. Behind you, Minho's breath hitched in his throat—a sound caught between a whimper and a growl that made your inner walls clench with need. The jeweled plug shifted inside you as Jisung toyed with it.

"Such a greedy little thing," Jisung worked the plug in torturous circles. "Look at how she's clenching around it, Minho-yah. Both holes just begging to be stuffed full, aren't they?" The metal caught the dim light as he finally eased it free, your body fluttering helplessly around the sudden emptiness.

Cool liquid dripped between your cheeks in a meandering trail that made you arch and whine. Jisung's fingers followed, spreading it with the patience of a man who knew exactly how to drive you mad. His knuckles brushed against your entrance with each pass, a teasing promise that had your thighs trembling.

"Here." The single word carried enough command to make both you and Minho shiver.

You heard rather than saw Minho scramble to take the offered bottle, his desperate pants filling the room like a prayer.

"Such a good boy for me," Jisung praised, and you could feel the way Minho's entire being seemed to light up at the words, his scent sweetening with pleasure. "Now get that pretty cock ready. Our girl's been so patient, hasn't she? Look how she's dripping for us both."

With a roughness that sent thrills down your spine—because this was still Han Jisung, still your beautiful, commanding alpha—he manhandled you onto the couch. Your back hit his chest with enough force to drive the air from your lungs, his heartbeat a rapid drum against your shoulder blades. Slick and burning hot, he nudged at your entrance with an insistence that bordered on desperation.

"Gonna split you open so pretty," he growled against the shell of your ear, teeth catching the lobe hard enough to sting as he lined up. "Show our little kitty exactly how an alpha takes care of what's his."

A broken sound escaped your throat as he breached you, the stretch bordering on too much. Sweat gathered at your temples, rolling down to pool in the hollow of your throat where your pulse fluttered.

"Holy fuck," Minho whimpered, his fingers twitching against his thigh as he watched you take Jisung to the root.

As Jisung tipped the last of the whiskey to your lips, the amber liquid burned a trail down your throat, and the crystal tumbler clinked against your teeth. "Gorgeous, isn't she?" His hips rolled experimentally, the new angle making your vision blur at the edges. "But we're not done yet, are we, kitten? Show me just how badly you want to wreck her."

Minho's hands shook as they settled on your thighs, fingertips leaving crescent-shaped marks as he spread you impossibly wider. Already slippery and swollen from his previous attention, the head of his dick pressed against your folds, a string of precum binding him to your heated flesh.

"Please," your voice cracked around the word as your fingers dipped between your legs, spreading yourself. "Need you both. Need to be filled completely." You crooked your fingers, showing him exactly where you wanted him, clenching around nothing. "Show me you haven't forgotten how to make me scream, Min."

What was left of his control was destroyed by the use of his nickname.

As if he had run for miles, Minho's chest heaved as his breath came in tattered pants that muddled the air between you. In an attempt to resist the urge to simply pop a knot in midair, the muscles in his forearms tensed up.

"Such a needy little thing.”

Behind you, Jisung's hands slid up your ribcage, leaving trails of fire in their wake before cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked. "Stop teasing her. Unless you want me to take over completely and show you how it's done."

The threat in his voice made Minho's hips snap forward, the head of his cock finally breaching you. The stretch was exquisite—too much and not enough all at once, burning and perfect. Your walls fluttered around both men as they filled you completely, the dual sensation making your toes curl against the leather.

"Fuck," Minho choked out, his forehead dropping to rest against your sternum. "So tight. So perfect. Can feel you both. Can feel how well you take us."

Your fingers found their way into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as you felt him tremble. The touch made him shudder violently, his hips stuttering forward another inch as a broken moan escaped his throat. "Move, kitty," you commanded softly, tugging at his hair just the way you remembered he liked.

Minho's eyes devoured every inch of you with an almost feverish intensity, pupils blown wide as his hips snapped forward with urgency.

"Please," he rasped, voice cracking like autumn leaves underfoot. "Need to—shit, need to mark you. Make you mine again." His canines lengthened visibly, pressing against his bottom lip until tiny droplets of blood welled up. His inner wolf screamed for possession as it thrashed against its chains—you ought to be writhing beneath him in his bedroom, your scent blending with the remnants that, two years later, still clung obstinately to his sheets, taking his knot until the memory of any other touch vanished.

"Such pretty begging," Jisung purred, his breath hot against your ear. His free hand snaked around to grip Minho's throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make the older alpha's breath hitch. "But you forgot something important, didn't you?"

No kissing, no claiming.

The movement caught Minho's attention, drawing his gaze up to where Jisung watched them both with predatory focus. Something molten pooled in Minho's stomach as the younger alpha's lips twisted into that devastating half-smile.

Slowly, Jisung brought the crystal tumbler to his own lips, throat working as he swallowed. A single drop of amber liquid escaped, meandering down the sharp line of his jaw. Minho's tongue darted out unconsciously to wet his lips.

The realization hit him like lightning—Han Jisung, with his ocean-deep hair, lip piercing and cruel kindness, would slot perfectly into the empty spaces in his bedroom too.

What the fuck? No, this shouldn't be happening! The metallic taste of blood invaded his mouth as he bit his lip hard enough to hurt, ignoring how your eyes opened to stare at him when you smelled it.

Fuck! He already has a jack in his hands; he doesn't need another one! The thought burned like acid in his throat. Minho needs to think about other omegas and whores—the girl from Midnight Club with purple hair and tongue piercings, the bartender from Red Light with tribal tattoos running down his tanned neck, the cat-eyed dancer from Velvet Underground. He needs to fuck women and men until the scent of cinnamon and caramel is replaced by sweat and cheap sex, until every memory of you is buried under a pile of nameless bodies, until he erases you from the system, erases Jisung and that damn smile.

He needed to fuck.

"Open that pretty mouth for me, kitten," Jisung commanded, pressing the cool rim of the glass to Minho's lips. His other hand remained firm around the older alpha's throat.

Whiskey flooded Minho's mouth, burning sweetly as it mixed with your lingering taste on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the dual sensation of your walls clenching around him and Jisung's possessive grip on his throat. The familiar pressure began building at the base of his cock, his knot threatening to swell—breed mate claim mine mine mine.

"Eyes on me," Jisung growled, his fingers tightening until crimson starbursts exploded behind Minho's eyelids. "Show me what a good boy you can be. Match my rhythm—yeah, just like that." His thumb ghosted over Minho's bottom lip, collecting the bitter cocktail of whiskey and copper.

The muscles in Minho's throat worked convulsively beneath Jisung's grip, his pulse a frantic drumbeat against calloused fingers. Sweat-stained skin caused his shoulder blades to shift beneath his curved spine as he struggled to keep up with Jisung's vicious pace.

"I'm sorry, sorry, baby." Minho choked out, his rhythm growing erratic as his knot began to swell, balls hitting your rim with all his might. "Please, Alpha, I can't—need to—"

"Not yet." Jisung's voice was sin incarnate, dark honey and broken glass. His fingers found your clit, drawing tight circles that had your vision blurring at the edges. "Our girl cums first. Show her what those pretty fingers can do and then you are allowed."

When you felt the stretch of both cocks filling you completely, Jisung's teeth at your throat, and Minho's deft fingers joining Jisung's at your clit, the world shrank to pure sensation. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, vision whiting out as pleasure crashed through your system. You could feel yourself clenching rhythmically around them both, drawing them deeper as your body demanded to be bred.

"Holy fuck," Minho choked out, his hips stuttering as your walls milked his cock. "Can't—alpha, please—"

Jisung's growl vibrated through your back, possessive and commanding. "Cum for us, kitten. Breed her nice and deep."

As Minho emptied himself inside of you with a broken cry, the command in Jisung's voice caused his entire body to tremble, his knot to fully swell. You could feel him pulsing, filling you alongside Jisung's still-hard length. Your oversensitive walls fluttered around them both, and the sensation was almost too much, almost painful.

"Such a good boy," Jisung praised, his voice rough as gravel as his hips snapped up harder. His fingers twisted in Minho's hair, yanking his head back to expose the column of his throat. "Look at how well you take my commands, how perfectly you fill our alpha."

Minho whimpered, high and desperate, as Jisung's teeth scraped over his scent gland. His hips jerked helplessly, locked inside you by his knot as aftershocks of pleasure wracked his frame.

"Please," you gasped, writhing between them as Jisung's pace grew brutal. "Too much! I can't! Stop!"

Jisung's laugh was dark honey against your skin. "Yes, you can. One more for us, pretty thing. Show our kitty how good we make you feel."

His fingers found your clit again while Minho latched onto your breast. The dual sensation of his tongue laving over your nipple and Jisung's cock dragging against your g-spot had you almost screaming.

Minho's teeth grazed your nipple as he moaned around the sensitive flesh, his own oversensitivity evident in the way his thighs trembled. You could feel his knot pulsing inside you with each thrust of Jisung's hips, stretching you impossibly wider.

"That's it," Jisung growled, his rhythm growing erratic as his own knot began to swell. "Take it all, every fucking drop."

As pleasure verged on pain, your second orgasm struck like lightning, causing tears to fall down your cheeks. Jisung followed with a snarl, his knot locking inside you alongside Minho's as he marked you from the inside out.

For a moment, Minho allowed himself to collapse against your chest, his forehead pressed against your sternum as his breath came in ragged gasps. The steady thrum of your heartbeat beneath his ear was a siren song, beckoning him towards dangerous waters where dreams of permanence lurked like sharks beneath still waters.

"Fuck," he whispered, the word barely audible as his fingers traced meaningless patterns across your ribs. His tongue darted out to taste the salt of your skin, cataloging the way Jisung's and his scent had mixed with your natural sweetness to create something entirely new.

Behind you, Jisung's fingers carded through Minho's sweat-dampened hair, the gentle touch at odds with the possessive grip he maintained on your hip. "Stay still for me, both of you," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder. "Let me take care of you while we're tied."

Minho's eyelashes fluttered against your skin as he fought back the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to memorize this moment—the weight of you both, the way Jisung's fingers felt against his scalp, the lingering taste of whiskey and blood on his tongue. Wanted to bottle it up and keep it safe, hidden away with all the other pieces of himself he couldn't bear to examine too closely.

But he couldn't. Wouldn't. The rules were clear—no staying, no claiming, no letting himself believe this could be anything more than what it was. Even as his body betrayed him, cock still pulsing inside you as his knot kept you locked together, his mind was already calculating the fastest way to get you out of his house. Already planning his escape.

"Your heart's racing," you observed softly, fingers trailing down his spine in a touch so gentle it made him want to scream. Or sob. Or both.

Minho said nothing, but his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise.

It was like a game of Kemps, Minho thought hazily, watching the way moonlight painted silver stripes across your skin through his half-closed Venetian blinds. Just like those drunken Sunday afternoons in Chan's apartment. But now he had two jacks in his hand. Two cards that could ruin everything he'd built, destroy the fortress around his heart.

He could already imagine it—lazy Sunday mornings with the scent of condensed milk pudding filling his apartment, the sweet aroma mingling with fresh coffee and Jisung's scent. Jisung's steady hands marking his skin with permanent promises in black ink while vinyl records crackled in the background. You in the bathtub singing "Here Comes The Sun" off-key, bubbles clinging to your shoulders while Jisung lounged behind you reading his worn copy of Murakami, occasionally glancing up from the pages to watch him shave. Movie nights with takeout containers scattered across his coffee table, your head in his lap and Jisung's fingers absently playing with both your hair. The three of you tangled together in his Egyptian cotton sheets, no need for rushed goodbyes or careful distance, just the steady rhythm of shared breaths and intertwined heartbeats.

The domesticity of these visions felt like a noose around his neck, tightening with each passing second. Like his mother's pearls scattered across the bathroom floor, like the bitter taste of failure that had lived on his tongue since that day. The thought terrified him more than any business deal or angry investor ever could.

"When will I see you again?"

For the first time, he was the one that asked this question. His fingers trembled as he considered keeping his jacks instead of discarding them, letting them destroy his perfect game.

After all, sometimes the best strategy was letting your walls crumble, brick by carefully constructed brick, until nothing remained but the raw, beating heart beneath.

Kemps!

#imagine #stray kids minho #minho #minho x reader #minsung x reader #lee minho x reader #minsung #lee know #lee know x reader #lee know x han #han jisung x lee minho #han x reader #han jisung x reader #alpha female #stray kids angst #angst with a happy ending #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #trauma

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kissingghouls · 1 month ago

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The Emperor (Suck Club IV)

Part One: The Foe // ao3

Vampire Primo x Female Reader

Summary: Once upon a time a vampire saved your life. Now it's up to you to save him and his empire. Tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, reader uses a fake name sometimes, horror themes, vampire violence, violence, blood, (eventual) smut, and more tags on ao3 // 2700ish words div by @gothdaddyissues

All places have their secrets. People too. Families, friends, enemies, strangers—everyone’s got something to hide. You were no different than anyone else. For years you ran from your past and now you lived so comfortably in a lie there were times you started to believe it was real. And maybe some parts of it were real, but the truth was you couldn’t live in a fairytale forever.

The ones with vampires never had happy endings anyway.

Primo used to remind you of this. Not maliciously, just with the matter-of-fact certainty that often accompanied his statements. The arrangement couldn’t last forever no matter how well it worked between you. “Fate has her own plans, Diavolina,” he’d say while staring off into the distance. And maybe that was why your vampire was gone. Maybe you’d done or said something to remind him of the inevitable, something that drove him from away from this place. It didn’t matter that his letter said otherwise.

Calling him yours might seem arrogant, but the letter had said that too.

Over a year had passed and the pages grew softer each time you held them in your hands. Soon it would fall apart completely, but looking at the neat script, the tight loops and sheer elegance of his penmanship made it feel like he was still right there. You didn’t need to read it anymore—the words lived in your mind from the first moment you’d read it, permanently etched between synapses and ignited with each thought like a neon sign in a dive bar. Hope lived in that letter. A hope that often brought tears to your eyes if you let it burn too bright. But how could you not?

“Excuse me? Are you even listening?”

You shook your head, blinking away the tears and brought yourself back to the present. A forced smile crossed your face as the woman in front of you huffed and tutted her way toward the counter. The mayor’s wife had never been pleasant, but now that she and her husband had few extra zeros in their bank account she’d become a fucking monster. Still, you swallowed your pride and answered softly, “yes ma’am.”

“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me,” she tsked. “Rude and entitled brat. Just look at the state of this place! It’s no wonder you have no customers with your attitude—”

“Will that be all, Mrs. Chadwell?”

“Yes,” she replied tersely, dropping a handful of items on the counter. She sighed impatiently as you rang in and bagged her purchase. “You’re lucky we even bother with your store, you know.”

You gave her another gith smile. “Thank y—”

“Once that shopping center is finished I’m never coming back,” she added quickly before grabbing her things and spinning on her heel. The objects along the window rattled violently as she slammed the heavy door behind her.

“Guess I’ll just go fuck myself,” you muttered into the empty store.

Rows and rows of untouched products in bright, dust-free packages stared back at you—a monument to your dedication and current failures. Aurea Valley had always felt a little off. While it was as quiet and boring as any other small town, a current of something no one could quite define ran beneath the layers of the mundane. Not luck, or fortune, or even fate, the energy itself was neither good nor bad—just present. That strangeness bound the inhabitants and built a beautiful community—or at least it had. Things had never been this bad before. Even the people who weren’t kind used to be somewhat courteous to each other. Now it felt like the energy that tied them all together was diminishing rapidly.

You could pinpoint the exact moment everything had changed. You hesitated to admit it to yourself, but you still knew. Those cracks in the Valley were hidden deep, but they’d revealed themselves the second Primo Emeritus left. A tired sigh left your lips as you pushed the thoughts of Primo from your mind. No amount of worrying was going to bring the vampire back. You weren’t sure anything could.

You glanced over at the clock and groaned. It was slightly too early to close the shop, but you headed for the door anyway. Outside, a rolling fog had moved in and covered the streets, hiding all signs of life save for a little fox dashing down the sidewalk. The fox certainly wouldn’t mind if you headed home before the posted hours.

As you reached for the lock the door swung open, narrowly missing you. An expensive pair of dress shoes scuffled over the threshold and a sharply dressed man stood in the doorway. You hadn’t met, but Sebastian Night had already made a name for himself in the Valley. When he first arrived, you’d written him off as nothing more than a vaguely goth nepo-baby—all flash and no substance—but it wasn’t long before he proved to be slightly more threatening. In a few short months his company managed to purchase vast amounts of property, demolished half the town, and started construction on a vanity project that was supposed to “revitalize” the area.

The stranger smiled, his teeth a little too straight and white to be natural. Mr. Night and his tailored suits already stood out against the bleak backdrop of a dying town, but the light of the old streetlamps softened the sharp lines of his face. Nearly every busybody in town had stopped to casually mention how handsome and smart he was, how he was “just looking out for the community.” Maybe he was those things and maybe he did want to save the Valley—you didn’t know or care. All you could see standing in front of you was little more than a vulgar display of material wealth, a flashy disguise men like him used to hide their true intentions.

Primo would have wrinkled his nose at such a man, in the subtle, endearing way he used to try to mask his judgements before labelling the man “gauche” in a quiet whisper.

He would’ve been right.

“I’m so sorry,” Night muttered apologetically. “Are you closing up?”

His tone was soft and light. Friendly. An uneasy feeling washed over you—a sinking in your stomach that burned like acid. Seeing him up close, something about him was off. His appearance made your skin itch under the surface, like your own bones were trying to get away.

You took a step back and gave him a tight, but polite smile in return. “Oh, the shop closes at 8.”

He glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist. He tapped once on the face before shooting you another grin as he asked, “I have a few minutes then?”

“Of course,” you replied with all the saccharine-coated customer service pleasantness you could manage. Opening the door a little wider, you made a sweeping gesture with your hand. “Come on in.”

“Thank you. I promise not to take up too much of your time,” he assured you and slipped his hands into his pockets as he crossed the threshold. He wandered less than five feet before turning back to you, the leather of his shoes creaking with the movement. “I’m glad I caught you, Miss Emeritus.”

It was a simple statement, but it set you on edge. Alarm bells and the memory of Primo’s words rang loudly in your head, preventing you from responding for a moment. Be wary of strangers, Diavolina. No Matter how friendly they might seem. Your heart skipped a beat. What if this was exactly the kind of stranger Primo had warned you about?

“Call me Gia,” you replied, offering up the rest of the false identity you’d been wearing for years. Gia Emeritus: average Aurea Valley resident.

Night licked his lips, eyes sparkling with recognition. “Gia,” he repeated sweetly, his lips curling around your borrowed name before they upturned in a smile. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Gia. I’m—”

“I know who you are, Mr. Night.”

“Oh?” he breathed in surprise. “Forgive me, I was so sure we hadn’t met—”

“We haven’t. But it’s difficult not to notice when a man like you suddenly shows up and buys half the town,” you informed him flatly.

“Ah, well,” he laughed nervously. “Fortunately, I’m not here to discuss business.”

“May I ask what you do wish to discuss?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I—I was hoping to meet you,” he admitted. “I thought I’d stop by and introduce myself, but I can see I’ve caught you in the middle of closing. My apologies.”

“It’s…fine,” you offered in a confused tone.

“Perhaps some other time,” he added and inclined his head before he spun around. He only took a few steps before he paused and turned back toward you. “It’s funny you mention it—the town, I mean. Isn’t it your family who owns the other half?”

“Mr. Night—”

“Please, call me Sebastian.”

“Mister. Night,” you stressed slowly through clenched teeth. “Is there something I can help you find?”

He smiled too brightly, a little too sinister for all those perfect little teeth. “I believe there is, but I’m afraid we’ll have to wait for another opportunity. Have a good night, Miss Emeritus.”

The door closed with a loud click and you slid the bolt into place, double checking the handle just to be sure. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you began to pace the length of the store. Miss Emeritus. You dug your nails into your palms, pressing awful little half-moons into your skin. Miss Emeritus, the smug voice repeated.

It wasn’t that he’d said it. You’d borrowed the name a long time ago and wore it so long nothing else really suited you. You were proud of that name, proud to have been given such a name. But this man—this stranger—didn’t use your name with the same respect the rest of the Valley had. He coated it in venom and spat it out like an insult. A threat—a thinly veiled one at that.

You quickly grabbed your things and headed out to your car, breath fogging up around you as winter settled in. Trying to calm yourself, you unfolded the thick paper of the familiar letter and stared down at the words between your fingers.

Diavolina,

Time is a luxury; one I took for granted in my old age. Naively, I thought you and I might enjoy more of it. There are many things I should have told you, so much I should have said during our time together. I suppose I assumed I would have the perfect chance someday.

Fate takes as well as it gives, and the consequences of my actions are further proof that none of us can outrun what has been set for us all. Not forever anyway. I am sorry for leaving you with such a terrible burden and little explanation. This is not what I wanted for you. The cottage is yours should you want it. I only ask that you give it time to grow on you and keep it in my name.

Yours eternally,

Primo Emeritus

P.S. Please don’t look for me, diavolina. I will return to you as soon as I can. Until then—be wary of strangers no matter how friendly they seem.

-x-

Fog settled into the low spaces of the Valley, covering the empty streets with a ghostly mist. The sharp snap of cold trailed closely behind, much too cold for this time of year. By morning the ground would be coated in a layer of frost that hides the traces of his careful footsteps, but Primo sank deeper into the shadows. The streetlamps, weathered and long overdue for replacement, burned a dim orange glow into the hazy atmosphere as the heavy air pressed against him like stones across his chest.

He crouched in the underbrush. Watching. Waiting. For what, he wasn’t quite sure. A sign, a signal, something more substantial than this feeling gnawing on his bones. It had been a long time since he’d felt something like this—felt like he was standing at the precipice of ruin. It wasn’t something he ever wanted to feel again.

A short distance away a fox skirted the tree line, cautiously sniffing the air. It moved away quickly, not daring to enter the woods. It darted over the road leaving only the sour scent of fear that stung the vampire’s nostrils. It wasn’t just the fox. Everything—the town, the woods, and the old abandoned highway that ran between seemed to be covered in an unfamiliar stench. A disgusting, acrid odor of despair and decay had overtaken the entire Valley.

Something was coming. Or worse, it was already here. It hardly mattered. There wasn’t a soul on this earth that could keep him from protecting you. This place could be headed straight for the Pit and he’d still let himself be damned a third time to save you. Maybe that was love. Or maybe he was just an old fool. He’d been alive long enough now not to know or care anymore. He’d been powerless in the face of time for centuries, stuck watching and endless ebb and flow. He’d seen more cities than he could name crumble only to be rebuilt and destroyed again. Unstoppable. Perpetual. No matter how long he lived, the cycle of creation and destruction carried on. All things pass; all things reborn.

A snake swallowing its own tail.

Perhaps he was the ouroboros stuck in an infinite loop, doomed to repeat his mistakes along the way. He wasn’t called back to this place because fate was kind. There was a price—there always was—but paying with his own suffering wasn’t enough this time.

The vampire stood; his eyes narrowed as he focused on the window of your little shop. If he could see you just once…Satanas, how he missed you. Your laugh. Your smile. Maybe he was nothing more than a desperate man after all these years, longing to bask in your presence once more. It was foolish, but he wished it all the same.

His breath caught in his throat as a break in the fog finally revealed your beautiful face. And you smiled—not at him, of course—but at the man in the dark suit seeking entrance to your shop. Some younger man he didn’t recognize was on the receiving end of your warm welcome. Perhaps you’d taken a lover in his absence, found someone who could give you the things he could not. Then again, maybe this was just the insane paranoia of a man who’d lived too long already, urged by fate’s unending desperation to taunt him.

Primo felt sick the second he heard it, that little tell-tale skip of your heartbeat. He wasn’t in the habit of eavesdropping on your conversations—you’d be furious if you knew—but he slowed his breath and turned every bit of his attention toward you.

“Call me Gia.”

His chest tightened. It was a name you’d used hundreds of times over the years, but it wasn’t really yours. The two of you had buried your real name beneath the cottage long ago and left your past interred next to his own terrible secrets. The man repeated your name, but Primo had heard enough. He kept watch long enough to see the man exit the shop. A few moments later you emerged, pulse quick but steady, as you climbed into that old car of his.

The wind carried a high, horrid sound through the trees, an incorporeal laughter that cut through his soul. He doubled over, body wracked with indescribable pain. He wished she would leave him be, to just sit back and let things unfold as they would. But fate wasn’t finished with him yet. His connection to you shouldn’t have been so strong. He hadn’t marked you; he would never dream of such a thing. But he could feel it all, each hair on the back of his neck down to the nerves in his teeth, every cell in his body screaming as something followed you.

more stuff by me // please please let me know if i missed your name on the tag list or if you would like to be added.

#my fics #suck club forever #mdni #primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #vampire primo #papa primo x reader #papa primo fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #x reader #reader insert

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lilacliquors · 1 year ago

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kinktober day six: cuckolding

pairing: diego hargreeves x reader

word count: 819

notes: i am so bad at ending smut-shot this is embarrassing. anyways, enjoy kinktober day six, my loves!

you had been hesitant to try this out, feeling vulnerable and like a cheating harlot, but your partner had reassured you so many times that it was okay, they wanted this, they liked it. they wanted to see another person bring you ecstasy, to make you moan and scream and beg. and after much talking and rule making, you had settled on a third to bring into your bedroom. an old friend of theirs, diego hargreeves

and now, there you were, at the mercy of another man, all while your partner was in the corner, bound in a chair as they desired, watching as you came undone over and over again.

your legs were spread, and diego was between them, feasting on your sensitive pussy like it was fruit from the garden of eden. his hands gripped your thighs as his tongue traced over your clit, making you squirm and grip his hair. you liked that it was longer than your partner’s, much easier to grab onto, and he hissed while his face contorted in pleasure as your nails scratched his scalp.

“that’s it, baby,” he mumbled between your legs. “grind those hips against my face. come on, chase it. we know you want it.”

you whined, your body felt like it was on fire, and yet you wanted more. you pressed his face harder against your cunt, mewling as he slid two fingers into your wet and waiting entrance. his fingers pumped gently, and your legs tried to close around his head as yet another orgasm began to build.

“fuck, diego,” you moaned, your free hand gripping the sheets. his only response was a muffled groan against you, and it made you squirm even more. you bucked your hips as he kneaded your thighs, and the more friction you gained, the closer you got, until finally, your muscles tensed, and you cried out, your orgasm washing over your body with enough for to make your legs shake. you tried to pull diego’s head away from your cunt, but he was firmly in place, fucking you with his fingers as he lapped at your clit, until you collapsed onto the bed. he pulled back and looked down at you, slowly removing his fingers as you whined in protest.

“look at you, all fucked out. but i think you’ve got more in you,” he said, reaching for his belt. you watched as he undid it, pulling it out of the belt loops in one swift motion, and tossing it aside. he shoved his pants and boxers down his legs, and his cock sprung free, hard and leaking. your expression must have changed, because he started to laugh as he climbed back on top of you.

“worried? it’s okay, we’ll make it fit,” he mumbled, grabbing his cock with one hand before capturing your lips and in a searing kiss. he pumped his erection a few times before pushing into you, swallowing your moans as you took every inch he had to give. he paused, allowing you time to adjust, before he began to thrust into you with a steady rhythm.

“oh, fuck …” you breathed, arching your back as his lips left yours to trail down your neck and along your jaw.

“feels good, yeah? better than anyone you’ve ever had?” he asked.

you looked over his shoulder to your partner, your eyes half-lidded as you gazed at them. they nodded, letting you know they were okay, that this was okay, and you felt yourself smile.

“so much better,” you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“mhm, the best you’ll ever have. this pussy’s mine, and i’m gonna fuck it whenever i want, for as long as i want,” he growled, his strokes pushing harder, yet with that same steady rhythm. you were a moaning mess beneath him, your eyes squeezing shut as your lips parted. it felt so wrong, but so right, letting another person bring you to these new heights of pleasure. your mind was foggy, your body was on fire, and before long, that pleasurable sensation was growing.

“don’t you look so fucking pretty like this, being fucked by a stranger while your real partner watches, hm? you like being fucked by someone else? someone better?” he taunted, and you gasped as your toes curled.

“mm, ah - yes! oh, yes!” you cried out, cumming once more. he grinned, a wolfish expression on his face, and he continued to pound into you as you grew more sensitive.

“oh no you don’t. i’m not finished with you yet,” he growled. the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, and it wasn’t long until he was pulling out of you to pump his cock, groaning as his release started to paint your abdomen. you were panting, your legs aching and starting to close, but he grabbed your thighs and kept them spread.

“tsk tsk, we’re just getting started.”

#atomwritez #diego hargreeves smut #diego hargreeves x reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober2023 #atomwritez kinktober2023

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bylerbigbang · 3 months ago

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Switcheroo, In Your Shoes

Fic by @foodiewithdahoodie | Art by @jiuwann

Rated Teen | 36k words

Before high school, Mike and Will thought they'd be thick as thieves along with the rest of the party. However, they discover that they don't have any classes together and drift apart making new friends outside of their childhood friends or focus on their separate hobbies. Then, a rumor happens that further puts a wedge in between Mike and Will. Now, on graduation night, Mike and Will try to make amends and perhaps confess their feelings, only for things to go astray as the next day they have switched bodies. After not seeing eye to eye in so long, perhaps this is their chance to be in each other's shoes.

Warnings: smoking, underage drinking, F slurs, slut-shaming mention, implied sexual content (dreams, imaginations, seeing the other naked implicitly, attempted non-explicit first time - doesn't pan out because they're in each other's bodies), getting outed, AIDs reference, coming out, bullying, rumor has it

Read on Ao3 | View Art

Read an excerpt below:

“We’re gonna be late.” Will laughs to subside his desires and curiosities, ignoring how attentive Mike is being with him, and checks his wristwatch.

A matching one is around Mike’s wrist, same brand and model and year. They bought them together with their saved piggy bank allowances and the looting of couch cushions for loose change. Pooling their funds to have watches that rival Nancy's friendship bracelets she made with Barb.

“We’ll make it.” Mike promises, skillfully doing a four-in-knot tie. Big talk from a guy who’s regularly tardy to anything timed. Will decides to be nice and not bring up his doubts. When has Mike steered him wrong?

Folding the fabric lickety-split, Mike gets to work; pushing the wide end of the tie through the loop, forming the knot, slipping the end of the fabric through the knot and keeping it straight, to finally pulling the narrow end upward and taut on Will’s neck.

“Too loose? Too tight?” Mike tilts his head sideways inquisitively.

“Just right. Thanks.” Will hoarsely replies and drums his fingers on his thighs, restless.

“No problem.” Mike whispers and doesn’t remove himself.

Will looks at Mike’s stationary hands, timidly smiling and biting back a chuckle. “Are you gonna let go of me anytime soon?”

Mike says nothing in response. He simply and slowly nods with an unreadable expression that Will can’t decipher. Little by little, Mike statically withdraws, sliding his hands down inch by inch, fingers smoothing the fabric until reaching the pointed tip of Will’s tie pinched between his thumb and index finger. Neither of them make a move to leave for the ceremony. They just stand there, lost in a moment they don’t want to acknowledge, staring bashfully at their feet because eye contact would make it too heartfelt.

Will has to hurry, his last name puts him in the second row. Very noticeable for the audience to see him tiptoeing to his seat. Mike can get away with slithering into his chair, perks of having a surname grouped with the last-letters-of-the-alphabet kids. Instead of parting ways, they gradually and courageously look at each other, their locked eyes conveying enormous emotions, words they wish to say palpable in the silence, lips tingling to free their thoughts and unburden their hearts.

Will is the first to spin on his heels, admiring himself in the mirror and squashing his relapsing hope that there could be something more that Mike leaves unsaid. Through the reflection, he subconsciously locks eyes again with Mike's large and sparkling ones.

Fiddling with his tie dozily, Will talks to Mike’s reflection. It’s easier to do than facing the real thing. “You gotta teach me sometime.”

“Definitely.”

“Well, we better go!”

“Yeah—Hey, wait!” Mike exclaims abruptly, his outburst pausing Will's receding footsteps. “Uh, can you, um, sign my yearbook?”

Gobsmacked, Will gawks at Mike, shyly laughing and raising an incredulous brow. “You mean right now?”

“Uh-huh! I mean—No! I mean later! Later! I have it stashed in my car.” Mike clarifies,

#byler #byler big bang #byler fanfiction #byler fic #bbb24 #masterpost #switcheroo in your shoes

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some-pers0n · 2 days ago

Note

i, magical anon, request a List of Ocs. thank you ma’am have a nice day

My OCs?? Damn well I guess I gotta talk about 'em some more sometime. They're all mainly WoF OCs (unless you want me to count my Grootkey thing) soo..here we go! Haven't touched most of my OCs in years so sorry if I've forgotten things or just go "I found this one in a folder ig"

Paramic (They/Them)

Paramic is (was?)(hard to tell if they're alive or dead) a self-made animus who was initially an excited, overzealous student at Sanctuary'a academy. One day when out surveying the landscape nearby the Deltra Spray River, they found a pair of claw caps that were animus chanted to tear a hole in reality and allow them to pass through. Paramic, who's always been fascinated by the concept of alternate universes, explores them. Things then spiral. Badly. Very badly. Now they're in a weird paradox/time loop thing and it's not too fun. They're still a good dragon though!

(Art credits to DrawesomeJulia)

Navigation (He/They)

Navigation is kinda currently in a weird limbo area in the story and I kinda wanna revisit him sometime to try and give him an actual story. The only real thing that matters is that he's an adopted animus dragon who literally doesn't give two shits about whether his actions are good or not (whereas Paramic keeps trying to convince themselves that it's alright). Navigation is just a bastard and I love him a little

(Art credit to Dreambreaker)

Miasma (She/They/It)

Miasma is dead and is mostly just cursed to wander the Forgotten City of Night forever as an aimless spirit and only really exist when some poor sap comes along and dies in her general area. Her current body belongs to a HiveWing who tried fleeing to the land where Clearsight came from (Pyrrhia) and only managed to get a bit father than the shore of the peninsula for Miasma to Get 'Em. They don't remember anything really. They're a mash of both OG Miasma who existed 2000 years ago and the HiveWing. They got a pet snake named Talus too

(Art credits to Floofy)

Marlin (She/Her)

Marlin is different in the way she's technically a canon character. She's my interpretation for Albatross' wife. Albatross and Marlin got married, but due to Albatross being aromantic it felt a bit...off. Marlin didn't pay it any attention and was content being pretty friendly with him though. Marlin is a dragon from a pretty low ranking house and she was arranged to marry him because her parents told Queen Lagoon that their family were more capable of producing animus dragos (and also paid a good fortune). Marlin's just a sweetheart...

(Art credits to AvianReptilez)

The Thorns and Roses Gang

So, my first ever actual longfic was an OC fic about these three (though mainly candy cane there in the middle). Lemme go through them all. Idk how well Thorns and Roses holds up, but I think it's a half-decent fic if you're into OC stuff ig. It's not big on plot and is mainly about Radiant trying to better herself while the events of Arc 3 happen around her and her friends

(Art credits to VuIkun)

Radiant (She/Her)

Ah ol' Radiant. Shit childhood. Horrible one. She grew up in Wasp Hive in an academy as an orphan. This was because her parents were flamesilk revolutionists, who had their egg confiscated when they were executed. Radiant was abused pretty horribly and it shaped her perception of the world drastically. She believes herself to be inherently unlovable so she acts rude, crass, sarcastic, etc etc. She does get a nice friend group by the end and betters herself just a bit, becoming content with life and a bit happier at the end

Locust (He/Him)

Locust is a duke of Hornet Hive and his family is notorious for both their prestige and status, but also their colour. The LeafWing-HiveWings and all. Locust was living at Hornet Hive all alone and wanted a friend, but also had a bit of a savior complex and when he saw Radiant he wanted to help her out so bad. He hired Radiant as a "servant", when really it was like getting a roommate. By the end they become a lot closer and are nice friends, with Radiant going from literally hating him with every fiber of her being to then go chasing after him into a battlefield

Adonis (She/Her)

Adonis was a servant of Locust's parents and lived in Mantis Hive. She's generally a pretty bubbly and preppy individual, though one who's been led to believe in the abusive values of the HiveWing oppressors. Through the help of Radiant (where they meet each other eventually) she unlearns these ideas and begins to live her life freely. She's just a silly friend :] Love her

Tide (He/Him)

This guy (+ a couple others who I like and call the Scorpion Den gang) shows up in TAR as well. Tide is an ex-prince of the SeaWings, who just got sick of Coral's shit, ran away, and nearly died in the desert before stumbling upon the bar belonging to his now-girlfriend. He's laid-back and generally a sorta "whatever" guy, but he will put down his talons if stuff is going down

#ask #anon #sp-rambles #More is coming I promise I just ran out of images

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lost-technology · 9 months ago

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Weird-Ass Trigun Dreams

I have them, yes. So, this morning, I woke up from dreams I was having about finding an entire alternate Trigun manga in a bookstore. The strangest thing about it was that it wasn't created by Nightow, it was more like an official fanwork created by some other mangaka and ran parallel to the Trigun Maximum timeline as an alternate universe. I distinctly remember pages involving Vash drawn as an anthropomorphic cat. - So, something like a Trigun / Lackadaisy crossover? It was somewhat in that style. Vash was a very fluffy tabby-type, by the way... a floofy orange cat, but the image was in black and white, I just could tell the type of cat he was supposed to be. And then I had another dream about Vash and Knives in modern times and they were getting into some kind of trouble in a suburb tearing ass in a minivan down a street with Vash on top of it with a baseball bat trying to evade cops or something. And then there is another dream that I recall that happened at some other time involving an entire alternate anime and manga that had continued somehow - in my dream, Nightow had revived the manga at some point after its official ending and I had been OUT OF THE LOOP on fandom for so long that I had years of backlore that I'd MISSED! Gasp! And there was all this funky Plant-lore (although I can't remember exactly what it was, something about origins, I think) and stuff about Vash's early life, wandering days. I picked up a tape? DVD? of this new anime predating Stampede and done in the old Trigun style and the first episode featured Vash saving a town and getting hurt and being cared for by a lady and feeling guilty and depressed about things he couldn't talk about and that she pried about, and it was very sad as he had to leave town after taking care of the bandits that were threatening it and couldn't stay lest he put the town and the friend he'd made in danger. There was a real feeling of he'd finally made a close friend, but couldn't risk it. And in the alternate manga, there was an entire arc about the SEEDS upbringing in which Vash and Knives, prior to learning about Tesla, learned what Plants really were and their origins and Knives was afraid because of how humans use Plants, so he hijacked a shuttle and went to a different planet (than the one we see) and it was kind of gaseous, like there was a surface to stand on, but everything was gassy and Rem and Vash had to go get him back and deal with some reconciliation regarding the Plant and Human relationship. I think this stuff also had some Plant-lore, too, like some alien origins of Plants, but I am not certain. I just remember there being an uneasy feeling to this whole arc. I seem to recall some pretty cool spacesuits and helmets involved, though. And then @somereaderinblue reminded me of one I'd shared with them that I'd forgotten about that I now remember: I dreamed that there was a Trigun anime - a new one, that was different from Stampede that was set on a world that became like Earth. Independent Plants were born later. The Plant kids were still Plants. Rem had managed to save Tesla and was raising her along with the boys. They'd made planet-landing and terraforming and city-building was underway. A better planet, a better future. About when the kids were 12-14, Tesla was called away by Conrad to do a few tests - which she thought were going to be just blood tests and stuff. The season of the show ended with her being shown to a suite she'd be staying in for a couple of days and a door sealing behind her. She realizes that it has been sealed and she can't get out. She says "Dr. Conrad? Dr. Conrad?!" We all knew what was coming. End of Season 1.

#trigun #trigun maximum #trigun stampede #fake triguns #dreams #trigun dreams #vash the stampede #millions knives #tesla (trigun)#trigun tesla #dr. william conrad #william conrad #rem saverem #my vivid imagination #what's goin' on there brain?#wish you'd get going on original story plots again

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petercapaldi-press · 16 days ago

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INTERVIEW

Paul Dalgarno

First published in the Sunday Herald, 2008.

Peter Capaldi, the Scottish Oscar-winner, is about to blow, but not quite yet. His cropped and grey-flecked hair is getting closer to his eyebrows, but only because those eyebrows are raising sharply – the left one, in particular, arcs like a hieroglyph over his steely left eye.

He rubs his mouth, near seething, as if to hold the venom inside, and veins strain noticeably in his neck. "You've got to fucking do things my way, whether you like it or not," he says.

"You're just a journalist from the Sunday fucking Herald and I'm not interested in your opinions, OK? So just fucking listen or you will not talk to me, or have access to my people, as long as you fucking live."

Capaldi settles back in his seat, spent. He has a habit of slipping unannounced into the body of Malcolm Tucker, the foul-mouthed spin doctor he has made his own in the cult political satire The Thick Of It.

It's a little scary to be on the receiving end, even though he's just pretending, but he says he needs lots of practice. A full-length movie of the series is about to start filming. It will be set largely in Washington and placed loosely, but recognisably, in the context of the Iraq war.

The bile Capaldi brings to the role is born of past experience, dredged up and sieved into concentrated form, remoulded and transmitted like a virus through Tucker's pores.

Look at the highlights of Capaldi's career and you'd be pushed to find reasons for this anger: his breakthrough as Danny Oldsen in Local Hero in 1983, the Academy Award in 1993 for his short film Franz Kafka's It's A Wonderful Life, his fame, since 2005, as an Alastair Campbell-style attack dog in The Thick Of It.

But it's the decades in between, full as they have been with television roles, directing projects and bit parts in movies, that tell the real story. Not low points as such but ...

"Troughs" he says, unleashing an infectious and rattling laugh, his eyes tightly closed, his head tilting back. The real Peter Capaldi has returned, fully affable. When he laughs, it's hard not to get swept along, although it's not really clear why we are laughing.

"It's been great," he says. "I was at the Baftas two years ago for the first time in ages and bumped into a friend I'd worked with a very long time ago. He grabbed me and said, We're still here, mate' and that's true, we're still here. It's a great profession to be in, and to have survived in for so long."

He looks at the clock on his mobile phone, as if his life might be marked out digitally. But mere survival is not necessarily enough, he says, not quite the fulfilment of his life's acting ambitions. He turns 50 next week – a bugbear but no real biggy.

"It's OK," he says. "But I wish I was 40. My father died a couple of years ago and at my age that starts happening to a lot of your peers and friends so you become more conscious of the ever-darkening shadow. But that's fine, it sort of propels you into doing more. Both myself and my wife are actually busier than we've ever been and that's a fantastic place to be."

His wife, Elaine Collins, was also an actor and now develops programmes for ITV, which provides Capaldi with an alternative view of his profession. Their 15-year-old daughter, Cissy, has no ambition to follow in their acting footsteps, a decision that cheers Capaldi no end, even though he's not lacking offers of work.

After The Thick Of It movie – provisionally called In The Loop – he will start filming another series of the show for BBC Two. He is currently having a prosthetic head made for The Devil's Whore, a forthcoming mini-series in which he will play Charles I in the weeks leading up to his execution.

Later this month he will guest star in Doctor Who as Caecillius, a marble dealer from Pompeii, who befriends the doctor and his new assistant.

Touching the Tardis was a dream, a flashback to the Jon Pertwee era of the show and his own childhood. "When I was a kid I wrote to the BBC and the producers sent me a huge package through the post with Doctor Who scripts," he remembers. "I'd never even seen a script and couldn't believe that they actually wrote this stuff down. It sort of opened a door."

Until that point, doors had led in and out of rundown Glasgow tenement blocks in Keppochhill Road, Springburn, where the Capaldis and their relatives lived. On one side of the road – "the tough side" – were his mother's family, who came from Killyshandra in Ireland's County Cavan; on the other side was his father's family, who came originally from the hillside village of Picinisco in central Italy.

Capaldi only recently discovered that The Thick Of It writer and director Armando Iannucci was raised in the same street and that their parents had once been friends.

The one time he visited Picinisco, he was struck by a war memorial in the main plaza with surnames he recognised from Glasgow fish and chip shops, hairdressers and ice-cream parlours. His own family's exodus began with his grandfather, one of seven brothers who went to America and lost a leg building the Brooklyn Bridge, before ending up, after stints in Newcastle and Liverpool, finding work in a Glasgow café. Or at least that's the myth.

"It's hard because people tell you things, but the more I think of it now, the more I think they just made it up," he says. "In those days people could just disappear, and maybe they went to prison. For all I know, my grandfather was a bank robber in Kilsyth. But I always thought it was funny that my grandparents had bought a ticket to New York and ended up in Glasgow."

Capaldi's father drove an ice-cream van, selling the gelati he made in a makeshift factory not far from the Keppochhill tenements. The family wanted to point the young Capaldi in a different direction – one that would eventually lead to him studying illustration at Glasgow School of Art, where he also enjoyed a stint as the frontman in a punk band called The Dreamboys.

"There were always pens to draw with, or a piano if you wanted to learn music," he says. "My grandmother used to say it was an Italian thing, that all the great artists came from Italy. She somehow felt it was appropriate to encourage that in me, although I don't think it was ever thought about consciously."

He had already tried and failed to gain a place at a London drama school when he got his big break opposite Burt Lancaster in Bill Forsyth's film Local Hero. The director had been visiting Capaldi's landlady, a costume designer, when the 25-year-old art student stumbled into his life. "I was just renting a room," says Capaldi.

"They had worked together before on a one-off BBC Scotland film called Andrina. I came home one night the worse for wear and my landlady introduced me to Bill. I was intoxicated but also reasonably amusing." Quarter of a century later, he is still recognised for his part in the film, and particularly by fans in America.

"They're an odd race," he says. "The ones who love that film seem to watch it five times a year or more." The decade that followed the film's release was spent in London bedsits mostly, doing repertory theatre, and feeling nervous and unsure of his abilities.

His past resurfaced in his 1992 screenwriting debut, Soft Top Hard Shoulder, a film in which he starred with his wife, playing an arty and largely disinterested heir to a Scots-Italian ice-cream dynasty. An ice-cream van pops up again briefly in the commercially unsuccessful Strictly Sinatra, a Glasgow gangster film he wrote and directed in 2001, and which starred Ian Hart and Kelly Macdonald.

He takes ultimate responsibility for the film's failure, citing his own directorial inexperience and a series of crippling hitches. The title had originally been Saracen Street, and its replacement still makes him cringe. "Nobody would give me any money unless I made compromises and in the end there were too many," he says.

"The producers only liked half of the film and I just thought, Fuck it – half a film is better than nothing'." Unsurprisingly, the end result was uneven, and Capaldi went into meltdown. "I should have just gone and done something else, but being Scottish, I wore black and went into mourning for five years. I decided that was my comfort zone, which was crap. But then, looking back, it was a tremendously educational experience."

Eight years earlier, in 1993, he faced another stiff learning experience. The Oscar success of Franz Kafka's It's A Wonderful Life set Hollywood execs on a charm offensive. Bob Weinstein of Miramax snapped up the rights to a feature-length film script Capaldi had written and even Kafka would have been pleased with the plot turns that followed.

"We developed the script for about a year and a half and then they said they were going to make the film," he remembers. "I immediately flew to New York to start putting the production together but while I was in the air they changed their minds. When I got to the office they said, We're not going to do this any more. Here's a plane ticket. Off you go.' By that time it was more than a year since the Oscar win and nobody wanted to know me."

Cue a familiar sensation of uncertainty and self-doubt. He was inadequately prepared to deal with fame, he says, to take advantage of opportunities when they came his way, to forge ahead when things looked bad. "I would go into rehearsal rooms where people had been to RADA or Oxford and just tug my forelock," he says.

"My parents didn't take me to the theatre to see Chekhov when I was growing up – we went to see Francie and Josie once every five years. It might sound odd because I always seemed very arrogant but I was actually terrified. I wasted years fretting about it all, trying to do the right thing, being neurotic, but there was actually nothing to worry about."

The decision not to mope around in misery for the rest of his life, and to enjoy himself more, was made when he was 43, and marked the end of his Strictly Sinatra depression. The relaxed look suits him. In fact, it's hard to imagine Capaldi as anything other than he appears today – carefree, a little battered by life, but no more so than anyone else.

He has developed a "this is about to happen" approach when speaking about things, even though they might never happen at all. He has spent much of the last seven years on The Jacobite Slipper, a feature-length script he has written and plans to direct.

Ewan McGregor is reported to be the producer, after coming in on the project several years ago, and is down to play four different roles in the film. The plot revolves around the making of a fictional 1938 film about Bonnie Prince Charlie, on a studio set with painted glens, lace costumes and powdered wigs.

"One of the extras is a dead ringer for Bonnie Prince Charlie, who is an alcoholic and vanishes when the film goes into production," says Capaldi. "The star is replaced by the extra, without the extra ever knowing that he's been duped into this role."

And what stage is it at now? Has initial filming started? "No," he says. "It's basically nowhere." His laughter erupts, sweeps both of us up, stops dead. "If I start talking about the legal issues I'll just get more crappy letters," he says. "But the film has been endangered." Filming could start very soon, or in five years, or maybe never.

"What people don't get is that I don't care," he says. "If it doesn't happen then so what? It's only a film. I'd love to make it, but there's no point making a film unless I can have enough traction over it to fill it with my own creativity. I can't be arsed, you know, but it's taken me years to realise that."

He enjoys painting and drawing, which he does every day, following a conscious decision some time ago to reincorporate art into his life. He draws the storyboards for films that never get made, sometimes to tell the story explicitly, and sometimes to capture the "feel and atmosphere" of an idea. There are other things he could try – directing episodes of The Bill, being a strictly commercial television writer – but he's not hugely interested, regardless of financial necessity.

He still regards himself as an actor first and foremost, which raises a seemingly obvious question: why get involved in the process of writing films, and trying to breathe life into them, when they seem destined to die on the vine? "I'm creative," he says. "I can't relax unless I've got some project on the go. I'm somebody from art school, and art school during the punk era, when you just had a go at whatever came along."

Now that punk is dead, and he is 50, he is determined to get his kicks where he finds them. "I just consciously try to enjoy the good things that are happening," he says. "And if it ended tomorrow that would be fine." He smiles, reconsiders. A hint of Malcolm Tucker flashes across his face, as if another bodily possession is imminent.

"People talk such shit in interviews. There's no control, nobody's got any control. I can sit here and say I'll be doing The Jacobite Slipper, or another series of The Thick Of It, but then you get a phone call and somebody says, look at the papers tomorrow' and everything's fucked." He laughs, but only half convincingly. "There's always a cosmic sledgehammer just waiting to destroy all your plans."

#peter capaldi #interview #paul dalgarno #2008 #sunday herald #the thick of it #local hero #strictly sinatra #ewan mcgregor

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blues824 · 2 years ago

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I HAVE MY MOST WANTED REQUEST IN MY LIFE PLEASE—

Can i request Vampire Au with Yandere azul and his darling who doesn’t mind or dgaf at all being kidnapped WITH FLUFF MOMENTS I BEG— and perhaps if you don’t mind add his reaction of his darling asking him if they could like him..

I can imagine his charm if he’s a vampire HELP—

Gender-neutral reader, who ends up as a house-spouse. I do not condone this behavior in real life.

Azul Ashengrotto

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

The Coral Sea has such a bustling nightlife. You would think that it was Vegas underwater with how many parties and events are going on at the same time. All of the mer-people wanted a taste of it, and even many humans as well. This group of humans included you, the new student at Night Raven College.

So, as a result of your curiosity, you decided that Azul would be your best bet in helping you navigate the sea. He offered to do it free of charge, and you accepted on the condition that he bring you to his house so that you can have somewhere to rest for the day. You would need energy to go exploring later, after all. You were happy to see him excited about taking you around his hometown as well.

He presented you with a potion that would turn you into a mer-person, and he promised that he had a potion that would turn you back. You know that you were doing this without a contract, so you felt as though you could trust him. After all, he didn’t violate his promise of no more shady contracts or tricking people out of their talents or unique magic.

When the two of you descended into the ocean, he was glad that you didn’t see his mer-form as disgusting. In fact, you giggled when his tentacles started wrapping themselves around you and pulling you to him. You just thought it was because you accepted him, but what you didn’t know was that his possessive tendencies were taking over his usually rational mind.

You see, the heaviness of the situation really settled in for Azul. You were about to go into a big city where he could easily lose sight of his beloved darling. There were a few vampires mixed in along with him, and he didn’t want anyone smelling your sweet blood and trying to take you from him. So he made you agree to keep close and he held your hand in his to make sure that you didn’t slip away.

Unfortunately, his home was a bit far from NRC. So that meant that the two of you had quite a bit of swimming to do before you could explore. His mother was excited to see her son and who she at first assumed to be his significant other. You were definitely flustered, but you explained that the two of you were just friends. Even though Azul seemed to be smiling at his mother’s mistake, his heart broke a little at how you viewed your relationship.

Darling, didn’t you know how much he loved you? Were the free meals at the Mostro Lounge not enough for you? How about the fact that he refrained from making contracts and cheating people out of their abilities? Were the multiple bouquets of flowers left at your door leaving a message of nothing more than platonic feelings?

Well you shouldn’t be surprised when you find yourself locked in your room the next day with him accompanying you. After all, he promised to stick by you on your trip… which turned into a rather permanent living situation based on how he tied your arms and tail down to the bed that you were sleeping in.

“My love, you are smelling so sweet. I can hear your blood rushing through your veins. I haven’t feasted in so long~”, the cecaelia said as he started getting into bed with you. His tentacles started wrapping themselves around your torso once again as he clung to your side before getting on top of you, leaning down, and placing a kiss on the side of your neck.

“I won’t do anything that you don’t want me to-”

“If you’re asking to drink my blood, I don’t mind.” Your boldness definitely threw him in for a loop as you presented your neck in a way that gave him better access to the blood that hid within your body. He sat still for a second, processing your statement before going in and puncturing your beautiful skin with the fangs that he has hidden from you up to this point.

Your blood tasted as sweet as it smelled, he thought. He almost couldn’t stop because it was just so delicious. All his life, he had been warned about tasting human blood, and how addicting it could be, but he didn’t know the true potency of it until now. After a few seconds, he drew back to make sure that you were alright. However, some blood was still leaking, so he quickly licked it up.

With your head feeling light but your heart somehow still pounding against your chest, you leaned up as best you could to give him a kiss on the lips. The act made his face fluster, but he definitely reciprocated. It wasn’t everyday that his beloved darling returned his feelings and affections. Maybe all those things he did for you back at NRC weren’t in vain.

Skip to the present, which is years later after the two of you graduated. It was surprising how he allowed you to continue going to Night Raven College even though you were surrounded by many other men. Of course, he has made a few insignificant students go missing under mysterious circumstances, and he sent the tweels to deal with Ace and Deuce whenever they were causing too much trouble.

Speaking of, Jade and Floyd were his groomsmen at your wedding. Azul was aware of his immortal lifespan, but he believes that fate finally did something good for him and that he had to make sure that you were never taken away from him. Thus, the wedding rings on your finger. By the way, these are nice looking rings.

Even if you were married for a while now, he never fails to make you fall deeper in love. Every day, whenever he goes to work, he comes back home with a flower that he had purchased for you. There are many gifts that go to you because you rarely ever go outside of the house that the two of you now live in under the sea.

Yeah, you were a house spouse. When you brought up the prospect of if you should work as well, it instilled paranoia within your new husband. He hated the idea of you going to a place filled with other mer-people where he had no chance to protect you. Some mer-people were vampires, and he knew that they could smell how sweet your blood was. To soothe his worries, he needed to make sure that you were his and his alone.

But, that doesn’t mean you never went out. Azul loved taking you out to fancy dinners, seeing you dressed up. Of course, he never eats anything aside from when he gets home and gets to feast on your blood every once in a while. He knows the limit, and he definitely does not go overboard. However, your blood is still as sweet as the first time he tasted it.

There were many moments that the two of you shared, but one that was most memorable was when you were both dancing in the living room of your shared home. It was a sweet jazz song, and you convinced your husband to dance with you. It really was just the two of you swaying back and forth since he’s not too good at dancing, but it didn’t matter. In this moment, you would never think that the cecaelia who had his hand on your waist was a vampire, or a very possessive and protective one at that.

#twst #disney twst #twst x reader #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst azul x reader #twst azul #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul #azul ashengrotto #twst azul ashengrotto

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 10 months ago

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tuesday again 4/9/2023

the best photo i took this week

listening

i have not been keeping up with either the tuesdaypost spreadsheet or the tuesdaypost playlists so there's a strong possibility i have already talked about Joywave's It's A Trip! off the 2017 album Content. spotify

youtube

driving ten hours in one day is ideal for listening to albums and i listened to almost every joywave album on my way home from the eclipse. american indie rock band from rochester ny, i have loved them since early college. i think they were made in a lab to get to stuck in my head bc they tend toward lower register synthier tracks that deceptively amble cheerfully along and talk about dealing with fear. songs for a male protagonist to splash water on his face, look at himself in the mirror haunted by what he's seeing, linger in his children's bedroom doorways, and then drive off into the night for the finale.

i think i listened to this song for an hour on loop yesterday bc the chorus so perfectly got stuck in my brain

When you've gotten what you want (Maybe I should start over) There's nothing left to want (Up and at 'em again) You don't know what you want (Yeah, I'm thinking it over) Just tell me what to Want

they have spent a lot of time figuring out how to have longevity as a band: "The record kind of attempts to figure that out but it doesn’t end in a definitive place. For me personally, it’s just to create things that matter as long as I possibly can, and to make things that are going to outlive me that people can hang onto for at least five to six years after I’m dead." they are deeply cranky about virality/content churn, especially in this interview. i appreciate this in an artist.

could not tell you how i first found them. i think i would have to go back to the proto-tuesdayposts of 2018.

reading

when you're not sleeping well you can average a book a night!

Uprooted by Naomi Novik destroyed me. (image from here)

“Our Dragon doesn’t eat the girls he takes, no matter what stories they tell outside our valley. We hear them sometimes, from travelers passing through. They talk as though we were doing human sacrifice, and he were a real dragon. Of course that’s not true: he may be a wizard and immortal, but he’s still a man, and our fathers would band together and kill him if he wanted to eat one of us every ten years. He protects us against the Wood, and we’re grateful, but not that grateful.”

my best friend real-life influenced me into reading this book and i have since managed to convince four other people to read this book bc i won't shut up about it. the descriptions of the physicality of magic and how different kinds of magic and different families of spells Feel was only part of the coolest magical system ive ever read about. this is not a dark romance but it is a little brutal in a brothers grimm/this is how battles shake out sometime kind of way. i think a companion piece of media written from the Dragon's point of view would nicely parallel that post going around about how Howl's Moving Castle the movie is from Howl's point of view and Howl's Moving Castle the book is from Sophie's point of view. i would die for Agnieszka.

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik (image from here)

Miryem is the daughter and granddaughter of moneylenders… but her father isn’t a very good one. Free to lend and reluctant to collect, he has loaned out most of his wife’s dowry and left the family on the edge of poverty–until Miryem steps in. Hardening her heart against her fellow villagers’ pleas, she sets out to collect what is owed–and finds herself more than up to the task. When her grandfather loans her a pouch of silver pennies, she brings it back full of gold. But having the reputation of being able to change silver to gold can be more trouble than it’s worth–especially when her fate becomes tangled with the cold creatures that haunt the wood, and whose king has learned of her reputation and wants to exploit it for reasons Miryem cannot understand.

i don't know if i've ever read a book with seven points of view before? i think it was well handled, but it required significantly more brainpower than screaming through three of kingfisher's light fantasy/romances in two days and it threw me a little. saying this book is about debts cheapens it a little, i think. it is concerned with debts but also safety, and it is very much about cost in a very fairytale way and in the horrible everyday calculus of survival way.

Swordheart, Paladin's Hope, and Paladin's Strength by T. Kingfisher. god these go down So smooth. kingfisher has a niche and i respect that. i am reading the Saint of Steel tetralogy out of order bc even four library systems can only do so much, and i don't think you particularly need to read them in order.

i'm a bit cranky that the terfs took feminist fantasy from me, bc when the protagonist got her period in Paladin's Strength a little alarm bell went off in my head and i had to put it down and google some stuff (the answer is no btw). there is a way to write female-focused lightly historical fantasy without being terfy and kingfisher does it, but it's so rare that i was genuinely expecting some sort of. weird agenda to be at play.

these were all fun, fast reads and i don't have much else to say about them! not that they are better or worse than novik's books but they will not live in my head quite as long. there are fewer tantalizing hints about systems of magic that make me want to graph things out u kno

watching

kanopy has Animation April as their focus this month which is how i saw The King and the Mockingbird (1980, dir. Paul Grimault) which is a longer piece adapted from something he'd been working on since the 40s.

youtube

This animated fantasy tale follows the romance between a lovely shepherdess and a handsome chimney sweep. The land's imperious king falls for the beautiful woman and tries to thwart her relationship, but a kind mockingbird assists the lovers in evading the ruler. At the king's command, the chimney sweep and his bird friend are imprisoned, and they must escape in order to rescue the young man's true love.

GOD the animation in this. there are so many references to early animation and silent film. there are so so so many gadgets and methods of conveyance in an absolutely architecturally dizzying castle. there is a ROYAL MECH that plays its own theme music. the backgrounds have a very Chuck Jones quality in that they are exactly as detailed as they need to be for the gag to work. the castle is lush and beautiful but not dizzyingly, overwhelmingly lush. there is a clear vision to every shot and a clear path your eye is meant to travel, which i appreciate very much. i think a lot of technically impressive animation (i am specifically thinking of the Nimh movies) muddies itself by trying to jam too much on the screen. just a fucking delight of a film. a delicious confection

playing

nothing specific to say about genshin this week ur welcome

making

painted a frame (it was a dead basic michaels frame i got at a yard sale and it was giving little boy's room) and framed a thing. this is a poster that came as a freebie with a 1997 album, and i actually bought this CD case without the CD inside bc i was so delighted with the poster. scuff sanded the frame with 120 grit, i went with a matte black acrylic bc i felt that disguised how the poster did not quite fit the frame a little better? and also bc it was what i had in the house.

i did not bother with a mat, i just used the lining paper with the stock photo and painted the back of that. do not do this with particularly valuable or beloved pieces. i do not think this is necessarily acid free and there is some danger that the paint may transfer to the back of the poster over time.

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #Youtube

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battling-lolipop · 2 months ago

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My thoughts on The Last of Us 2, because it won’t leave me alone.

Let me start off by saying I do not like Abby. Joel was a very special character to me, and that was exactly what he was to Ellie too. Naughty Dog did a beautiful job of making whoever was playing the second game become Ellie. Angry, and desperate for revenge.

But I do understand Abby. She and Ellie are parallels of one another. Their quest for revenge, and the fact that they never fully find it, is exactly the point. When Abby kills Joel, I would argue she doesn’t feel satisfied. She put all of that time and effort into it, just to end up killing another girls father, which eventually leads to the death of all her friends. And same for Ellie, she hunts Abby down only for her loved ones to be lost in the process.

What I think really drives this point home, is when Abby confronts Ellie the first time, she lets her live. This is a turning point for Abby, who finally doesn’t choose revenge. And then we skip to the second time they encounter one another when Ellie lets Abby live. This is Ellie’s revelation, that this cycle of violence is indeed a closed loop. If she kills Abby here, she won’t leave satisfied, she’ll just leave a body. She would also leave behind Lev, a scared boy who is a reflection of Ellie.

Not only that but Abby becomes Joel, which I think hurts both Ellie and Abby in ways they can’t even begin to understand. That’s what I really love about this story. Joel was one person to two different people, but he was always both. There are no villains in The Last of Us universe (except maybe David), and I think that’s what makes it so special.

It also irks me when people don’t understand Ellie leaving Dina to hunt down Abby. She needed to for the story to progress!! If she hadn’t then Abby and Lev would have died strung up on a beach! I agree she should’ve stayed if this were a different story with a different moral, but it’s very sadly not. Having these characters that you can relate to so heavily make such poor decisions really pushes along the narrative, and helps people in the real world not make the same mistakes.

Let me also remark, that anyone who thinks The Last of Us two was a bad game, DID NOT UNDERSTAND IT. You can dislike it, but you can’t deny that every symbol, and moral, and character is so well done, there is no denying it’s one of the greatest games ever made.

That’s all folks.

#tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #abby anderson #joel miller

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beautifulfuckup99 · 1 year ago

Text

“There are different kinds of soulmates. 12 to be exact." Ms. Whitehurst says while sat with MBG. "When we think of that term, we think so one dimensional. But no matter lover or friend or partner... We are all connected on a spiritual level. And therefore... We can all have a soul mate from the past that will find us one day, again."

Third type of soul mate: Soul Teacher

“Soul Teachers: Sometimes a soul mate might show up to teach you by challenging you to do something different from what they recommend, teaching you the value of thinking for yourself.”

Warning(s): Rac!sm, Some H8 Speech, SMUT, Hurt/Comfort, Real Historical Events...

((Please read at your own risk.))

******************************************

((PRESENT DAY))

“Eh…” Namjoon scrunches a nose as he lays back on your newly set up bed. You pause your folding of freshly clean clothes to stare at your boyfriend in shock.

“Baby. How many philosophical books have you read? And you’re telling me you’re iffy on reincarnation?!” You laugh in disbelief as he shrugs while sprawled out, just enjoying this Sunday morning.

“I mean… I have, but… I don’t know. It’s tricky. What does that entail exactly? We’re all stuck in an inescapable loop of death and birth?” He asks. “If it’s a yes then my follow up question is; why?” He wonders and you hum as you go back to folding while trying to think.

“Maybe… it’s like what Buddhist believe. You come back until you get it right.” You shrug. Your boyfriend sits up at that comment and rolls his shoulders a bit, and you almost break out into a smile, knowing that move all too well.

It was debate time.

“Yeah, but life isn’t a punishment. Shouldn’t be anyways.” He says.

“Then maybe reincarnation is the reward.” You say back.

“A reward? Without any prior knowledge of what life actually entails? With no memory of what it means to grow up or become successful or feel happiness or find love?” He asks. "To go through all the growing pains and awkwardness again and again?" He raises an eyebrow.

You hum at that as you take a minute to think. You loved debating with Namjoon because it was always a back and forth. Like a ping-pong tournament that usually ended with one cocky winner and a slightly sore loser.

“Then… maybe it’s a bit of both.” You say finally. “It’s a reward cause you get to go through life again, while also being a punishment cause you… well, go through life again…” You snort, and he hums softly as he watches you.

“That’s a cop out. Point me.” Namjoon states and you pause.

“What?! No! You can’t be serious!” You complain instantly as he laughs softly.

“Nope. I get the point. There is no real argument you've shown." He states and your roll your eyes playfully at that before huffing lightly.

"God. You're a headache. If reincarnation is a real thing, I can only hope you're not as competitive in that life as you are in this one." You tease as you lean over to cup his cheek and lightly brush your lips against his as he bashfully eyes you.

"I hope in every lifetime... It's you I debate with." He states quietly against your lips, and it makes you smirk as you slide the pad of your thumb along his bottom lip.

*****************************************

1919: A large number of Korean nationalists come to America to study, and begun the Korean Independence Movement.

"Hey. What are you doing here?" The voice rings out through the girls' dormitory building, causing Namjoon to look over with a startled expression, his throat tightening just a bit.

“Hey. My friend asked you a question. What? You don’t speak English?” The other campus guard says as they walk closer.

Namjoon shifts on his own two feet, never one for confrontation. His parents had made it clear. He was here to study and keep his head down. That was all. But it was hard. And meeting Y/N has only made things harder.

“I… Got lost.” He finally says, deciding on that lie since he knew. He knew he shouldn’t be here. He knew he shouldn’t be sneaking around, and he knew with every inch of his brain that he should’ve never fallen for an American. Yet here he was, always listening to his heart.

“Yeah? What, you couldn’t see right?” The one guard says, pushing him. Namjoon stumbles only a bit, shoulders squaring as he braces himself.

“Probably a perv. Trying to peek at the girls here. Those aren’t yours, you fucking weirdo.” The other man laughs as Namjoon tries to move past them.

“Whoa! Did we tell you that you could leave, ch**k?” The student guard says, pushing Namjoon again. The nerdy young man trips but catches himself yet again, swallowing back the bile coming up his throat. He was here for a reason. First of his family to finish school and definitely the first ever to come to America for college, and he wasn’t going to let anything get him out of character.

The urge to fight back always hit him though. But where would that lead? Him looked at as the problem. Possibly even kicked out and sent back home. No. He had a right to be here. With that in mind, he does the only thing to do for him. Run.

“Hey! Get back here!” The other shouts as both chase him down out of the building…

**********************************

You go barreling down the ER hallway, running straight to the hospital room a nurse had been kind enough to appoint you to. After realizing Namjoon was late to your study date, you went running out looking for him, only to find him in a campus alleyway, beaten and bruised badly.

Everything was in slow motion at that moment and all you could do was rush to call 911 for help. You couldn’t hold him as you waited for help because a crowd had formed and you didn't want rumors to spread, but you also couldn't stand there and do nothing. You kept people at arm's length of his unconscious body until the amubulance arrived.

The paramedic made a comment about how you must be a 'smart broad' to be here in college, and you bit your tongue to keep your comments to yourself. He told you to run along and go 'read a book', but instead, you went running for the city bus to go visit Namjoon in the hospital.

You couldn't think of anything else other than making sure he was ok.

When you get to the room, you cover your mouth, seeing Namjoon laying in the bed like that. He had a busted lip and a bruised cheek and stitches on his forehead. Under the hospital lights, his injuries looked more dramatic, and maybe it was because they really were. It had never been this bad before now…

“Y/N?” He asks softly as he reaches a hand out to touch yours. You shakily grab his hand with both of yours, careful at this moment. You felt like you had to hold him tight to keep him from disappearing, but also hold him loose enough to not actually hurt him.

“Joonie. Who… Who did this?!” You finally ask, voice quiet and full of fear as he tries to pull you a bit closer towards him, but you’re stuck in place. This wasn’t right. You felt sick to your stomach.

How could anyone hurt this man?

“Telling… Telling won’t… change anything...” He whispers softly as he watches you closely. “It looks worse than it is…” He tries as he winces while sitting up.

“Who. Did. This?” You repeat, not wanting to hear his usual ‘I can handle this’ speech. He sighs as you make quick work of raising his bed to a sitting position, so he wasn’t putting too much strain on himself.

“I know we’ve agreed to only ever meet at the library on campus, but… I wanted to try and surprise you. Got caught by campus student security. They… They said I was trying to peek at girls…” He finally says quietly as you touch his unbruised cheek.

"I lost my scholarship due to indecent behavior. The school scout just came by to tell me as soon as I was conscious enough. It's over, Y/N... I'll have to go back to Korea..." He sighs quietly.

“Wha... What?" You breathe out as you feel your heart drop at that moment. "N-No. No. Namjoon.” You whisper in disbelief as you shake your head fast. “This… This isn’t… This isn’t right!” You snap finally. “I… I gotta… I-I gotta tell the police o-or the campus main office. Somebody! Someone’s gotta help us!” You say fast as your mind races with what to do next. He shakes his head with a soft wince.

“Y/N, that’ll… That'll only make things… Worse.” He tries quietly and you feel the anger consume you. You felt powerless and overwhelmed at the same time. You let go of his cheek to brush your fingers through your hair instead.

“Baby. Come here.” He tries as he pats the space next to him in the bed, and you want to laugh at the cruel irony.

He’s still trying to care for you!

“I hate this. I-I can’t… I can’t lose you! No! No, I…” You whisper, tears filling your eyes as you watch him.

“It’s not up to you…” He points out quietly and you glare at that. It's true, but it stings.

“Joonie…” You mutter in an upset matter. He frowns and weakly grabs your hand, bringing it up to his lips, and giving your palm a soft kiss that you wish you could get tattooed on to your skin so it lasts centuries…

“Joonie. I… I could’ve lost you. That’s… That’s terrifying.” You finally whimper, sniffling to keep some composure. "Now you're telling me that I am going to lose you anyway? No!" You cry softly.

“Hey… Y/N...” He tries gently and you sniffle once more, shaking your head.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this! We shouldn't have to deal with this! I... I shouldn't have to be worried every day that some... That somebody might..." You can't stop the sob that escapes your throat as the tears fall freely. "I couldn't have you... And at this moment you're getting taken from me..." You whimper finally as you hold yourself.

"Why the hell am I the only one mad?!" You shout as the tears run down your face faster. Why must he always be passive?!

Namjoon frowns deeply at that and looks down, as if ashamed. "Please... Please let me hold you." He whispers finally, his shoulder too hurt to reach out for you himself.

You sniffle and slowly give in, moving to sit on the hospital bed with him. He winces slightly but ignores it as he focuses on holding you as close to him as possible. “We have this moment. I have another day here. Just think about that..." He whispers against your hair before nuzzling his nose against your scalp. You shut your eyes as you focus on his scent, nose pressed against his hard chest.

"We're only promised 24 hours. Like everyone else." He continues quietly.

"But that's not fair." You whisper back as you look up at him. "We aren't like everyone else." You try quietly.

"Then what do we deserve? Hm?" He asks as he rubs his hand up and down your back.

"Give me 25." You say quietly after thinking a bit. Your hand gently balls around his hospital gown. His dragon like eyes scan your face, gliding along your features gracefully.

"An hour just for us?" He smiles finally and you shake your head.

"Just for you." You whisper, making him blush ever so slightly. You two were masters of soft whispers. That and writing was your only love language...

"I'll try. But... Technically speaking-" You cut him off, leaning up to kiss him. Always one to debate. It's how you two had met actually.

A wrong answer spoke during a mid-fall lecture meeting, a quiet voice correcting it, an embarrassed blush creeping on to your cheeks at being shown up by this random exchange student. You had confronted him at the end of that class to tell him off for proving you wrong in front of the whole class, but it just led to you two realizing that there was more here than just academic rivalry.

The kiss starts off slow and tender, but just as quickly does it turn hot and passionate. You feel Namjoon's tongue lightly graze your bottom lip, and your heart flutters. You two haven't been alone in two weeks. God it felt good to have his lips on yours right now.

This is all you had.

Your 25th hour was starting now...

You pull back to catch your breath, stroking his jawline tenderly. "Baby...” You whisper in a soft warning tone.

“I... I need you...” Namjoon whispers back between soft pants. You blush hard at the phrase that he whispered to you only once before. Inbetween two large bookshelves in the campus library as you laid on the soft grey carpet, hidden away from the rest of the world...

He has the same look in his eyes as he did that night. A need. A need to prove to himself that this is real. That you are real. You always needed that assurance too.

“Here?” You whisper quietly as you can't help but look towards the door. No one was coming in here. Namjoon had no family or friends in the states, and the nurse had told you she just finished her rounds. Could you pull this off?

“Y/N... All I thought of when I was being attacked... Was how I’d never get to see you again." He admits quietly.

"Don't." You whisper as you place a hand on his chest just to feel his heartbeat. That's all you wanted right now. Feeling the heart monitors where your hand should be was the only piece of reality in this moment that things could've been worse.

"Y/N." He places his larger hand over yours. "I... I need to prove to myself that I actually survived. That I’m here. With you. Please...” He says softly. You give him another glance, just trying to read his eyes. Then you slowly nod. With no further word, you get on top of him, careful not to hurt him.

“Let’s... Go slow...” You whisper as you rest your forehead against his. he nods once before he relaxes back against the hospital bed, looking up at you in adortion while you reach under your long skirt to pull your underwear off. He smiles softly at the cotton black fabric with pink hearts on it.

"Not a word." You mutter playfully, knowing he'd just flatter himself. He smiles up at you before you lean down, kissing him deeply. He kisses back with a feverish need for your lips to stay against his until you're both desperate for air. You grant that desire by grabbing ahold of his face carefully in both hands.

Little by little, your hand travels down from his face to between you both, just exploring until finally it reaches under the hospital bedsheets and under his gown. He pulls back from your lips to let out a low shiver as you wrap your hand around his semi.

You look him in the eyes as you lightly trace your fingertips along his tip, making his mouth fall open, small pants coming from him as his eyes close in anticipation of this bliss. You pull your hand back to spit on it and then stroke his cock to hopefully make it slick enough.

"Y/N..." He pants in need as you kiss along his neck, his head going further back to give you more room to roam, his eyes still closed in peace. With his cock wet and hard enough, you sit up on your knees and position yourself on top of him.

"Joonie... Look at me." You pant. He does exactly as you say. And you slowly sink on to his thick member.

"Oh... Oh god..." He moans quietly as you slide further down. His reaction makes you wetter while also making you blush hard.

"I thought you didn't believe in him?" You tease quietly as you sit fully on his cock, making him groan.

"It's hard to question when this is bliss..." He whispers, grabbing your hips.

You open your mouth to speak again, but instead you moan ever so softly against his lips when he grinds up against me. “Baby...” You whisper against his lips.

“I love you...” He whispers as he looks up at you while you begin to bounce, hand on his chest to rub it affectionately.

“I love you...” You whisper back as you find a good pace for you both, walls squeezing along his cock as you move, making him grip your hips tighter, catching your lips in a passionate kiss. You hold his face in your hands as you make out while you ride him passionately and eagerly to feel one with him.

"Baby...” He moans the second he pulls back from this kiss, his head falling back against the hospital pillows. You moan a bit louder and bite down on your lip hard to stay quiet in this moment, but he looks so perfect in this moment. Hair a mess, face scrunched in pleasure. “Oh... Oh, baby...” He moans quietly, arms wrapping around your waist tightly.

You can’t help but go faster. The thought of never having him again? It scared you enough to want to make him remember that he is loved. That you will always love him. Always try and take care of him. Nothing was promised. Not even your 25th hour...

“Baby. Baby. Y-Yes!” He pants, hugging you tighter to him as you pump your hips in need, desperately chasing down your high and his as his head rests in the cork of your neck, nipping and licking at the skin, always careful to not leave a mark though. You had an image to uphold. Moans fill the hospital room as the heart monitor beeps wildly and you so selfishly want it to match yours. Hands roam and heads roll back. You kiss and bite along his shoulder to silence yourself as best you can, reaching a hand up to grab his hair and yank it softly as he groans your name. It's never sounded more beautiful...

“Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me...” You whisper between heavy pants of thin air, your emotions damn near strangling you. He shivers at your breath so close to his ear.

“Never. I’d never... Never leave." He declares quietly, and a part of you knows. You both are smart enough to know. It's a promise sworn in vain, but god does it feel so honest in the moment. Your body trembles as you get closer.

"O-Oh, baby!” You moan more desperately as you grip on to him, refusing to ever let him go. You knew he was close too. You could feel his cock swell as you cum around him, and you keep up your pace, just wanting to feel him. There was no going back, and you didn't want to think of what the outcome of this could be. You just wanted to feel his warm seed. So, you speed up, whispering for him to cum in you.

He reaches down to rub your clit, making you jolt to a stop, grinding against his cock and hand as he moans happily at the feeling of your milking his cock. He shoots his cum hard into you as he focuses on kissing you, biting at your lips instead since you've turned into too much of a moaning mess to properly kiss him back. You cum once more on his cock as he kisses your chin sweetly while you try coming down from your high, moaning lowly. You hug him tight, arms around his neck, not wanting him to move an inch from you.

“Baby...” You finally whisper between heavy pants when your brain starts up again. He pulls back to look up at you.

“You’re perfect...” He breathes out, and you blush before kissing him again, tenderly in this moment you share.

Maybe this life was all you got...

**********PRESENT DAY**********

"I have to shower. And make sure you didn't mark me too bad..." The Korean male says from under you. "You need to let me up soon." He mutters, his morning voice rough and deep as you kiss all along his face ever so tenderly. A smirk on your lips. He'd be in for a nice surprise when he does see the litter of hickeys left on his neck, shoulder, and chest...

"No. I changed my mind. They can't take you." You say quietly as you pull away to look at the man you love. You've always felt connected to him, but this moment... This topic... You couldn't understand. You were a foreigner at the end of the day. So, the idea of having to enlist? Having to put a pause on your life to train and prepare for the slim chance there is danger for at least a year and a half? It was a culture shock...

"We spent the whole night awake. All those hours just for us." He points out and you pout a bit at that, feeling selfish as you wrap your arms around his neck, hands playing with the small hairs left from his buzzcut.

"You think we have a problem like this in every lifetime?" You mumble against his lips, bring up the conversation from yesterday morning, making Namjoon playfully roll his eyes.

"Not this again..." He jokes before grabbing your hips peacefully. "Mm... Honestly?" He asks and you nod as you watch him closely. "I think... If we did meet in every lifetime only to be pulled apart... At least we always find each other again. Hm?" He whispers and you search his eyes to see if he means that or if he's just humoring you. Slowly, you see the honesty in his eyes and the love. You blush and lean in to kiss him again.

***************************************

Really hope you guys liked it! Next up is Taehyung! Imma put a window date up cause I know ya'll must be tired of me being late. Expect part four out the 27th-28th. Love Ya'll!!!

#bts #bts fic #bts army #bts imagine #bts namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon #namjoon imagine #namjoon fanfic #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon bts #kim namjoon smut #kim namjoon imagine #kim namjoon fic

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