#but no its just a white one and a blue one

[callmeagardengnome]

✗ blood in the clouds ✗ | KIM HONGJOONG

pairings ✃ mafia leader! hongjoong x flight attendant! fem! reader

genre ✃ mafia au, non-idol au, SLOW BURNN

synopsis ✃

it’s finally your last day as a flight attendant. you wanted nothing more than to laze on your couch and watch netflix - just to find out that one of your passengers blew out the brains of your pilot with a gun.

in which hongjoong hijacks a plane that his rival’s daughter is on.

w.c ✃ 10.5k (yes im a yapper im sorry)

c.w ✃ dark themes, vivid descriptions of gore, guns and knives, kiss scene but no smut, use of the nickname ‘brat’, ‘pretty’ and ONE TIME - ‘princess’, your dad’s a dick oops, vulgar language, reader is smart

author’s note: this is the first oneshot of my mafia series! yes it is long but i promise you that it does eat and that you’ll enjoy it. remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, any and all feedback helps!

not proofread!

masterlist

white clouds drifted by the airplane window as the sky turned from a soft blue to a deep orange.

it would’ve been a pretty sight if it weren’t for the gun to your head.

you’d called in sick or put in your two weeks notice earlier if this was how your last day of being a flight attendant would end - but apparently, life hates you too much to let you catch a break.

HOUR 1 OF 7 - TAKEOFF

‘god- i can’t take this anymore,’ you thought to yourself. you hated waiting, despised it actually. 

after today, no more jet lag, rushed goodbyes or missing celebrations. you can finally unpack that suitcase for good, find someplace quiet and actually live in it. the thought alone was enough to keep you excited, but something bothered you at the back of your mind.

this trip didn’t feel right.

it wasn’t the plane itself, but your passengers? only 2 showed up in a plane that could seat at least 50 people. 

not that you were complaining. fewer passengers meant less work - which was a good thing. 

but the uneasiness you felt kept rising in your chest, no matter the times you tried to push it down. 

‘just 6 more hours,’ you thought. ‘then this will all be behind me.’

HOUR 2 OF 7 - MEALTIME

meal service started like any other: boring. 

after handing out the trays, you pushed the trolley back to its place and returned with beverages. you plastered on your most professional smile as you walked over to your passengers. “would you like a drink?”

the man with sunglasses turned to you lazily, his eyes shifting from the trolley to your face. “what do you have?”

you sighed, quietly but deeply. you had that stupid list engraved into your mind by now. “water, coffee, tea, coke, spri-” 

“-do you have alcohol?” he cut you off. 

your eye twitched. this dickhead.

first of all, he interrupted you. and secondly, you didn’t mention the alcohol on purpose. it was stored at the back of the plane and you did not have the energy to drag it out. 

“uh hongjoong- i mean, boss-“ the guy next to him whispered hurriedly. “i don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“-i think it is,” hongjoong interrupted before turning back to you. “where’s the menu?”

you gave him a forced smile as you pushed the alcohol menu towards him. he took his time with it, flipping through the pages slowly before finally saying, “two shots of whiskey.”

“sure thing,” you snatched the menu back. with a swift turn, you fetched the whiskey and the glasses, returning back to his seat.

you poured and placed the two shots on his tray table. he took the glass and drank it in one go, setting it back down with a thud. 

hongjoong then turned his head towards you, eyebrows raised. “what?”

you blinked. ‘what’? just ‘what’? where's the ‘thank you’? 

you were losing your mind.

“nothing,” you muttered through clenched teeth, moving away before he could ask for anything else.

grade A asshole.

HOUR 4.5 OF 7 - POINT OF NO RETURN

the shitty in-flight wifi was a joke as always. why did you even try?

with an annoyed sigh, you shoved your phone into your back pocket when suddenly-

static.

its piercing sound followed by faint garbled voices on the intercom startled you. you frowned as the sound continued, getting louder and more distorted.

with a groan, you stood up, straightening your uniform. ‘what are they doing?’ you thought as you walked towards the cockpit.

but when you passed by the first-class cabin, you paused. the seats were empty. both passengers were gone. ‘weird…’

things only got weirder as you approached the unlocked cockpit door. 

concerned, you pushed it open.

the smell hit you first - a metallic tang that twisted your stomach.

then your eyes caught up.

blood splattered the walls and windows in chaotic streaks, dripping down to the controls and the carpeted floor. the pilot and co-pilot laid in a gruesome pile to the side, the jagged holes in their skulls grotesque. 

a guy sat at the controls, steering the plane as though he wasn’t surrounded by horrors. 

grade A asshole- no, hongjoong, sat cross-legged on the floor, his sunglasses shattered at his feet. a gun rested in his hand and his lips curled into a smirk as he watched you enter.

“you’ve got to be kidding me..” you breathed out. 

pieces of brain and organ matter clung to the control panel as a simple blinking green light above that indicated that everything was, somehow, still functioning.

hongjoong tilted his head, amused. the gun shifted to point at what you now noticed was the crumpled bodies  of your pilots, their faces mangled in unrecognisable masses of flesh and bone.

“these your friends?”

you shook your head as you stepped back, wiping your sweaty hands on your uniform. hongjoong seemed to enjoy your reaction, his grin widening into something sickening. 

he smirked. “don’t worry, i won’t spoil that pretty face of yours.”

you coughed at the wretched smell as the crimson-stained carpet squelched beneath your heels, your mind begging you to leave.

“well-” you said, turning to the door. “i’m sure you don’t need me here, i’ll just-”

an audible click cut you off.

you froze.

slowly, you turned back to see a gun aimed directly at you.

“leaving so soon?” he raised an eyebrow. “let’s talk.”

HOUR 5 OF 7 - SKYDIVING DOESN’T SEEM TOO BAD

hongjoong dragged you to the first-class section to ‘talk’. it was the first time you’ve ever sat there and to be completely honest, this was not how you imagined yourself ‘enjoying’ it.

well, not like it mattered. you had other issues - like handcuffs locking you to the chair.

he stood infront of you, one hand gripping the gun while the other held a file. “‘____’, am i right?” he asked. 

you nodded slowly. “..that’s me.”

“3.6 GPA in university..” he muttered. “flunked out of med school during your first year..”

..how the hell did he get that information?

“you ended up as a flight attendant because your father owns the airline.”

“..yeah,” you reluctantly admitted, your stomach churning. “uh- was the med school part necessary?”

hongjoong ignored you, flipping to the next page. you watched his eyebrows shoot up as his eyes narrowed. “how close are you with your father?”

you blinked, confused by the weird question. “i mean- he’s my dad,” you replied. “but i haven’t seen him in years.”

“hm,” the sound came from him. hongjoong studied you for a moment longer before he spoke again, but this time, his voice was cold.

“do you know what he’s been doing during those years?”

your brows furrowed. “no, i-”

“killing. my. men.”

you didn’t even have time to process his words because he leaned forward when he said them, the gun uncomfortably close to your face. 

you swallowed the lump in your throat. “...are you sure you have the right person?”

his smirk widened into something eerie. “i have a gun pointed to you, don’t i?”

your pulse quickened. you couldn’t decide which was worse: the possibility that he was telling the truth or the fact that he was clearly enjoying your reaction.

“i always wanted to get back at that pig..” he held the gun up to the bottom of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “and look at how kind the world is- blessing me with his daughter.”

you struggled to breathe, to think. the handcuffs dug into your wrist as you unconsciously tried to break out of them, a clink against the metal arm of the chair.

your voice trembled. “..what do you want from me?”

hongjoong didn’t answer immediately. instead, he leaned in even closer, so close that you could feel your foreheads touching.

“what i want,” he said slowly, eyes locked onto yours. “is for your dad to suffer.”

HOUR 6 OF 7 - SURPRISINGLY ALIVE

the stuffiness of the plane did little to calm your nerves. you sat quietly in the seat, staring at the shattered remains of your phone on the floor.

hongjoong snatched it from your hands a few minutes ago, grumbling about how ‘you don’t need devices’. great. just great. 

the sound of the cockpit door creaking open drew your attention. the other guy - or ‘pilot’, stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “boss.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “what?”

the ‘pilot’ moved closer to hongjoong, lowering his voice. “air traffic control was notified of our path,” he said quietly. “they know something’s off with the plane, but i have no idea how.”

hongjoong’s eyes darkened as he processed the information. then, he glared at you, like he was accusing you.

you scoffed. “you shot my phone, how would i even contact anyone?”

for a moment, the two of you locked eyes and you swear that you could see him debating whether to believe you.

the ‘pilot’ cleared his throat. “what should we expect?” he asked nervously.

hongjoong leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. “the police.”

HOUR 7 OF 7 - SHIT IS GETTING REAL

“what the hell…” you whispered to yourself as you peered out of the window.

SWAT teams and federal agents stood in rows, their weapons pointed directly at the plane. flashing lights of red and blue lit up the empty airport. 

you turned away from the window, watching hongjoong pull out a burner phone from his jacket. his fingers typed something out before he suddenly snapped the phone in half, tossing the remains on the floor. 

“…who are you?” you asked quietly.

he raised an eyebrow. “you don’t need to know, pretty.”

your survival instincts told you to move, to do something. but the second you tried to stand, hongjoong shoved you back down. 

“stay seated until we land,” he said before tilting his head. “isn’t that your job?”

you rolled your eyes, gripping the armrests as you tried to calm yourself down and steady your breathing. 

but that was when you heard it - gunshots. 

“they’re shooting us?” you panicked, flinching with each sound. 

no answer.

“hey-“ you tried again, but was cut off by the tires hitting the terrain. 

the landing was rough - harsher than anything you’ve experienced as a flight attendant. the plane rattled like never before.

your chest tightened when it rolled over something particularly large. “what was that?” your voice cracked. 

no answer. 

when the plane finally came to a halt, you barely had time to catch your breath when hongjoong moved. in a blink, he uncuffed you from the chair, only to secure the handcuffs on your wrists once more. 

he brought you to your feet, pulling you so close that you could feel his breath against your ear. “don’t do anything stupid,” he hissed. 

the cockpit door opened and the ‘pilot’ appeared. he quickly unlocked the emergency exit and you saw the makeshift ramp that had been attached to the side of the plane. 

a van rested just outside of it, hongjoong dragging you towards the vehicle. you descended the ramp, the cool air hitting your face as you looked around. 

but that was when you saw it. 

blood. 

on the wheels of the plane, the dark colour leaving a fresh trail on the ground.  

“did you..” you gulped, your voice barely above a whisper. “did you run over them?”

hongjoong glanced at you. “i didn’t,” he shrugged. “the plane did.”

you stopped in your tracks, your feet stuck rooted to the ground as you stared at him in horror. how could he say that like it was no big deal? just who was this man?

“move,” hongjoong ordered. but when you didn’t, he clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “god- you’re such a brat.”

before you knew it, you were shoved into the back of the van. the ‘pilot’ closed the door with a loud slam and sat in the driver’s seat while hongjoong took the passenger’s seat up front. 

you met hongjoong’s eyes through the rearview mirror. his glare was sharp, acting as a warning to keep your mouth shut. you didn’t need to be told twice.

the van drove forward and you caught glimpses of city lights in the distance, slowly growing closer. civilisation - maybe you could get help. 

but against your mind’s wishes, you felt your eyelids getting heavy - and you did something that no one should ever do when they’re in a car with armed strangers.

you fell asleep.

HOUR 14 OF 7 - HIP HIP HOORAY YOU’RE NOT DEAD

you heard a voice whine. “why can’t we kill her?” 

“do you want boss to kill us?” you heard another reply.

your eyes fluttered open. your head felt heavy as the room came into focus, your stomach twisting. 

the space was dingy, poorly lit by a bulb hanging from the ceiling and an unnecessarily tall lamp on the ground. the walls were stained and the air stunk of blood.

you tried to move, only to feel tight ropes against your wrists and ankles. you were tied to a chair.

“i can’t believe we have to babysit the pig’s daughter,” a man with a knife groaned.

“calm down, wooyoung,” the other one sighed.

“calm down?!” wooyoung exclaimed. “yeosang got to fly a plane! how is that fair?”

“he has a license,” the second man rolled his eyes. 

“it’s still a plane, jongho-”

“shut up,” jongho interrupted. “the girl’s awake.”

both men turned their heads to look at you, the sudden attention sending a shiver down your spine. wooyoung’s grin stretched across his face as he got to his feet, jongho following behind.

“aw look who’s finally awake,” wooyoung approached, his voice childish. “you slept like a baby- and we didn’t even drug you!”

your heartbeat quickened as he leaned in close, his grin widening as he studied your face.

“i read your file,” he began. “you’re smart…” wooyoung paused, his eyes inspecting you and your ridiculous uniform. “and hot.”

your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to respond. “thank you-?”

“-what’s your favourite feature about yourself?” he asked, twirling the knife in his hands.

“uh-” your mind scrambled for an answer as he got nearer, the knife glinting. “i- my eyes?”

“your eyes,” wooyoung repeated, the grin stuck to his face. “good choice.”

he brought the knife closer, the cold steel trailing down the side of your face. you flinched as the blade hovered near your eye, your breath hitching.

“you’re going to answer all our questions,” he stated, almost in a sing-songy way. “and if you dont-”

he tilted the knife, now directly above your eyeball. “-i’ll dig those lovely pearls out of your sockets.”

your chest tightened, terror paralyzing you from head to toe. you couldn’t even breathe, every cell in your body pleading you to stay still.

“hey-” jongho tapped wooyoung on the shoulder, whispering. “uh.. boss said we can’t scratch her..”

“are you serious?” wooyoung scoffed. “then what’s the point?”

jongho bit the inside of his cheek, avoiding eye contact with his friend.

wooyoung groaned, throwing the knife to the ground with a strength that made it bend. “fuck this- torture isn’t even fun anymore.”

he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

silence was in the air until jongho cleared his throat awkwardly. he turned to face you. “uh..” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“change of plans.”

HOUR 15 OF 7 - DAY DRINKING IS FUN

you never imagined yourself in a hideout, drinking vodka with one of your captors - yet here you were. 

the whole thing felt absurd: a shaky barstool beneath you and a scuffed counter separating you and jongho. he poured you a shot he claimed was ‘very expensive’, before proceeding to chug most of the vodka from the bottle in a long gulp. 

your legs were untied now, though your wrists were still bound, the rope loose enough for your hands to rest infront of you. “what are we waiting for?” you asked. “hongjoong?”

jongho froze, his eyes snapping to yours. “don’t say his name,” he whisper-shouted.

you raised your tied wrists in apology. “okay.. what should i call him?”

“call him boss.. or mr kim.. or anything that isn’t his first name,” jongho said, his words rushed. 

you nodded slowly, looking at the man infront of you with mild concern. he looked even more scared than you did. 

then suddenly, the door slammed open. 

both you and jongho flinched, watching two figures stumble in. 

the first was a tall man - storming into the room. the second was him, hongjoong, clutching his side in pain.

“mingi- boss!” jongho panicked instantly as he ran to help the injured man. “holy- you’re hurt!”

“the pig called for backup,” mingi sighed heavily. 

you blinked, stunned as the sound of hongjoong coughing violently brought your attention back to the injured man. 

blood seeped through his fingers, staining his sleeves and skin. you don’t know what took over you, but you pushed yourself off of the barstool and rushed towards him. 

“what do you think you’re doing?” mingi stepped infront of hongjooong, his hand resting on his gun protectively. 

you glared at him. “do you want your boss to bleed out?”

mingi studied you. after what felt like ages, he exhaled sharply and stepped aside. “fine,” he muttered, keeping a hand on his weapon. 

you knelt next to hongjoong, trying to make him face you as you grabbed his arm. though, he snatched himself away from you quickly. 

you rolled your eyes. “i’m trying to help you. let me see it.”

hongjoong’s eyes pierced your soul. you could see the cogs in his head turning on whether he could trust you. 

a few moments passed before he finally faced you with a sigh, revealing a large gash on the side of his stomach - a wound created by knife. 

“i need water.” 

jongho blinked, clearly thrown off. “what?”

“to clean his wound..?” you explained. “get me water. now.”

jongho hesitated before snatching a bottle of water from a mini fridge. he pushed it to you, the little amount of liquid sloshing inside. “you should stay still for this,” you said before slowly pouring the water over the wound. 

crap- a gash this big needed a stitch. 

“untie me,” you said, holding your wrists up to your captors. 

jongho glanced at his boss worriedly for permission. hongjoong gave a small nod and jongho quickly pulled out a small knife to cut the rope. 

once free, you quickly looked around for something to stitch his wound with. when nothing looked remotely useful, your eyes dropped to your uniform - a skirt with a yarn trim. it wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

you began to unravel the yarn from the hem.

“what are you doing?” mingi asked, frowning.

“stitching him,” you sighed as your fingers worked hurriedly. “or do you want him to get an infection?”

hongjoong let out a groan, shifting uncomfortably. “just hurry.”

you finished unravelling it, but now you needed a needle. your hand instinctively reached up to your hair - pulling out a small bobby pin. it was definitely not as sharp as a needle, but you’re sure that hongjoong can handle his pain.

“shit- i need to sterilise this,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

“vodka,” jongho said instantly, grabbing the bottle and handing it to you.

you poured the small amount over the pin, letting it drip onto the floor. then, threading the yarn through the makeshift needle, you glanced at hongjoong.

“this will hurt,” you warned.

he looked at you with clenched teeth. “i don’t care.”

you placed a hand on his side to steady him, feeling the tension in his muscles as he tried to not flinch. carefully, you began to stitch the gash, each pull making him wince. 

when the stitching was complete, you tied the yarn and tore it off with your teeth - but the wound was still bleeding slightly.

you glanced down at your sleeves. without hesitation, you tore a strip of fabric free. you used it to dab away the excess blood, then folded the remaining fabric to wrap it around his side. 

“that should work. for now,” you sat back as you wiped your forehead with your arm.

“...you know how to treat people?” hongjoong asked, wincing slightly. 

you nodded slowly. “yeah.. i know the basics.”

“hm,” he tilted his head. “you’re more useful than i thought.”

you blinked. was a good thing or a bad thing?

“wooyoung,” he yelled out. 

a loud crash was heard in another room, followed by the muffled sounds of frantic movements. within seconds, wooyoung appeared in the doorway. 

“yes, boss?” wooyoung said out of breath, brushing off his shirt as he looked around the room. 

hongjoong didn’t respond immediately. instead, he looked you up and down, his lips twitching into what seemed like a smirk. “get her some actual clothes. we have an event to catch.”

HOUR 17 OF 7 - WORDS TALK BUT GUNS TALK LOUDER

“woah..” your eyes took in the building before you. glittering lights and an impressive exterior that was way more extravagant than anything you imagined hongjoong to be involved in.

he parked the car, the engine coming to a stop. before you could say anything, hongjoong stepped out of the car, closing the door shut. you scrambled to follow him, your heels clicking against the pavement as you caught up.

the two of you approached the man stationed at the door - a bouncer with a pen and clipboard.

without warning, hongjoong’s hand snaked around your waist, pulling you snugly against his side. you flinched at the sudden contact, but with how tight his grip was, there was no room for protests.

“ah, mr kim,” the bouncer greeted. “you made it.”

hongjoong offered a brief, fake smile before dropping it immediately. “let us in.”

“hold on now,” the bouncer said, flipping through the papers on the clipboard. “we can’t let her inside.”

hongjoong’s brows furrowed. “why?”

“new policy,” the man sighed, pretending to sound disappointed. “no more plus-ones.”

hongjoong rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond. instead, he reached into his blazer, about to pull out a-

“nevermind!” the bouncer’s face turned pale. he stepped aside with a nervous laugh. “you’re all set- enjoy the night.”

the interior was breathtaking - chandeliers hung from high ceilings and round tables were scattered across the venue, draped in pristine white table cloths. 

“don’t eat or drink anything here.”

you blinked, nodding slowly at hongjoong’s words. “okay.. but why-”

“-and if you really want to stay alive,” he interrupted, his lips brushing your ear. “don't leave my sight.”

his voice sent a chill down your spine. “okay,” you mumbled as he brought you further into the room.

he led you to a seating area - though it looked more like a conversation pit, where an old man sat waiting. 

hongjoong released his grip on you to sit across the man, gesturing for you to follow. you hesitated briefly before settling next to him.

“mr kim,” the old man greeted gruffly. his eyes shifted to you, studying your face. “i see you brought someone.”

hongjoong gave a nod, glancing at you. “introduce yourself, brat.”

“oh uh-” you put out your hand reluctantly, forcing a polite smile. “i’m ‘____’.”

the old man’s eyes narrowed before they widened in realisation. “her father-“

“-i’m glad you noticed,” hongjoong cut in. he slowly reached into his blazer again, but this time, he actually pulled out his pistol. 

your eyes widened as he aimed it to your waist, the cold metal brushing your side. “wha-“

“w-what are you doing?” the old man’s face drained of colour, panic flashing in his eyes. 

hongjoong tilted his head. “let’s negotiate.”

“mr kim-“ the old man began, his voice cracking. “as his friend, you do understand that i have to tell him she’s here.”

“do it,” hongjoong shrugged, leaning back. his arm returned to your waist, pulling you to him as he tapped the gun against your side. 

“let’s see if he values his money more than his own daughter.”

HOUR 18 OF 7 - LIFE ISN’T FAIR

a loud crash echoed through the venue, making you jump. the sound of heavy footsteps grew violent with every second.

hongjoong’s hand tightened around your waist as he stood, dragging you up with him. “move.”

“wait-!” the old man called after you, but hongjoong didn’t stop.

his grip on you was firm, the barrel of his gun pressing against your stomach. you tripped over your feet, struggling to keep up his pace.

“where are you taking me?” you panicked as you glanced over your shoulder at the armed men closing in.

“to your father, princess,” he sneered, his voice mockingly sweet. 

“mr kim! stop right there!” 

you froze, whipping your head around. standing at the far end of the room, infront of a small army of armed men, was your father. 

“let go of my daughter,” your father ordered. he pointed a gun directly at hongjoong, his men following suit. 

your eyes glanced around the room - seeing guests cowering against the walls, some injured and others dead.

“i’m not giving up the brat until i get what i want,” hongjoong demanded.

“what you want is an impossible amount of money!” your father yelled, his grip on his gun tightening.

“impossible?” hongjoong’s eyes widened with craze. “you have more than $500 million tied to your name! did you think i’ll forget who you killed to get here?”

your blood ran cold. “dad.. you killed people?” you asked, your voice trembling as you looked at him.

for a split second, your father’s eyes softened, though that quickly disappeared with a scoff.

“if i didn’t, you wouldn’t have a roof over your head,” your father spat. “you were too stubborn to do anything after you dropped med school.”

the world seemed to tilt, your father’s words more piercing than any bullet. “but i didn’t-”

“-you did,” your father interrupted you. “i spent all that money bribing them just for you to fuck up.”

your heart sank as tears welled in your eyes. hongjoong noticed your reaction, his grip on the gun loosening slightly. 

“i’d appreciate it if you didn’t make my hostage cry,” he said. “do you really want those to be your last words to her?”

“shut up,” your father snarled, his finger close to the trigger. “i’ll say what i want. she’s too stupid to argue back anyway.”

the tears you held back spilled over and all you could hear was your dad shouting, “get her!”

HOUR 18.5 OF 7 - THEY WANT YOU SOO BAD

gunshots were heard in every direction, completely deafening. 

the pungent smell of gunpowder burned your nose as you stumbled, your legs barely holding you up. hongjoong shoved you to the ground, his hand against your back. 

“stay down,” he ordered you, raising his gun and firing without hesitation.

you flinched with every shot, watching in horror as armed men fell one by one with his aim. the world felt like it was spinning too fast and you could barely keep up.

suddenly, a hand grabbed your arm.

“stop moving!” your father yelled, his grip painful as he dragged you towards the exit.

“no!” you choked out, your heels digging into the floor in an attempt to resist. panic ran through your veins as your eyes darted around desperately.

your eyes landed on a fallen gun near your feet. you quickly snatched it, hands trembling as you tried to point it towards him.

“don’t make me do this!” you cried.

your father didn’t stop and without thinking-

-you pulled the trigger.

a bang was heard, followed by his rough scream as he collapsed to the floor, clutching his bleeding thigh.

“oh my god,” you whispered, the gun slipping from your hands as tears flowed uncontrollably down your cheeks. you sank to the floor, staring at the blood pouring out of him.

“you bitch!” he shouted in pain.

out of the corner of your eye, you caught hongjoong watching you, something strange flashing across his face. was that.. surprise? pride? maybe he was impressed?

hongjoong fired a shot at an armed man without looking, moving to you quickly. 

“didn’t think you had it in you, pretty,” he looked over his shoulder. “but we need to leave.”

he led you to a small janitor’s closet near the exit. the narrow space smelled of bleach, but at least it was quiet.

hongjoong shut the door behind you and dusted off his blazer. without a word, his dark eyes inspected you, checking your shoulders and arms.

you stood motionless, too shocked to stop him as he gently tilted your chin up, his thumb wiping away the mascara-stained tears from your cheeks.

“nothing broken,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “no scars either..”

he pulled out a burner phone, typing something quickly.

“i- i just shot my dad,” your shoulders shook as new tears welled up in your eyes.

hongjoong glanced up from the phone, meeting your eyes. “..are you bragging?” he asked bluntly.

“what? he’s my dad-”

“-and he’s a dick,” hongjoong cut you off. “you might share blood, but that man clearly hates you.”

you hiccuped, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “...am i going to hell?”

hongjoong scoffed. “come on-“ he began, but stopped himself when he looked at you and the tears spilling from your eyes. “you didn’t kill him… you’re fine.” 

you opened your mouth to protest but he silenced you as he continued typing. “and even if you did,” he added. “you’re doing the world a favour.”

he smashed the burner phone onto the ground, discarding the pieces. he reloaded his pistol before turning back to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he led you through bodies and debris.

outside, a black van waited by the curb. hongjoong pushed you inside before climbing in after you, slamming the door shut behind him.

“drive,” he ordered.

as the street lights went past you, you slumped in your seat, completely exhausted. “where are we going?” you asked softly.

hongjoong studied you for a moment, watching your eyelids go heavy. “...go to sleep, brat.”

DAY 2 - OH HONEY I'M HOME

you woke up with a jolt. you sat up from the couch you laid down on, completely disoriented. your eyes darted around the dimly lit room. the hideout. 

relief and fear spread within you. you were safe - for now.

just then, a knock from the doorway made you jump. “didn’t mean to scare you,” a man said, leaning against the frame. “boss wanted me to check on you.”

you blinked. “i- okay,” you coughed to clear your throat, wincing at how dry it felt.

“i’ll let him know you’re awake.”

and with that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone once more.

though that didn’t last long. moments later, hongjoong entered. he carried a stool over, setting it down across from you before sitting. 

“how long did i sleep?” you asked hoarsely.

“a day,” he replied with a shrug.

your eyes widened. it was only then you noticed your attire - a baggy t-shirt replacing the outfit you were wearing before.

“who changed me?” you blurted out, heat rising to your cheeks.

“i did,” hongjoong answered. he noticed your flustered expression, tilting his head. “what?”

“did you-” you cleared your throat. “did you see anything?”

“i’m not a pervert,” he scoffed. “if it makes you feel better, you were changed in the dark.”

you fell into an awkward, heavy silence as you sat across each other. for the first time, there was no danger, no gunfire or anyone yelling out orders. just silence.

“your dad..” hongjoong began, speaking up. “wants you dead.”

“...what?”

he held up a cassette tape, tossing it onto the table between you, your hands trembling as you picked it up. hongjoong then brought out a cassette tape player, allowing you to hear your father’s voice.

‘mr kim, we’ve had our ups and downs, but i’m sure that we can agree on one thing - that bitch who shot my thigh is a liability. an idiot that made it this far because of me. she’s no longer my responsibility or family, so expect to find her head on a stick when you turn your back. have fun.’

“what the fuck..” you whispered shakily as it came to an end. 

“to be honest, your only purpose was to be a hostage.” hongjoong’s fingers drummed the edge of the stool. “and now that he doesn’t want you.. you’re useless-”

the world around you crumbled, his words making you feel worse. 

“-to him.”

your eyes widened, looking at him in confusion.

“you’re smart,” he shrugged. “and you stitched me.”

you blinked. “…where are you going with this?” 

“i want you to be an addition to my team,” he replied.

“do i have to kill people?” you blurted out. “or steal, or-”

“no,” hongjoong raised a hand to cut you off. “all you’ll be doing is treating my injured men. quite the opposite of killing.”

you frowned, furrowing your eyebrows. “why would you trust me with that?”

“because,” he said, leaning forward. “you have nowhere else to go.”

“that’s not true-”

“really?” hongjoong smirked. “do you know how many businesses your dad owns?”

you shook your head.

“more than 80% in the country,” his eyes sparkled with something dark. “now that you’ve shot him, you’ve burnt every bridge he’s built for you.”

your jaw dropped. “but-”

“no job, no family, nowhere to live either since he owns most of the real estate here.”

you stared at him, struggling to process his words.

“here’s my offer,” hongjoong continued. “you get a decent amount of money, a place to live and protection...”

“...just to treat people?” you asked in disbelief.

he nodded. 

you bit your lip, staring at the floor as you picked at your nails. how could your dad do this to you? abandoning you just like that? and now he wanted you dead? you could feel yourself getting angry just thinking about him.

after a long moment, you lifted your head, meeting his gaze. “deal.” 

MONTH 1 - FAMILY BONDING 

that evening, you sat on the floor with san, wooyoung and yeosang, eating a batch of cheap instant noodles. it was a little awkward - mostly because you just joined, but you were silently appreciating their efforts to make small talk with you. 

suddenly, a loud bang was heard through the hideout. the three men jumped up immediately, pulling guns and knives from who knows where. 

“back entrance?” wooyoung asked as he sharpened his knives. 

your heart raced as you watched the three of them shift into combat mode - and you caught yourself lagging behind. you hurriedly stood up and grabbed the medical kit you kept close. 

“stay here,” san said firmly. 

you shook your head. “if someone’s injured, i’m coming.”

the three of them shared a look before yeosang gave you a reluctant nod. “…just stay behind us. we’ll get in trouble if you get hurt.”

they moved swiftly and silently through the narrow halls of the hideout, weapons in hand. you trailed closely, your heart pounding as you gripped the medical kit tightly. 

when you reached the back entrance, san motioned you to stay back while they checked the door. 

the signs of forced entry were obvious - the lock was broken and scuff marks lined the floor. 

wooyoung scoffed, speaking under his breath. “stupid piglets.”

yeosang sighed. “looks like they took a few weapons and left.”

“are they testing us?” san asked, inspecting a footprint on the ground. 

before anyone could respond, the door slammed open making all of you jump. you turned to see mingi, his chest heaving as he leaned against the door frame. 

“meeting. now.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the hideout’s ‘meeting room’ was more of a cramped closet with mismatched chairs and a comically large table in the middle. hongjoong paced at the end of the room, his jaw clenched. 

“we can’t stay here any longer,” he began. “it’s only a matter of time before they come back in full force.”

hongjoong stopped pacing and crossed his arms. “we need to move back to our old apartments. they’re scattered enough to keep us hidden until we figure out our next move.”

you shifted uncomfortably. 

hongjoong noticed this. “what?” he asked, his sharp eyes landing on you. 

“i uh-“ you hesitated. “i don’t have a home..” you said sheepishly. 

hongjoong raised an eyebrow. 

“my dad owns the house,” you admitted. “and that’s not really an option anymore.”

“right,” hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair. “shit..”

“alright, who has space?” he clapped, glancing around the room. 

everyone exchanged uneasy looks. 

“we don’t,” yeosang said, gesturing to himself, san, wooyoung and jongho. “the four of us are already crammed into one place.”

“same here,” yunho spoke up. “mingi and i barely fit in ours.”

hongjoong turned to seonghwa, his face hopeful. 

“no,” seonghwa said without hesitation. 

a heavy sigh escaped hongjoong as he pinched the bridge of his nose. he leaned against the table, deep in thought. 

minutes stretched into what felt like hours before hongjoong finally spoke up. “you’re coming with me,” he said, looking directly at you. 

your eyes widened in surprise. “..what?”

“you’re staying at my place.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the car sped down the (somewhat) empty highway, the faint smell of vanilla from the air freshener mixing with the lingering scent of old fast food. 

you gripped the edge of your seat as the streetlights ran by the window in a blur. “are we in a rush?” you nervously glanced at hongjoong. 

“no,” he replied flatly. 

there was a black car beside you that had been keeping pace for the past few minutes - and just as you shifted in your seat, it suddenly swerved infront of your car and slammed the brakes. 

“what the-” you barely managed to say before the impact. the car jolted violently as it hit the one ahead, the sound of metal crunching loud. 

hongjoong let out a low string of curses under his breath. his face was weirdly calm as he unbuckled his seatbelt, stepping out of the car without a word. 

“wait-” you scrambled to undo your own seatbelt. 

from your seat, you saw him approaching the car. the moment he glanced inside, his eyes widened. he reached for his gun and pulled the trigger instantly. 

the loud gunshot made you flinch and your stomach twisted as you saw the slumped figure in the driver’s seat, blood splattered across the windshield. 

your heart pounded as you stumbled out of the car, rushing towards him. “why did you do that?!”

hongjoong turned to you, his jaw clenched. “it was a piglet.”

“wha-“ your eyes drifted to the body, a shiver going down your spine as you saw the bullet hole clean through the skull. 

hongjoong, completely unfazed, went back to the car. you stared at the lifeless body for a moment longer before hurriedly following him. 

once you were back inside, you swallowed the lump in your throat, attempting to break the suffocating silence. “….how did you know he was a piglet?”

hongjoong didn’t respond immediately. his fingers flexed against the steering wheel as he glanced at you. 

“they have a bullet tattoo..” he said finally, pulling down his collar to point to his collarbone. “..right here.”

you blinked. “oh.”

“if you ever come across one,” he continued. “kill them on sight.”

your eyes widened, your throat tightening. “what about the police?”

he fell silent for a second, his eyes fixed on the road. then, a faint smirk crossed his face. “you don’t need to worry about them.”

his answer left you unsettled, but before you could question him further, the apartment building came into view. it was modern - standing tall with the city skyline. 

hongjoong smoothly pulled into the parking lot. the abruptness of the stop sent you forward, but his hand shot out instinctively, pressing against you to keep you steady. 

“sorry,” he muttered, his voice soft - though he didn’t look at you as he retracted his arm. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

some might describe hongjoong’s apartment as ‘minimalistic’, but to you, it’s just an excuse for a grown man to avoid decorating. 

the walls were devoid of any art or family photos, the kitchen was spotless - though it was definitely untouched with how there was almost no food in the fridge. and from what you saw, the only source of entertainment was a lone TV. 

“do you..” you began, looking around the bare space. “do you even live here?”

hongjoong ignored your comment and walked towards the big couch and began to pull it into a makeshift bed. the springs creaked slightly as he unfolded it. “this is where you’ll be sleeping,” he said, dusting himself off. 

“cool.”

“don’t complain-“ he stopped himself mid-sentence and narrowed his eyes when he realised what you said. “wait, you’re okay with this?”

you blinked. “…yeah?”

“hm,” he said, slightly surprised. he looked you up and down before turning to the long hallway. “get some rest, we’re getting you a phone tomorrow.”

MONTH 2 - LIVE LAUGH LOVE GUNS

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be long before the piglets attacked you again. 

hongjoong sent you on a simple supply run - nothing unusual. but as you stood in the small pharmacy, you felt the air shift when the cashier’s demeanour turned cold. 

it all happened so fast. 

the moment you saw the gun aimed at your chest, your eyes fell to the faint outline of a bullet tattoo peeking out from his collarbone. great. 

your breath hitched as your body moved on impulse. you barely avoided the first shot as you ducked behind the display rack. 

the pharmacy was strangely empty, no one else to intervene. your heart pounded as the sounds of footsteps and gunshots echoed. 

fumbling with your phone, you dialed every number you could think of. yet, no one answered. 

your hands trembled as you typed hongjoong’s number, your last resort. 

he picked up after one ring. 

“this better be important, brat,” he grumbled, groggy like he just woke up. 

“i need help-” you semi-yelled as you narrowly dodged another shot, darting behind the counter. “i’m getting attacked-”

“-send your location,” hongjoong interrupted. “i’m on my way.”

the line went dead before you could respond. 

you sent your location and shoved the phone back into your pocket. the cashier reloaded the gun, his footsteps growing louder. and just as you moved, he charged. 

he grabbed you, trying to pin you down. you barely managed to fight back, until you made an educated attack - kicking him in the groin. 

he groaned, stumbling back. you took the opportunity to snatch the gun from his hands. 

you pointed it at him, your hands shaking. “stay back,” your voice cracked. 

the man scoffed. “over my dead body,” he lunged at you again. 

your finger moved instinctively, pulling the trigger. 

once. 

twice. 

again and again and again. 

the sound of gunfire rang in your ears, the recoil sending waves through your arms. you didn’t stop until you heard a clicking noise that meant that the gun was empty. 

when you opened your eyes, he was no longer standing. 

you looked down, the cashier laying sprawled on the ground, the concrete dark with blood. bullet holes littered his body, evidence of your frantic shots. 

you dropped to your knees, your chest heaving. you reached out to check his pulse. nothing.

you just took someone’s life. 

your eyes fell to your hands, bloody and shaking. from young, you always wanted to save lives - not take them. tears fell from your eyes, blurring your vision. 

the door slammed open. 

hongjoong stood in the doorway. he took in the body on the floor and your frozen form in a single glance. he sighed, stepping in. 

“come on, let’s go,” he crouched to grab your arm. 

you couldn’t move, your eyes fixed on the lifeless body. 

“hey,” his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face to meet his. his eyes were intense, his touch warm against your cold skin. “we need to leave before more show up. you don’t want to kill anyone else, do you?”

you shook your head quickly. 

he pulled you to your feet, wrapping his arm around yours as he guided you to his car. the ride back was silent as you stared out of the window. 

and before you knew it, you were back at his apartment. 

you hesitated at the door, unable to bring yourself to step inside. 

hongjoong sighed, grabbing your wrist as he tugged you in. he tossed his gun and his keys in the kitchen counter before turning to you. 

“go take a long shower. i’ll be in the living room.”

you nodded, moving to the bathroom in a daze. 

the water was scalding as it hit your skin. no amount of soap or scrubbing would ever make you feel clean from the bloodied-stains. every part of your body felt foreign - even your puffy eyes and lips.

once you were done, you dressed in the softest clothes you had, hoping that it would provide you with some form of comfort (it didn’t).

the pull-out couch was prepared with brand-new pillows and fluffy blankets when you returned to the living room. hongjoong sat on the edge, gesturing for you to sit. you sank down beside him. 

the silence stretched on until it became unbearable. 

you spoke up, your voice barely audible. “…i killed someone.”

“you did,” he nodded. “good job.”

your head snapped up, your eyes wide. “i killed someone.”

“and so have i,” hongjoong leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “does that bother you?”

“i…”

he leaned back. “it should. the first time always does.”

“i don’t think i can do this,” you breathed out shakily. “i don’t want to hurt people..”

the two of you locked eyes for what felt like ages. you could see hongjoong’s adam's apple bob up and down, his jaw tightening slightly. “no one wants to hurt people,” he replied softly. 

you blinked. 

“i shouldn’t have sent you out alone, especially with your dad targeting you,” he sighed. “that’s on me.”

“but-”

“-though i do have to say, this made me realise how.. unprepared you are,” he continued.

your eyebrows furrowed. 

“if you want to survive, you need to know how to defend yourself,” he drummed his fingers against the couch. “...you’re off supply runs. from now on, you’re training with the others.”

you stared at him. “what?”

“the rest have some ‘schedule’ for training. i’m sure you can join without any problems.”

you hesitated. the thought of the blood, the body, the gun in your hands made you nauseous. the idea of training scared you. 

he noticed this, his eyes softening slightly. “you won’t be a killer, just someone capable of self-defense.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. finally, you nodded, your voice small. “okay.”

MONTH 3 - LET’S GO GAMBLING!

the casino was glitzy and loud with copyright-free music, its neon lights casting eerie shadows on the dark streets outside. 

“you three, cover left. you two, check the vault. the rest of you will stay near the exit,” hongjoong ordered.

you waited for your assignment, expecting to be grouped with someone. instead, hongjoong said, “you’re with me.”

you sighed. “alright.”

you followed hongjoong to the right side of the casino, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filling the space. he moved silently, keeping his gun concealed but ready. you tried to mimic his focus, clutching the knife wooyoung lent you earlier.

the first sign of trouble came when the alarms blared.

armed men swarmed into the casino. piglets.

hongjoong moved first, taking them down in a single shot. you ducked behind a pillar, your heart pounding.

the fight moved fast. hongjoong was precise - he wasn’t even touchable, killing the men easily.

but that was when you saw it before he did: a piglet creeping up behind him, raising and aiming the gun to his head.

“boss!”

without hesitation, you hurled wooyoung’s knife to the piglet.

the knife pierced and plunged into his neck, causing the man to fall, his gun clattering to the ground. 

hongjoong whipped his head around with wide eyes, shooting the man infront of him before spinning to kill the piglet you just hit.

the silence that followed was deafening.

hongjoong’s breathing was heavy as he lowered his weapon. he dusted his clothes off, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

he gulped, finally speaking up. “...good job, pretty.” 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

slowly, everyone regrouped in the corner, collapsing onto the floor in a circle. bottles of water were passed around as everyone caught their breaths.

for a while, no one spoke, the only sounds being an occasional groan.

“hey,” wooyoung hiccuped, breaking the silence as he turned to you. “give me my knife back.”

you looked at him awkwardly before handing him his completely bloody and dented knife - basically ruined.

“what the hell!” he exclaimed. “that was one of my favourites!”

you shrugged. “you shouldn’t have given it to me then.”

“i didn’t know you were actually gonna use it,” wooyoung complained. “i thought you would just watch.”

“you’re such a dick,” you rolled your eyes.

wooyoung leaned in closer - his voice annoyingly sweet. “aw, don’t be mad, sweetheart. i’ll get you a better knife- one that won’t bend in your delicate fucking hands.”

“shut up,” you groaned, shoving him lightly as the others chuckled.

hongjoong leaned against the wall, his arm crossed over his chest. his eyes shifted from wooyoung to you. 

his chest tightened in a now-familiar way: you’re fitting in too well.

it wasn’t jealousy - at least, that’s what he told himself. it was about control. your presence was a distraction he didn’t account for. but the others took you in so easily, which was technically a good thing, right?

and yet...

why did his stomach twist every time one of them smiled at you?

hongjoong blinked, realising how his leg was bouncing restlessly. he forced himself to stop, sighing deeply.

“you good, boss?” yunho asked.

hongjoong paused. “...i’m fine.”

yunho raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it, turning away.

hongjoong’s eyes returned to you. you were leaning a little too close to yeosang now, laughing at some joke wooyoung said - sending a strange pang through his chest.

why did this bother him so much?

you weren’t doing anything wrong. you were building trust, meshing with the group - just like he expected.

but this wasn’t about the group, was it?

he frowned, thinking. you stitched him right after he kidnapped you, you saved him from getting shot even though you were definitely not ready to fight.

what has he ever done for you?

introduced you to a world of crime? to a world of killing, stealing and hatred? accidentally ruined the relationship between you and your dad?

hongjoong closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

shit.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

without bothering to change, you sank into the pull-out couch - exhaustion pulling you to it like gravity.

you heard hongjoong locking the door behind him, the soft click sounding loud in the quiet apartment. his footsteps shuffled toward the kitchen, the sounds of cabinets opening and closing reaching your ears. you were way too tired to look.

you didn’t realise you drifted off until you were awoken by something heavy on your body.

your eyes fluttered open groggily. for a moment, you thought you were dreaming. hongjoong was in the middle of draping a large blanket on you.

“what are you doing?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

his eyes darted to yours briefly. “nothing.”

you frowned, shifting to sit up - but he placed a hand on your shoulder, pressing you gently back down. “sleep.”

you let out a quiet sigh. “shouldn’t you be sleeping?” you muttered.

he paused, his jaw tensing. “....tomorrow onwards, you’re training with me.”

you stared at him, stunned. before you could even say anything, he turned and walked away without a word.

…did your boss just tuck you in?

MONTH 3.5 -  PUNCH, KICK, SNARE

“again,” hongjoong said, slightly out of breath. 

the living room felt smaller than usual with the two of you moving around. the coffee table and couch was pushed aside, leaving just enough space to practice your punches without tripping over the furniture. he claimed training here would teach you how to ‘fight in tight quarters’.

he sighed. “your moves are sloppy.”

you groaned, shaking your aching wrists. “i’m trying.”

“that’s not enough when someone’s aiming a gun at your head,” he replied, stepping back and raising hands. “your punches are too weak and your balance is all over the place. reset your stance.”

you rolled your eyes but obeyed, repositioning your feet. it wasn’t the first time you’ve heard those words from him.

hongjoong moved closer, tapping your wrist. “keep your guard up. always.”

you threw another punch, but it barely made his hands move. he lowered them, sighing. “that’s not going to hurt anyone-“

“-i’m doing my best, okay?” you snapped. “i’m not a fast learner.”

his eyes softened for a moment before narrowing again. “that’s not an excuse when your life is on the line.”

you tsked. he was right of course, but that didn’t make it easier to hear.

“again.”

you tried once more, throwing a combination of punches that he blocked with ease. when you attempted a kick, you stumbled, nearly losing your footing.

he caught you instinctively, his hands steadying you.

“watch your balance,” he said automatically, going on a tangent on how training is important and blahblahblah. 

you tried to focus on your surroundings, on the words he was saying, but it was hard to ignore the proximity between you. the smell of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of sweat in the room. his touch wasn’t rough or aggressive like you’d expect - it was gentle.

your eyes drifted to his face, catching the faint scars along his cheekbones and jawline. were those always there? or was this the first time you really noticed?

his brows furrowed, likely in frustration at your lack of response, but the concern in his eyes snapped you back into reality, making you realise that you were staring the whole time.

“i don’t think i’m cut out for this,” the words spilled out before you could stop them.

hongjoong paused, his lips parting slightly - he wasn’t  expecting you to say that. for a moment, he was silent. he then leaned in, his eyes piercing. 

“you don’t get to quit.”

the intensity of his voice made you forget about the aches in your muscles and the sweat dripping down your back. his words weren’t angry - they were commanding. 

“why do you even care?” you whispered, barely audible.

his grip on your arms loosened slightly, his eyes searching yours for what felt like eternity. then out of nowhere, he stepped back, clearing his throat as he avoided your gaze. “take five,” he mumbled, walking to the kitchen.

MONTH 5 - BLOOD, BLOOD AND MORE BLOOD

the office building looked ordinary. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was just another corporate HQ. but you knew better.

and so did hongjoong.

you held up the new knife wooyoung gave you, one that wasn’t as pretty as the last. it was finally the day you ambushed your dad, the man that’s been wanting you dead for months.

you looked up to face hongjoong. “i don’t want to see it,” you said suddenly.

he raised an eyebrow. “see what?”

“when you kill him. my dad,” you clarified, your throat tightening. “i’m.. okay with it, but i don’t want to see it.”

his eyes studied you. after a moment, he nodded. “make sure to stay close to me,” he said before turning to the building.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the group slipped into the building through the side. hongjoong led the way, gripping his pistol tightly as you stayed close behind him.

“elevators are too risky,” hongjoong looked back at the group. “we’ll take the stairs.”

the group nodded, their weapons drawn as they moved quietly through the halls. the fluorescent lights did nothing to mask the sinister aura that was buried in the walls.

when you reached the stairwell, the sound of footsteps echoing above sent everyone into high alert.

the first shot rang out.

gunfire filled the stairwell. the air was thick with smoke and gunfire. you pressed yourself against the wall, trying to avoid all of the attacks happening around you. you tried to go in to fight but-

-someone grabbed you.

you struggled, twisting out of their grasp. but before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, dragging you away. “stay still.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the stench forced your eyes open - a horrid mix of stale cigar smoke and alcohol. the office was dimly lit and your father crouched infront of you, his face smug as he cornered you.

“you think you’re better than me, don’t you?” he sneered.

you glared at him, your heart pounding. “fuck off.”

a bitter laugh escaped his lips. “you’ve gotten worse since you joined that boy,” he spat. “should i cut off your tongue? unhinge your jaw? or maybe i’ll be basic and shoot you.”

“you’re insane,” your stomach twisted. “it’s hard to believe we’re related, especially with how ugly you are.”

“you-”

before he could finish, you jammed wooyoung’s knife into his other thigh, dragging it down to create a large gash. he let out a guttural scream, stumbling into a desk as blood gushed out of his thigh like a fountain.

you moved quickly, scrambling out of the corner, but two piglets grabbed you before you could get far.

“stupid bitch,” your father hissed, forcing himself up as he took out the knife in his thigh, looking directly at you. “you’re going to regret that.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

as hongjoong shot another piglet with his pistol, he looked around the haze, searching for a certain someone. “where’s ‘____’?” he asked.

the group stayed silent.

“shit- we don’t know,” wooyoung said nervously.

hongjoong’s face darkened - and without hesitation, he grabbed a nearby piglet by the collar, slamming him against the wall. “where’s your boss?” he snarled.

the piglet squirmed. “i- i have a family!”

hongjoong’s grip on his collar tightened, his eyes widening scarily. “then bring me to him.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“your mother should’ve gotten the abortion,” your father said before settling down infront of you, the bloody knife close to your face.

“i’m surprised that a woman like her fucked you,” you breathed out shakily as the blade hit your skin. 

“shut up-“

the door burst open as the knife grazed your skin. hongjoong stepped in, his gun raised. “let go of her,” he ordered.

the piglets hesitated, glancing between your father and hongjoong. your father’s hand didn’t move, a scar forming on your face. 

“you want her that badly?” your father asked mockingly. “you’re becoming soft.”

hongjoong didn’t answer. instead, he moved faster than you thought was possible, shooting the two piglets that held you with ease.

the bodies hit the ground - causing your father to shove you harshly against the wall. pain shot through your body as you heard something crack.

hongjoong froze, his pistol trained on your dad. 

“stay back,” your father warned, hovering the blade near your temple.

hongjoong’s jaw clenched. he dropped his gun slightly, making your father relax.

but then hongjoong lunged.

the fight was brutal, all punches and grunts. you slumped against the wall, your cheek bleeding uncontrollably as every part of your body ached.

after what felt like ages, hongjoong finally gained the upper hand, pinning your dad down as he pointed the gun to his head. but then his eyes landed on yours, wide and terrified - making him freeze.

“shit,” he cursed under his breath, lowering the gun. he turned and rushed to you, pulling you into his arms.

your father tried to crawl away, but hongjoong didn’t let him go far. with you in his embrace, he covered your eyes and ears tightly as the sound of a singular gunshot echoed in the room.

you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt. his hand cradled the back of your head, his touch soft. “it’s over,” he whispered as you sobbed.

you shook your head against his chest, the salt in your tears stinging the cut on your cheek. “i almost died.”

“i know,” he said softly. “but i wouldn’t let that happen.”

his words settled over you like a warm blanket. you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his face. you could feel the heat of his body as he kept you close.

hongjoong shifted, his hands moving to your shoulders as he looked at you carefully. his thumb brushed over your scar, wiping away the trail of blood on your face.

“you’re shaking,” his eyebrows furrowed. “you need to breathe.”

“i’m trying.”

he reached for a nearby chair and pulled it over, guiding you to sit. hongjoong crouched infront of you, your hands trembling in his.

“you’re safe,” his eyes locked onto yours. “i’ve got you.”

something inside you cracked at his words - and tears spilled once more. hongjoong didn’t say anything, but his presence was enough. he stayed crouched infront of you, letting you take all the time you needed.

when you finally looked up, there was something unspoken in his eyes - a mix of guilt and relief that made your heart ache. “...thank you,” you whispered.

his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but the words never came. instead, he nodded slowly, his grip on your hands tightening for a moment before letting go.

at that moment, you leaned forward, closing the small distance between you. your lips brushed against his, just enough to make his entire body stiffen.

for a second, you thought you made a mistake. his hands paused midair and his breathing hitched.

but then, he moved. to you. 

his hands cupped your face gently, pulling you closer into a kiss. it was slow at first, but when you gripped his shirt tightly - the feelings he’d been keeping were let loose.

his lips pressed against yours with urgency. his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you like you might disappear if he let go. 

you responded instinctively. your hands found his neck, his jaw - brushing over them softly in a way that made him groan. “fuck- you’re so pretty.”

the world around you spun in swirls of blood, smoke and cologne, overwhelming you in a way that made you lose your breath.

hongjoong broke away for a moment, panting slightly. his lips curled into a smirk, before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less intense. it was grounding, reassuring and impossibly warm.

when the two of you pulled back, his thumb traced your scar. “this..” he began quietly. “..this isn’t what i expected tonight.”

you let out a soft, shaky laugh. “me neither.”

he pecked your forehead as he stood up, his legs slightly wobbly from the kiss. hongjoong held out a hand, helping you to your feet. “...let’s go home.”

series taglist - @hanoishere @scuzmunkie @sinfullygay @arusio @midnightrebel1028 @neemaxx @seungminsrighthand @arilevenatz @ateezswonderland @beabatiny @lemirabitur @sunnyhokyu @frzzenfrxg @cylovesmg @txtsoobean @seonghwasslytherin @sundaybossanova @sweetinsaniiity @cybrnaya @choisanchwego @mrskill2

BONUS SCENE - MINE

the apartment was quiet as you laid on the pull-out couch, staring at the ceiling. sleep wasn’t coming - your mind was too busy replacing the events earlier.

the memory of hongjoong’s arms around you stayed, along with the feeling of his lips on yours. how could a man as dangerous as him bring you such comfort?

a soft knock against the wall broke the silence.

you sat up slowly, seeing hongjoong standing in the hallway. his hair was slightly damp and he wore a loose black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. he hesitated before walking to you, his movements weirdly awkward.

“...you okay?” you asked the nervous man.

he shrugged, trying to play it off as he sat next to you. “i’m fine. you?”

“i’ve been better.”

there was a pause as the two of you stared at each other, the silence heavy. finally, he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“i’ve been thinking..” hongjoong trailed off.

“uh-oh.”

“i-it’s not a bad thing-” he said hurriedly. “it’s just that.. tonight made me think about a lot of things.”

you tilted your head, confused.

his voice softened as he continued. “but this isn’t just about tonight. it’s about.. everything. i don’t want you to feel.. unsafe all the time.”

“i don’t,” you said instantly, but you’re not sure how much you believed yourself.

he leaned back slightly, reaching into his hoodie pocket. when his hand reappeared, it was holding a pistol - his pistol.

“take this,” he held it out to you.

you blinked, staring at the weapon. “what? why?”

“because it’s mine,” he replied simply leaving no room for argument. “and now, it’s ours.”

you hesitated, your hand hovering over the gun. “i.. i barely know how to use this.”

“then i’ll teach you.”

you looked up at him, searching his face for answers. “...why are you giving this to me?”

you noticed the way his eyes darted down as you looked at him, his fingers tightening around the pistol as he pushed it to you. 

“because,” hongjoong began quietly. “i trust you.”

your fingers paused before finally closing around the gun. the cold metal felt deadly in your grasp, but the way his eyes lit up made your heart swell.

“you trust me..?” you asked softly, a faint smile on your face. “hongjoong..”

his usual composure faltered as you said his name, a blush dusting his face. he swallowed the lump in his throat, gathering himself. “you’re not just a part of the group,” he said. “you’re more than that. to me.”

your eyebrows shot up, completely stunned. “...i don’t know what to say.”

“say yes.”

you blinked. “yes to what?”

“to being mine,” hongjoong’s hands fidgeted slightly.

your heart raced as you heard his words. a wide smile spread across your face as you realised what he was really asking.

“are you..” you paused. “are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

his breath got caught in his throat as he nodded. “yeah.”

the man that was the literal leader of an entire gang, was sitting nervous infront of you. it was a funny sight to see, but you brought yourself back to reality, answering his question.

“yes.”

a wave of relief washed over his face as he let out the breath he seemed to be holding. he reached out, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he leaned closer. “wanna sleep in my bed tonight?”

deleted scenes

other fics

[beloveds-embrace]

(you and john price, your bear of a man, spend a winter day together. Chubby!reader)

The snow piled high against the cabin windows, muting the world outside into soft, endless white. It was the kind of winter storm that promised days of quiet seclusion- a chance to disappear from the world and pretend it was just the two of you.

Wrapped in a thick quilt, you lay curled against John’s furry chest, your body pressed so close to his that you could feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. He was impossibly warm, his body heat wrapping around you like a living furnace, and his scent- smoke, pine, and something uniquely him- made you feel so safe and content.

His large hand rested on your hip, fingers splayed wide as if to remind himself of just how much of you there was to hold. He traced idle circles through the soft fabric of your sleepwear, but the barrier did little to dull the sensation of his rough fingertips against you.

“You’re so soft.” He murmured, voice low and honeyed with sleep. He shifted slightly, pressing his nose into your hair to breathe you in. His beard scraped lightly against your skin, and you shivered despite the warmth.

“Too soft, some would say.” You mumbled, though your voice was half-hearted.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes catching the firelight as they roamed over your features- lazy and reverent, like he had all the time in the world to admire you, admire every inch of soft, supple flesh.

“There’s no such thing,” he said firmly, his voice like gravel but softened by the affection in his tone. “Not for me.”

His hand moved again, trailing from your hip to your waist, then higher, brushing over the curve of your belly. He lingered there, his palm flattening against the plushness as his thumb stroked gently.

“Love this,” he murmured, grumbling, almost to himself. “Every inch of you- soft, warm. Like you were made just for me.”

Your breath caught, and you squirmed slightly under his touch, but his grip tightened- not enough to hold you still, just enough to let you know he wasn’t letting go.

“John-”

“Let me look at you,” he interrupted gently, pulling back more so he could take you in. The blanket shifted as he guided you onto your back, his body following so that he loomed over you, one arm propping himself up while the other continued its slow exploration of your curves.

His gaze dragged over you, lingering at the soft swell of your stomach and the plushness of your thighs. He made no attempt to hide his admiration- his eyes darkened, his lips parting slightly like he couldn’t quite find the words to describe how much he loved what he saw.

“You’re perfect,” he said finally, thick with conviction. He leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the curve of your collarbone before nuzzling into your neck, the soft skin of your chin. “So damn perfect, love.”

Your heart fluttered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. It wasn’t just lust in his eyes- though there was plenty of that, too. It was adoration, raw and unfiltered, as if he couldn’t believe you were real and with him.

He trailed kisses down your shoulder, his beard scratching lightly against your skin, but his hand never stopped moving- palming your waist, gripping your hip, sliding down to cup the curve of your thigh. Every touch felt reverent, like he was memorizing you all over again.

“Always thought I’d end up alone,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as his lips brushed your ear. “Never thought I’d be this lucky, having such a sweet, soft lady waiting for me at home.”

“John-”

“Shh,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your lips to quiet you. “Let me show you.”

And he did. He pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, your chin, your jaw. He worshiped you with his hands, tracing every soft curve and plush line like he was afraid you might slip away if he stopped.

Eventually, he settled back against the pillows, pulling you with him so you could curl into his side once more. He tucked you close, burying his face in your hair, and the rumble in his chest was unmistakable this time- a low, contented sound that almost made you laugh.

“I knew it,” you teased, your voice muffled against his chest. “You can purr.”

His chest vibrated again, but this time with laughter. “Only for you.” He admitted, tightening his arms around you.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, but inside, the world was warm and quiet. Wrapped in John’s arms, with his steady heartbeat in your ear and his hands never straying far from your soft, warm body, you couldn’t imagine anywhere else you’d rather be.

[torschlusspanikattack]

There's a genre of like, comedy skit/webcomic/etc where like, there's a Straight White Man and a Quirky Queer Bean and the Straight White Man says an offensive internet discourse thing and the Quirky Queer Bean pulls out A Gun lmao bet you didn't expect that. "Uhhhm its historically inaccurate to have gay people in dnd" "well you know whats more hsitorically inaccurate MY GUN". I think this is kind of cringe and lame because like there's no joke, it's played as humorous but there isn't really a joke at all. So I was thinking what if there was one where the Straight White Man says your blue hair bothers me and the Quirky Queer Bean says hey does MY GUN bother you and then the Straight White Man pulls out HIS GUN and then they stand there you know, both of them face to face like really internalizing the possibility of their own deaths now, and campus police is called and they both stand down but its a permanently traumatizing experience of both of them. The Straight White Man can't talk about or admit to his trauma because that would be embarrassing and emasculating and the pain and anger that he feels only drives him to further, more cemented hate of queer people and the left broadly. The Quirky Queer Bean can talk about it but her social circles are so gossipy and backstabbing that people just end up finding a way to use it against her in the next cancel-session and she's left alone and confused by the rejection from people she thought she could trust. both of them are further estranged from the human world and social relations and spend their lives just a little more lonely and isolated than they otherwise would have.

[planet-hwa]

can i request pervy roommate seonghwa who loves taking upskirt pictures of you and steals your panties. he got caught snooping in your room and you decide to punish him.

a subby seonghwa would be great. reader doesnt have to be dom but hwa loves it when shes mean to him.

thank you for your time! 🫶🏻

୨୧  corrupted thoughts – 성화

୨୧  summary     although you were no more than roommates, seonghwa was obsessed with you — completely infatuated by your mere existence. along with the pure admiration he had towards you, it also came with the immoral perverted thoughts that filled his mind every time he caught your scent…

pairing     roommate!seonghwa x reader genre     university/college au [only the reader, seonghwa is a few years older], a lot of perverted smut… my apologies word count    3.7k

 

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warnings     MDNI !!  obsessedperv!seonghwa, reader is in a fwb situation, petnames/nicknames, swearing, underwear fetish, panty sniffing, masturbation [masc], voyeurism i think, ruined orgasm, vibrators, pillow humping [reader], caught masturbating, name-calling/degrading, punishment, handjobs, blowjobs, overstimulation, orgasm control, orgasm denial, bondage [masc], dirty talk, crying from overstimulation [masc], cunnilingus, face sitting, face riding, hands-free orgasm, aftercare ♡

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she lives in daydreams with me, she’s the first one that i see now playing   she ; harry styles ⇄  ◁  II  ▷  ↺

⋮≡  in queue     ◦  candy ; doja cat     ◦  fetish ; selena gomez     ◦  high ; sivik     ◦  killshot ; magdalena bay     ◦  obsessed ; zandros

Although you were no more than roommates, Seonghwa was obsessed with you — completely infatuated by your mere exsistence. He couldn’t go a day without thinking about you, haunted by the lingering scents of your sweet perfume after you had left for your classes. Everything you owned and collected through your life was placed decoratively around the house, along with his own collections.

There was no escaping you.

He tried his hardest to control himself, but perverted tendencies drove him in other directions, all of this starting one day by just doing the laundry. While you were at one of your exams, one you had been stressing about all week, Seonghwa decided he wanted to help remove some sort of chores in your life and washed your dirty laundry. 

Little did he know: this would be the worst thing to do.

Sorting through the blacks and whites, he would occasionally come across your underwear, which he had no problem with of course. That was until one pair of your panties, a navy blue pair with small white flowers and a white lace trim, ended up in his grip. This happened to be the pair you had worn last night, laced with your pre-arousal from your very teasing casual hookup, the smell was pungent. The aroma filled the small room and travelled its way into Seonghwa’s nose. He stared at the pair with wide eyes, his thumb tracing over the darkened, now dried, patch of the previous night's intimate moments.

It was as if his mind had lost control of his body, his hands slowly pulling the panties to his face and breathing them in deeply. The fragrance was intoxicating, his mind instantly becoming fogged and heat swiftly rushing through his body, targeting the area between his legs. He had never become harder quicker, his dick twitching desperately in his sweats and leaked with pre-cum — all from one whiff. In desperation, he ran to his bedroom and stripped himself of his pants. Your panties in one hand and his throbbing erection in the other, creating the beginning cycle of perversion.

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Seonghwa tried his hardest to respect your privacy, attempting to block out the sounds of your sexual actions in the next room with his headphones, hands originally distracted by his animal crossing game. But how could he not be distracted, with the beautiful melody of your moans that cracked through the walls. Even knowing they were fake, they were still music to his ears.

You were currently in a friends-with-benefits situation with a guy at your college. He was cute, a good kisser and good at turning you on, but he could never finish the job. Seonghwa didn’t understand why you would still invite him over time and time again, especially with the knowledge that the moment he would leave, your vibrator would be in between your legs to pull you through the unfinished orgasms. That’s how he knew the difference in your moans, fake vs real, he heard both without even touching you.

“Fuuck, right there.” You moaned loudly, the familiar knot building in your stomach as the man pumped sloppily into you. Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa sat in his room listening to your whimpers, secretly praying he was the one driving you with pleasure. His erection tented in his pajama pants, desperately twitching for friction. Fingers grazed over the bulge, fluttering at the light touch before they turned into a palming movement. Lifting the waistband of his pants, he watched as pre-cum dribbled out of the reddened tip. He dragged his thumb over it, wincing at the feeling before he started slowly pumping himself. The sounds of your moans echoed through the hall and into Seonghwa’s room, mixing with a lewd symphony of his own silent whines and desperation to cum. His hand pumped with the rhythm of your sounds, growing faster every time you did. A tension grew in his stomach, a combination of pleasure and guilt. He knew this was a disgusting thing to do, but he physically couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried.

Just as he was about to fall over the edge, the sounds of sex stopped and footsteps fell through the apartment, the front door opening and closing quickly. Seonghwa curiously got up out of bed, taking a peak through the crack in his bedroom door. He watched as you locked the front door and wandered back to your bedroom, wearing nothing but a cropped band tee and black lace panties — corruption bled into his brain as he stared at the panties clenching around your ass, knowing they would be his next victim of fetishising. The sound of vibrations pricked at his ears, whimpers quietly following. 

Tip-toeing through the hallway, he glanced through the open crevice into your bedroom, eyes widening at the sight before him. The bunny vibrator pressing into your clit deliciously as you grind your dripping cunt on a pillow that usually sat on the chair in the corner of the room. Seonghwa watched as you humped the pillow desperately chasing your unfinished business, his hardened erection reminding him of his own. His hands moved down his abdomen and under his waistband, his slender fingers wrapping around the base of his cock and pumping hopelessly — his eyes remained on the view between the cracked open door. Your moans heightened in pitch as you rutted against the pillow, vibrator still tightly held to your puffy clit, you pressed the button to the fastest setting causing your legs to begin to shake uncontrollably. The sight was hypnotic to Seonghwa, his hand pumping to the rhythm of your hip movements. With parted lips, a small whimper escaped them causing him to slap his free hand to his mouth in an attempt to not blow his cover. Thankfully for him, you were too invested in making yourself finish to notice that just two metres from you was your roommate pursuing the same feeling. 

Your belly tightened as your orgasm crashed over you, body shaking hopelessly as you fell backwards, the vibrator rubbing your arousal around your entire core. Your breathing was heavy as you slowed down from your high. Behind your bedroom door, Seonghwa had the same feeling wash over him like a tidal wave. His hand pumped around his bulge with desperation as hot ropes of cum filled his pajama pants, a sticky wet patch now coating the inside of them. He leant back against the wall accidentally causing a creak to rustle through the house. Without hesitation, he sharply ran back to his room and closed the door quickly but quietly, praying that his perverted self wasn’t caught.

The noise of creaking and silent footsteps entertained your eyes, thinking that your roommate had just heard you masturbating, but in your post-orgasm bliss — you didn’t seem to care and ended changing into pajamas and drifting off to sleep.

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Seonghwa searched destructively through your laundry basket, looking for that hypnotic black lacy pair of panties that were clad to your ass last night. Currently alone in the house, with you at your morning classes, he knew you’d be gone long enough for him to relieve himself of his depravity — or so he thought…

Finally, the lace of the panties tickled his finger tips, quickly snatching them up and bolting to his room. The second he entered, his pants and boxers were discarded somewhere on the floor, the loose shirt being his only coverage. He sat up against the headboard staring at the object in hand, observing the previous patch of wet arousal on them. He felt like he could cum right then and there just by the sight, both lips and tip drooling in anticipation. His hand wrapped around his twitching cock, finger grazing over the sensitive red tip and down the underside vein of his length, dragging his pre-cum over it and beginning to stroke.

His grip tightened on the panties as he moved his hand rhythmically, the other slowly bringing the fabric to his face and dipping his nose into it — he inhaled the scent letting it reroute his brain. He whined desperately into the fabric as his hand pumped around his raging erection faster. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer, hips bucking hopelessly into his hand and moaning incoherent mumbles of your name — he had never been this turned on by someone, a person who wasn’t even there. Seonghwa was so caught up in euphoria that he didn’t hear the clicks of the front door, or the footsteps that grew closer to his room.

Classes finished early today, which meant you got to go home and relax after having such a stressful school week. The front door unlocked swiftly and you entered with a huff, throwing your shoes off into the corner and placing your coat over the arm of the couch. Muffled groans filled the apartment, all coming from Seonghwa’s room. You cocked an eyebrow at the thought of him having someone over — you couldn’t judge of course but you had never known him to be one for hookups. Curiosity got the best of you and you tip-toed towards his room, the door left slightly open but not enough to see. You lightly pushed it open, eyes widening in shock at the sight of the man on the bed. His hand wrapped securely around his very hard, very large, dick, moving in a fast rhythmic pattern and glistening with pre-cum. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed and eyes rolled backwards, his other hand covering the majority of his face. As his face contorted with pleasure, you felt a warmth move to your core, something you never thought you’d feel for your roommate of all people.

Paying unnecessary close attention to his facial expressions, you noticed he held something compressed against his nose; quick enough to realise what it was. Slipping on your feet slightly, the door opened wider and revealed your presence, Seonghwa too intoxicated to notice until the sound of your voice penetrated his ears.

“W-what the fuck?” You stuttered, frozen in shock at the sight. “Seonghwa, what are you doing?”

“Oh, oh my god! I’m so sorry!” He jumped, spitting apologies whilst trying to cover himself. You walked up to his bed and snatched your panties out of his hands, putting the pieces together as to why they kept going missing for a few days but showing up suddenly after mentioning it.

“Why do you have these?” You shouted, the stickiness of pre-cum latching onto your fingers, caused by his speediness to cover himself up with his hands. You watched his body tense up, his face was flushed down to his neck, big boba eyes looking at you with fear and guilt.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I thought you were going to be out all morning-”

“I don’t care! Why are you taking my underwear, you perv!” Ignoring the more perverted fact that you were so turned on by the thought of his getting off to you. A silence followed as you both collected your thoughts.

“I’m truly so sorry,” His voice hushed, eyes glossing with guilty tears. “Y/N, please forgive me. I’ll do anything, just please forgive me.”

You brows furrowed in thought, staring at the desperation in his expression; coated with so many guilty and lustful emotions. Although you were no more than roommates and never had been, you could see that Seonghwa was obsessed with you — completely infatuated by your mere existence.

‘Anything’, he said it himself. 

You had complete control right now.

Quietly sitting down next to him, he shifted in his spot as you grew closer, hand grazing his bare thigh. The soft touch sent chills up his spine, his hands still cupping his erection in coverage.

“I just want to know,” Your gaze moved to his face. “Why?”

“W-why?”

“Why do you get off to my panties,” Your fingertips trailed up and down his thigh, growing closer to his hard-on with every line. “When you could just have me?”

His eyes widened as the question lingered in the air, your hand now centimetres away from where he wanted it most. Lips parted and unable to get words out, he watched as your face moved closer to him, your breath grazing against his lips before connecting them with yours. Instantly falling into the kiss, he memorised how soft and delicate your lips were, his hand removing his cover and cupping your face to keep you close. The kiss quickly fell into a passionate mixture of moans and groans, tongues dancing in tangent and twirling around each other. 

Both of his hands now cupping your face, you took this as the opportunity to wrap your fingers around his length. He whined into the kiss as you slowly stroked him, collecting sticky pre-cum from his tip and dragging it up and down his throbbing erection. The kiss was unbreakable, hopeless moans falling in from Seonghwa, his brain unable to process what was truly happening. The tension already began to build in his stomach due to his previous orgasm being ruined. You broke the kiss to look at him, watching as he tried to follow you for more. His eyes were hooded and eyebrows scrunching in different shapes as his orgasm grew closer.

“You know – fuuck – I’ve always dreamt of being with you.” He swore, legs starting to tremble beneath him.

“Are you close, Hwa?” You asked with a sultry voice, melting into his ears.

“Y-yes.” He mumbled, scrambling for words but ultimately losing to the continuous symphony of whimpers that flowed like a river. His hips began to buck into your hand for more friction, understanding and swiftly speeding your movements. You watched as his orgasm sat on the edge; stomach tensed, eyes rolled back, hands clutching at the sheets — a complete moaning mess.

“Y/N, ‘m gonna cum-” Mere seconds before his release, you removed your hand from his leaking tip and listened to him whine in agony.

“You didn’t really think that I would let you cum that easy, did you?” You laughed, his pain serving as a comedy show for you. “You’ve been such a naughty boy, stealing my panties and using them to get off. Don’t you think you deserve some punishment?”

A pout grew on his face, puppy eyes staring at you in despair.

“Unless you don’t want me to touch you at all-”

“No!” He snapped, a usual tone of anger turned into a beg. “Please…”

You smirked at the perverted man, watching as he poured his heart into begging for your touch, smiling once you gave in.

After multiple denied orgasms, Seonghwa’s body was shaking all over, arousal leaking into his bloodstream. His lips were swollen from your kisses, face coloured in a crimson red and sweat beading down his skin. His hands were now tied tightly to the bed posts, a penalty caused by his inability to keep his hands away from his cock every time you repudiated his orgasm — which happened to be four or five of them by now. The tip of his length was a matching shade of red to his face, swollen and oozing out clear liquid that probably couldn’t even be called pre-cum from the amount of times it had happened. Every touch from you caused his skin to burn, a good and bad sensation.

“Pleease Y/N,” He cried, tears welling up in his eyes and piercing the corners as they rolled down his cheeks. “It’s too much now, please let me cum.”

“But I thought this was what you wanted?” You looked up at him with innocent eyes and purred, running your tongue along his slit and wrapping your lips softly around the tip, slowly pushing your head down until his length hit the back of your throat. A guttural groan trembled between Seonghwa’s lips, tears now streaming like niagara falls down his flushed and puffy cheeks as you sucked him in. “Weren’t you the one who said you dreamt of being with me?”

“This isn’t – aahhh – exactly what I had in mind… shit…” His voice vibrated through the room, it was unstable as his sloppy upwards thrusts into your hands.

“Well, I did say you needed to be punished, but…” You removed your hand once more and brought it to cup his warm cheek, his glossy boba eyes staring into yours. He looked so vulnerable right now, you almost felt bad. “I think you’ve had enough, baby. What do you want me to do?”

“Sit on my face.”

The response was instant, almost as if a switch snapped him back on. The words were audible compared to his previous mumbled groans and curses, leaving you surprised. You had been so focused on giving him tortuous pleasure that you were completely ignoring the wet patch that soaked your panties the moment you entered the room, his statement made your body realise that you had silently been torturing yourself as well.

Swiftly discarding your clothes, you straddled his chest, thighs sitting comfortably next to his face and letting your dripping core hover above his mouth. He looked up at you from underneath checking for any uncertainty, both sending each other silent confirmations. He licked his plush lips before sticking his tongue out, waiting as you lowered your weight onto him.

He slid his tongue through your folds in a slow motion, earning a moan from you — music to his ears. As worn out and tired as he was, his energy regained instantly at the small taste of you. He quickly began lapping at your soaking folds, lewdly drinking up your wetness and following the pleasured sounds falling from your lips. Breathing in your scent was intoxicating to him, and finally it was from the source and not a patch of lacy fabric.

One hand grasped tightly at the headboard whilst the other ruffled itself into Seonghwa’s long locks, body jolting at the tip of his tongue suddenly hitting your clit. It swirled and flicked over it at a speed nobody has ever done, already feeling the knot grow in your lower abdomen.

“Fuuck Hwa, feels so good.” You cried, knuckles beginning to turn white from the pressure on your grip. He hummed in response as he continued to drink you up like a starved animal.

Hands still tied to the bedposts, he had no option of burying his slender fingers deep inside of you so instead he began pulsating his tongue in and out of your tight hole, feeling you clench around it which was driving him insane. You instinctively began grinding against his face, his nose tapping your clit with every roll of your hips.

The blend of lewd slurping and desperate moans filled the atmosphere, loud enough for neighbours to hear but neither of you cared. As you bucked your hips against his face, dragging your essence over his nose and chin, his moans shuddered beneath you sending new shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You felt your high building and your thighs began tightening, squeezing around Seonghwa’s face, almost cutting off the circulation. But he didn’t care. Infact, it turned him on even more to know the effect he was having on you. From listening to you hook up with your classmates and hearing you masturbate afterwards, he knew that these moans were real and you were truly enjoying yourself.

“Hwa, m’ gonna cu– ahhh!” In desperation to be washed over by your arousal, he began rubbing his face against your pussy, long tongue still roughly pumping in and out of you and nose thrashing your bud with every move. Both hands held securely onto the headboard as you rode his face hopelessly before your orgasm crashed over you, body shaking harsher than ever before as you layered Seonghwa’s face in your squirted essence.

He whined at the sensations of your juices guzzling down his throat, making sure to drink up every drop. The feeling of your body trembling above him caused his own orgasm to rush through his body. Warm ropes of cum spurted out of his throbbing cock and onto his abs, painting the scene with white cream continuously as his body rid him of all the build up pressure. He moaned into your soaked core and sent a melody of sensations through your body, causing a small aftershock of overstimulation.

Both breathing heavily, you climbed off of him and quickly untied his wrists from restraint, his arms instantly dropping to his sides. His chest fell and rose harshly, still trying to regain his composure back. You hopped off the bed and grabbed a towel from his washing basket, presumably an already dirty one, wiping his tummy clean and throwing the towel away. You stood up once more before a soft grip to your wrist stopped you.

“Where are you going?” Seonghwa sobbed, tear stains very prominent on his cheeks making you realise how far you pushed him.

“I’ll be back in just a second, I promise.” You whisper before wandering to the kitchen and returning with two glasses of water. “Drink this, baby.”

Seonghwa took the glass and gulped it down, watching as you moved around his room collecting items of clothes for him before stealing a shirt of his to wear yourself. Helping him sit up, you gently pulled a shirt over his head and gave him a pair of boxers to put on before he lay back down. You sat on the edge of the bed, guilt fading into you at the sight of him.

“Don’t feel bad,” As if he read your mind, he smiled softly at your concern. “This was everything I wanted and more.”

You returned him with a small smile of your own before leaning in and placing a delicate kiss on his swollen lips. The kiss, so soft and gentle compared to the previous scene, was sending an emotion through you that you hadn’t felt before after sex. A mutual understanding of the need to be around each other, especially following such a tormented situation. You pulled away and watched his facial expressions, not an ounce of regret or disheartment was in his eyes, only love and adoration.

“Do you have any more classes today?”

“I don’t, why?”

“Can you stay with me?”

A question that no guy had ever asked you or expected of you after sleeping with them. You finally understood why Seonghwa was always so caring towards you, despite his perverted tendencies, he was still so gentle with your emotions — he was deeply in love with you.

author's note i hope i did this anon request justice, i didn't add a few things because they weren't working out as well as i wanted them to so i'm sorry for that ;-; i hope that the anon who requested this sees it and enjoys it either way ♡

[mari-writes]

Jayce "Man of Progress" Talis is contacted by a Piltover fashion magazine, asking him to pose for a special photograph spread along with Mel Medarda. 

He’s been interviewed and had his photo taken so many times by this point. He’s usually alone. The addition of Mel is interesting, and he can admit a bit exciting too.

But it’s also frustrating—why would they ask him to pose with Mel, but not his literal partner on the actual project?!

So he agrees, but under one condition: “You need to include Viktor, as well.”

After he receives confirmation, he takes to begging Viktor to join them. Just this once! And Viktor reluctantly agrees, weak for his friend’s pouty, puppy dog eyes.

The magazine sends designers to Viktor’s place to take his measurements. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but thankfully one of the them is knowledgable about fitting disabled models. So he’s (mostly) okay with it.

When the three of them arrive for the photoshoot, they’re impressed with what the designers created. For Jayce are outfits that show off his wide shoulders, strong arms and thighs. Meanwhile Mel’s prominent curves and her beautiful, slender neck is highlighted.

As for Viktor, the designers work with his sharp, angular features and slender waist. One outfit in particular has Viktor raising an eyebrow: It’s backless. They’ve decked out his back brace with gilded gold and blue gems.

A month later, the magazine is released—and the public goes absolutely wild.

The front cover has Jayce sitting in the middle, wearing a crisp white shirt with half its buttons undone, possessively holding the other two’s hips. Mel is facing forward, bracketing one of his legs. She wears a tight dress that leaves little to the imagination. One of her arms reaches around Jayce’s head, clasping Viktor’s shoulder.

With his back to the camera, Viktor’s brace is on full display. He’s partially sitting on Jayce’s other leg, with his arm angled as if he’s about to caress the other’s man’s cheek, glancing at the camera out of the corner of his eye.

The photo had been quite awkward to put together—Viktor winces at the memory—but he has to admit it turned out pretty incredible. And yeah, Piltover definitely agrees.

Viktor’s name, at least for a moment in time, is on the public’s lips almost as much as the other two. Who knew the reclusive scientist from Zaun was this beautiful?!

News articles and opinion pieces pop up about him, wondering why Viktor isn’t featured more. Men and women alike faun over his high cheekbones, pretty golden eyes, and slim body.

Viktor is full of embarrassment from all the attention. The other two tease him about it a bit, but they know he has every right to retreat back into the lab if he prefers. So he does. He lets the other two burn as brightly as they want, and slinks back into the shadows.

But he still keeps a copy of the magazine in his nightstand. You know, for archiving purposes. Or posterity. Or something like that. 

Sometimes, on days he’s feeling down or in more pain than usual, he takes it out and flips through the pages. Reminds himself that yeah, he looked good. And other people had thought so too. Even Jayce had blushed slightly when he saw Viktor walk out of the dressing room.

Viktor probably won’t do anything like it again. But he’s oddly glad he did. Just this once.

//

Please accept this silly little drabble I wrote last minute! PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED! I imagine this story takes place in the early years of Jayce and Viktor’s lab partnership. The story inspired by this incredible meljavik art by @lucinfernos! My bi ass can’t stop looking at it lol

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

First Encounter

Bucky’s never been sure if normalcy is something he’s cut out for. But when he meets you—a baker with a pretty smile—he starts to think maybe he could try.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (1.4kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI, mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers a/n: happy new year! this year i'd like to actually begin and complete a multi-parter story so this is my attempt!

---

“Welcome in!” Bucky heard as he stepped into the bustling cafe shop. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, and baked bread quickly engulfed him. He looked around for the source of the voice while taking in the neatly curated shelves of novels, mismatched wooden tables and the large handwritten chalkboard menu boasting about an array of the day’s specials. Despite its charm, Bucky felt heavily out of place in his chipped leather jacket, and mud cracked boots. 

With the patrons weaving past him like he was another display in the shop he continued scanning the area noticing a few stray cats lounging throughout the space. They basked in the early afternoon sunlight that poured through the large windows. One, a sleek gray cat with white mittens and socks stretched lazily on the windowsill, while another a white cat with piercing blue eyes, watched the room with curious intensity.

The customers greeted the felines as they entered the shop and followed the line that formed at the counter where a young man with boyish charm and unruly brown hair was expertly managing the register. Meanwhile a man with a clean shaven jawline and an infectious grin moved confidently between the counter and the coffee makers. 

“You need some help?”

Bucky turned to the voice, finding himself at the end of the display case with a woman on the other side. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few stray strands escaping to frame her face. She barely paid him any mind as she deftly unloaded a giant tray of assorted pastries and bread into the glass showcase, her movements quick and practiced. The faint smudges of flour on her apron and the way she handled each item with care hinted at her role in crafting the delicacies.

“You look a little lost,” she said without looking up, her tone teasing but not unkind. "Can I help you find something, or are you just here to admire the cats?” she asked, finally glancing up at him. Her gaze was sharp but warm, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

 Her teasing tone caught him off guard, making him glance up sharply. His ears seemed to perk slightly, before he quickly refocused. “Pick up,” he said, his voice low and clipped, offering her a tight-lipped smile that was more reflex than intentional. 

She let out a small hum. “Name?” 

“Steve.” 

“Oh yes–” Her demeanor instantly changed as she put the tray down, wiping her hands on her apron. “Let me get that for you.” Her hands masterfully opened a paper bag with clear cellophane, and slid open the sliding door to the showcase.

“Sam!” She yelled, causing Bucky to jolt. “I need Steven’s special.” She called out, and Bucky's eyes flicked back to her. Steven.

He heard a faint reply from across the cafe commotion and watched as she used the metal tongs to grab two bear claws from the wax paper lined tray. Bucky almost let out a snort but instead, he opted to shove his hands in his pockets, glancing down to his boots. He watched as crumbs of dirt crumbled from his shoe and littered the linoleum floor.

“What’s the Steven Special?” Bucky suddenly heard himself say. He looked at her through his lashes. He watched a small smile sneak across her lips. 

“A medium white chocolate macchiato, with two bear claws.” She said, fingers crinkling the bag shut as she slid it across the clear surface. This time Bucky let out a snort. Before he could thank her, she went back to unloading her discarded tray. He hesitated on grabbing the bag. 

“So you’re the new guy then?” She asked suddenly, quickly glancing at him. He looked at her. “Stevie's mentioned he’s expecting a new comer, and I’ve never seen you before so—” she explained. Stevie.

“Then yeah.” He gave a curt smile, reaching for the bag on the counter. 

“Thought so,” she said, her tone a hint lighter now as she turned back to her work. “He’s been talking ‘bout you for weeks, you know.”

“Nothing bad I hope.” 

 She turned to set down the now empty tray, glancing over her shoulder, a glint in her eye. “Depends on your definition of bad.” Her tone was playful but laced with just enough intrigue to make him pause. She spins swiftly, closing the display case. 

“Nah,” She shrugs with a smirk, “He’s just psyched you're here, it’s kinda cute.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. She waves a hand in the air.

“He’s just got this way of talking about things—”

“Order up.” 

The sudden burst out causing the both of you to abruptly turn toward the man holding out an oat-colored to-go cup.

The woman cleared her throat, shifting back to allow space for the man to step in. Her smirk faded into a polite, neutral expression, her focus now on adjusting a tray of napkins nearby.

“Steven’s special,” the man announced, his grin wide and easy, breaking through the tension that had lingered just a moment earlier.

Bucky’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned toward the man, who was now leaning casually against the counter, holding the cup out as if he were presenting a prized trophy.

Bucky nodded and reached for the cup, his movements deliberate. “Appreciate it,” he said, his voice steady. 

“No problem,” the man replied, his tone light and teasing. “Better get it to him quick, he’s been talking about the claws all morning.” 

“Noted,” Bucky muttered, though his gaze flickered back toward the woman, who was now bent over another display, her attention fixed on her work as if the earlier exchange had never happened.

The man cleared his throat sharply, drawing Bucky’s attention. When Bucky turned toward him, he was already side-eyeing the woman before shifting his gaze back to Bucky with a deadpan expression. It wasn’t accusatory, but there was a challenge in the look—like he’d caught Bucky doing something he shouldn’t be.

Bucky’s brow twitched in response, his face otherwise impassive, and he adjusted the bag in his hand.

“Thanks again,” he said curtly, stepping back from the counter.

Sam held his gaze for a beat longer, then turned his attention away from him.

Bucky stepped toward the door, the hum of the café enveloping him once more. His grip tightened slightly on the bag as he moved, but something tugged at his attention, making him glance back one last time.

The man was now leaning against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his head tilted toward the woman. Whatever he’d said caused her to laugh softly, her shoulders shaking with the motion. The earlier ease in her posture had returned, her movements efficient and unbothered, as though their exchange had been nothing more than a routine part of her day.

She brushed a strand of hair from her face as she replied, her voice lost in the café’s hum. They shared another laugh.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, though his face betrayed nothing as he turned back toward the door. Pushing it open, he stepped into the cool air outside, the bell above jingling faintly as the door closed behind him.

As he walked down the street, the warmth of the café began to fade, but the soft intensity of the exchange lingered. He shook his head with a quiet huff of air, the bag crinkling faintly in one hand while the other held the to-go cup. His boots scuffed lightly against the pavement as he approached a sleek, dark car parked a few steps ahead.

Bucky unlocked it with a press of a button, the quiet beep breaking the stillness. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he set the paper bag on the passenger side and the cup in the holder before resting his hands on the steering wheel.

For a moment, he sat there, the hum of the café replaying in his mind. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it.

With a twist of the key, the engine purred to life, the quiet power of the car grounding him. As he pulled out onto the street, the cool air rushing through the window carried away the lingering warmth of the café—but not entirely.

---

a/n: I know there's barely anything there but I have an idea and im jsut trying to roll with it -- so if you have any ideas let me know! i’m begging — pls reblog to support!

[torkmatic]

When I saw this post it was white and gold, then I clicked on the Wikipedia link to read about it, and on the Wikipedia page it was blue and black. And I thought "wait that's different, were they not the same picture?" So I went back to Tumblr to check and the picture is blue and black now. My brain told me one thing, then just... changed its mind and retconned my perception.

In February 2015, the "The Dress" debate had everyone weighing in on what color it was.

[waitineedaname]

you're going on a hike, how about u write about Binghe going on a hike with shizun?

sorry this is a day late! it turned out super sappy lol

--

Luo Binghe had spent a long time fantasizing about his future with Shen Qingqiu. Many of those fantasies had been strictly private and unsuitable for polite company, but many others had been innocent. Fantasies about living in the Bamboo House forever, attending to all Shen Qingqiu’s domestic needs. Fantasies about becoming a strong cultivator, becoming a suitable cultivation partner for a peak lord of Shen Qingqiu’s caliber.

And fantasies of days like this, following at Shen Qingqiu’s heels like a good head disciple should, assisting him with research for his bestiary.

“Binghe, look!” Shen Qingqiu exclaimed, voice hushed so as not to startle the beasts they’d been tracking. They crouched together in the brush, obscured from the creatures’ view. 

The beasts they were searching for today were some obscure variety of rodent, somewhere between a rabbit and a large squirrel, with incongruously menacing teeth and fur so pale they blended in perfectly with the snow around them. Apparently they were notoriously shy and difficult to find, made worse by the fact that they were only found near the peak of one specific mountain. The creatures were most active in the winter, when the mountain’s terrain was most difficult for humans to navigate, but they’d gotten lucky today; they had a break from the near constant blizzards that haunted this mountain, leaving the sky the kind of crisp blue reserved for remarkably cold winter days. Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe flew up the mountain early in the morning and had been tracking the creatures for hours before finally spotting them.

“Quick,” Shen Qingqiu whispered, pressing a notebook and stick of charcoal in Luo Binghe’s hands. “Sketch them, and I’ll take notes. You’re the better artist, anyway,” he said, the praise spilling easily from his mouth as he retrieved his own notes.

“Only because Shizun taught me so well,” Luo Binghe said, brimming with pride. Shen Qingqiu huffed and flicked his forehead, but his attention was elsewhere.

“I can’t believe they’ve let us get so close,” Shen Qingqiu murmured, taking notes in a shorthand Luo Binghe could still only partially decipher. “Look, are those the kits? I don’t think their young have ever been documented. We’ll be the first!” 

Luo Binghe watched the animals hop around in the clearing, carefully sketching them. The babies were quite cute, resembling little snowballs as they snuggled with what must be their mother. “Does Shizun want one?” 

“Want one?” Shen Qingqiu startled, then shook his head. “Of course not. Look how happy they are with their mother. I couldn’t bear separating them.”

One particularly clingy kit squished against its mother’s chest and made a whiny, trilling sound. The mother obligingly began grooming between its ears.

Luo Binghe scooted closer to Shen Qingqiu so they were pressed together from hips to shoulders. Shen Qingqiu absently rubbed Luo Binghe’s back for just a moment before returning to his notes.

“Besides,” he continued, pointing at a bird that had made the mistake of landing near the rodent family, “They’re rather territorial.”

Faster than should be possible, the rabbit-squirrel mother launched herself at the bird and ripped it to bloody shreds. The bird didn’t even manage to let out a death cry before the kits swarmed and happily began feasting upon it. 

“I see.” Luo Binghe glanced down at the sketch he’d made of the rabbit mother sweetly grooming its kit. He looked back up to find that same kit’s white fur now completely bloodstained. “I suppose they would not make very good pets.”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu chuckled. “If we brought one home, they would eat all the short-haired beasts Liu-shidi keeps bringing, and then where would we be?”

“I’m sure Liu-shishu would just bring more,” Luo Binghe grumbled under his breath. That made Shen Qingqiu laugh a little louder, inadvertently startling the rodent family. They all froze and stared at the bush where the two of them hid, their fur menacingly bloodstained.

“Come on,” Shen Qingqiu whispered, tugging on Luo Binghe’s sleeve. “Let’s leave them alone before they decide we’re prey too.”

Luo Binghe was pretty sure he could handle half a dozen rabbits, sharp teeth or not, but he obligingly followed Shen Qingqiu away from the clearing. Shen Qingqiu’s hand slid down from his sleeve to slip into Luo Binghe’s hand and squeeze gently. 

“I have one more thing I’d like to see,” Shen Qingqiu suggested, glancing up at his husband. “Unless Binghe would like to go home?”

“This disciple will go wherever Shizun wishes,” Luo Binghe answered immediately.

Shen Qingqiu scoffed, but side by side like this he couldn’t hide his smile behind his fan. He led Luo Binghe through the dense underbrush, following an overgrown trail up the mountain. They went higher and higher, high enough that it surely rivaled even Cang Qiong’s highest peaks, and then the trees finally parted and they found themselves at the very tip of the mountain. Luo Binghe’s eyes widened at the view, and Shen Qingqiu looked inordinately pleased. 

“It’s even better than described,” Shen Qingqiu muttered, and Luo Binghe wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear that. Shen Qingqiu tugged him along until they stood at the absolute highest point of the mountain, overlooking the range of jagged peaks below them, followed by hills and rivers and distant fields. Shen Qingqiu let go of his hand to point out landmarks.

“There’s Huan Hua Palace and Hua Yue City,” he said, pointing to a city amidst the distant plains. “That other mountain range is Cang Qiong Mountain. And there,” he added, pointing to a winding river whose origins spilled from a tall snow capped mountain, “That’s the Luo River.”

“It’s beautiful,” Luo Binghe said truthfully. The recent snow had covered most of the nearby landscape in white, but the clear skies made the ground glitter and shine. This high up, they could see to nearly impossible distances, past familiar landmarks to places he only heard about on trade reports. He was suddenly filled with the hunger to sweep Shen Qingqiu up and fly to that farthest point, just to see his husband’s delight at exploring a new place.

Beside him, Shen Qingqiu had a small, smug smile. “I thought Binghe would like it. This master apologizes, but Binghe’s birthday snuck up on him this year. I would’ve done something more special if I’d planned earlier, but hopefully this is enough for now. Oh!” he exclaimed, a puff of air escaping his mouth into the frosty air. “Binghe must be cold. Hold on.”

He began rummaging around in his qiankun sleeve, giving Luo Binghe a moment to admire the flush on Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks from the crisp air and the contented tilt to his lips. The view was beautiful, yes, but it was made all the more beautiful by the man next to him. If he said that out loud, Shen Qingqiu would surely scold him for being sappy, so he kept that thought to himself and waited patiently for Shen Qingqiu to extract whatever he was looking for.

“Here,” Shen Qingqiu said, pulling out a warm flask and pressing it into Luo Binghe’s hands. “I special ordered that dark tea you like. The flask is your Shang-shishu’s design.” He traced his finger over the talisman carved into the flask. “Despite the man’s many faults, he is the expert at surviving in cold temperatures. This master thought we could share the tea and enjoy the view before returning to our inn. How does that sound?”

Luo Binghe couldn’t resist. He leaned in and pressed a kiss directly to his husband’s mouth. Shen Qingqiu made a startled little noise but he kissed back easily. When they eventually pulled apart, Luo Binghe nuzzled their cold noses together.

“Thanking Shizun,” he murmured, smiling. 

Shen Qingqiu hummed, seeming distracted by Luo Binghe’s proximity. He leaned away, his cheeks flushed for reasons beyond the cold, and pointed his folded fan at the flask. “Binghe better enjoy that tea. It wasn’t easy to find, you know.”

“Of course.” Luo Binghe grinned and led him over to a broad stone they could sit together on. “Though, forgive this ignorant disciple the question, but… how does Shizun know this one’s birthday?”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped open and covered his face as his eyes darted away. “Lucky guess.” 

“I see.” Luo Binghe nodded, schooling his expression into something neutral. “It’s just, this one did not even know his own birthday. Shizun is truly knowledgeable.”

Shen Qingqiu glanced back at him and his eyes narrowed over his fan. “Does Binghe not want to celebrate today? This master had planned to continue celebrations in our room at the inn after we finished our tea, but if Binghe insists it is not his birthday…”

Luo Binghe drank his tea so quickly it would’ve burned his tongue if not for his accelerated healing. Shen Qingqiu graciously did not snort at him. No, that noise was definitely a dignified chuckle. Certainly nothing so inelegant as a snort that made him hunch his shoulders and shake. Never.

The tips of his ears and nose were losing feeling from the chill, but he was warm where Shen Qingqiu’s hand brushed against his and where their thighs pressed together. 

Yes, he had many fantasies in his youth, but nothing could measure up to how warm and beautiful the real thing was. 

[betweenstorms]

Stars that Shiver (masterlist) (previous work) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

The stars shiver, not from cold, but from the unbearable weight of watching a world crumble beneath them, their light trembling like the breath of a mourner at a grave no one else visits.

The neon light above the kitchen table was breathing its last.

The tube buzzed quietly, casting hues of muted blue and pale white, like a dying star clinging to life in a dark sky. Its faint, flickering hum filled the claustrophobically tiny, underground room with a dissonant rhythm, like a heart at its deathbed, weak and out of sync. The cheap light casted sharp shadows, making the space feel smaller, more suffocating, the dingy walls too close and the air too thin. It was stale, heavy with the faint tang of burnt coffee and the metallic chill of a space too ancient to remember warmth.

Outside, the wind howled like a mourning mother at their firsborn’s grave, clawing at the frozen earth above the underground safe house, rattling the world you could no longer touch.

It was New Year’s Eve.

However, here, near the Russian border in the middle of fucking nowhere, it was just another night—no fireworks, no countdowns, no drunken revelry. Just the hollow stillness of a world too cold to care. You sat alone at the battered metal table, your back hunched, hands moving with careful precision over fragile squares of paper. The rest of the team was asleep, at least pretending to be. You hadn’t heard a sound made by men for hours, only the captain's loud snoring, and the solitude felt like both a comfort and a punishment. Therefore you kept your gaze on your work, not allowing your thoughts to stray.

The paper stars required your full attention anyway.

Their folds demanded precision, and precision was safe.

Precision kept the sadness at bay.

Each fold was a distraction, a fragile rebellion against the oppressive weight of silence. You folded and creased, folded and creased, creating tiny stars that seemed out of place in a space so devoid of color, of hope, of anything, really. Their soft blues, pastel yellows, and dusky pinks spilled across the table like broken fragments of something long forgotten—

—something tender and joyful.

The heater in the dusty corner sputtered and groaned. You worked on your stars, ignoring the ache in your fingers, the sting of cold air brushing your cheeks and pinching your toes.

There was nothing else to do, no one to talk to.

And then you heard it.

The sound of footsteps. They were deliberate and measured, soft against the worn tile floor. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. His presence was like a change in pressure, a weight that settled in the room the moment he crossed the threshold.

Simon Riley.

Your hands faltered, the delicate paper star crumpling slightly under your calloused fingers, threatening to tear the paper. You felt a sudden heat rise in your chest, an irritation that had no name, no real reason. He didn’t greet you, but then, he never did. And you didn’t greet him either. You kept your eyes on your hands, your movements growing sharper, more aggressive in an odd way you hadn’t anticipated.

Fold and crease. Fold and crease.

You didn’t need company.

Not his.

You had come to this table to drown yourself in the monotony of folding stars, in the hope that if you worked hard enough, fast enough, you could chase away the gnawing ache inside you. But your lieutenant had a way of making the air heavy, of pulling silence into sharper focus, as if his mere presence demanded acknowledgment. And you hated it. Oh, how you despised it. So you folded and creased, folded and creased and folded again until you thought the sound might drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind.

But it didn’t.

“The fuck you’re doin’?”

The stars didn’t care.

They didn’t ask why you were still awake at this ungodly hour, folding scraps of paper as if they could make the world a little lighter. They didn’t judge you for the way your chest felt hollow and full all at once, like a graveyard where no one had bothered to leave flowers.

You didn’t look up, didn’t stop folding, the edges of the paper sharp against your dry skin. His familiar voice had cracked through the silence like a match striking stone, unexpected and unwelcome. The tone was low and deep, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. Curiosity? Annoyance? The dim light of the room made it impossible to read him. Not that you were particularly good at reading him in the first place.

“They’re stars,” you muttered, the words slipping out in a tone so faint, so tired, it could’ve been a prayer or a curse, brittle, like dry branches snapping underfoot.

Simon didn’t respond immediately.

He rarely did, always giving the impression that words had to earn their place in his mouth before they were spoken. You hated that about him too. Hated the weight of his silence, the way it always felt like a judgment, even if you knew it wasn’t.

“Paper stars,” he said eventually. “Bit random, yeah?”

Your fingers twitched, a faint tremor betraying your irritation.

Of course, he’d think that.

Of course, Simon fucking Riley, with his steel spine and eyes like storm, would see nothing more than bits of folded paper, fragile and pointless. You didn’t answer, didn’t trust yourself to. The kettle clicked off behind him, and the sound filled the room like a nail driven into soft wood. The yearning for connection had been a fleeting ember, snuffed out the moment it was met. Now, his presence felt suffocating, an unwanted weight in the room.

You weren’t in the mood for words.

The craving for company had burned bright, only to sputter out the moment he stepped into your orbit. It was strange, how the heart could twist so quickly, craving the warmth of another yet recoiling at the nearness of it. His rough voice, his sharp movements, even the unspoken expectancy in his silence, all of it felt like static against your cold skin.

“Don’t reckon you’ve slept,” he observed.

“No,” you said shortly.

A pause. Then, “Why?”

You owed him nothing.

Not your reasons, not your voice, not even the faintest flicker of acknowledgment. You only owed him your respect out of obligation. Respect was all you owed him, a hollow, obligatory gesture tied not to the man himself, but to his rank. It wasn’t born of admiration, not carved from shared laughter. It was a mechanical thing, offered because the military demanded it, not because your heart did. And yet, the weight of it sat heavy on your shoulders, as if by giving him only what duty required, you were somehow taking something more.

His question hung in the air, dense and unyielding, like a weight pressing against your chest.

Why?

As if the answer mattered to him. You wanted to snap, but the words remained trapped, swallowed by the lump in your throat. So, instead, you folded another paper star, its fragile edges bending beneath your fingers, an unspoken answer hidden in its quiet creases.

“None of your business, sir.”

Your relationship with Simon had always been strange.

A fractured reflection of something that could never quite come into focus.

You worked beside him day after day, you bled on the same ground, shoulder to shoulder in the chaos of missions, the hum of shared meals, the press of close quarters that left no room for secrets—yet with Simon, there was no real camaraderie to anchor you. Where others found brotherhood, you found only a chasm, wide and unyielding, carved from tension and littered with the debris of misunderstandings.

The air between you was always loaded, weighted with something unspoken, something that neither of you dared to name, as though the mere act of defining it might make it all the more unbearable. And Simon, ever silent, ever distant, never moved to bridge that impossible gap.

So, you didn’t either.

Yet here he was, as inexplicable as the tension he carried within, his hulking frame built like a mountain dropping into the chair across from you with a weight that made the metal groan in protest. Your hands faltered, the half-folded star trembling between your fingers, caught in the liminal space between creation and collapse.

You fought the instinct to glare, your pulse quickening as you looked up to find him already watching you. His elbows rested heavily on the table, the broad expanse of his shoulders hunched forward, his hands wrapped around a plain mug as though it was the only tether he had to this moment.

His eyes, kissed by darkness, met yours, reflecting the cheap, flickering neon light above you. It bathed him in an otherworldly glow, softening the harsh lines of his mask until he seemed almost ethereal. And still, he said nothing, the silence stretching taut between you, as though daring you to fill it.

But you couldn’t.

You never could.

The sickly white neon tube flickered again, the tiny room momentarily plunging into a dim half-darkness before it buzzed back to life. His eyes didn’t leave you, steady and unflinching, like he was searching for something in your expression, though what, you couldn’t say. You didn’t have the energy to decipher him, not now, not when the weight of the night pressed so heavily against your chest. Instead, you went back to folding, the edges of the paper brushing against your fingertips with the faintest whisper.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in that table,” he grunted, his voice low and gruff, carrying a faint edge of something. Concern, maybe? No, not concern. Definitely not concern.

You pushed the thought away before it could take root.

Simon’s comment hung in the air, one part observation, one part reprimand. You didn’t look up, your fingers continuing their restless work. Anything to keep your hands moving, to keep your mind from wandering too far into the dark corners it was prone to explore.

“I’m not doin’ any harm,” you muttered, voice edged with defensiveness.

Simon leaned back, his chair creaking in protest under the shift of his weight.

His mug sat forgotten on the table, the steam from its contents long since dissipated. “Didn’t say you were,” he said, his tone as measured as ever, a roughness to it that felt deliberate.

He was waiting, you realised, his silence stretching into something expectant, heavy with the weight of his unspoken question. Against your better judgement, you gave in.

You sighed, the sound heavy and weary, and set the half-folded star on the table. “My mum,” you said reluctantly, the words brittle on your tongue. “She taught me how to make ’em when I was a kid. The… stars, I mean. New Year’s tradition, y’know? We’d fold a thousand of ‘em together. She said that—” You hesitated, your throat tightening. “Mum said if you folded a thousand, you could make a wish. Said it’d come true.”

Simon’s dark eyes lingered on you, unblinking, as though he were unravelling the words you hadn’t yet spoken. His head tilted slightly, the motion slow and deliberate, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he was mocking you. But there was no cruelty in his gaze, only a quiet intensity that pressed down on your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake.

“A thousand stars,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Bit of a tall order, that.”

You huffed a breath of air that could have been a laugh if it hadn’t been so empty. “Yeah, well, kids’ll believe anythin’, won’t they? Magic wishes, Santa Claus, the bloody tooth fairy.” Your voice cracked slightly on the last word, and you cursed yourself for letting it slip.

Simon didn’t flinch.

He didn’t so much as blink. Instead, his contemplating eyes dropped briefly to the scattered stars on the table and you hated how the sight of them in his massive, calloused hands made your heart twist. He picked up one of the stars, turning it over in his fingers, and the delicate folds crinkled slightly under his touch. It looked ridiculous, fragile and out of place against the roughness of him, like a flower in the middle of a battlefield.

“And did you?” he asked quietly. “Fold the thousand, I mean.”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the edge of a half-finished star. The memory swam up unbidden, vivid and sharp, like a photograph burned into the back of your mind. “Yeah,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “We did. Every year.”

Simon studied you intently. “What’d you wish for?”

You exhaled through your nose, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Just daft things. Toys, a dog that would live forever, a day off school. Stuff that felt bloody important when you were a kid, y’know? Monumental. Like the world turned just for you. But now…” You trailed off, the weight of your words settling in the silence. 

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes shifting back to the stars scattered across the table. How could he gaze at the stars when they were not across the sky, but between your hands? Fragile constellations folded from paper, their delicate creases capturing dreams too quiet to speak aloud. His eyes lingered, not on the heavens above, but on the universe you had created below, as if the stars had fallen just to rest in your hands.

His silence stretched long and heavy, but it didn’t feel like judgment. It felt patient, in a way you weren’t used to. “And now?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “What d’you wish for now?”

Simon’s question lingered in the air, dense and unrelenting, demanding an answer you didn’t want to give.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. The words were there, clawing at the back of your throat, but they refused to take shape. How could you possibly tell him? That you wished for something that couldn’t be folded into paper or measured in stars. That you wished for things too fragile to name, too distant to hold, too sacred to share.

You just stared at him, unsure if the moment was real or some strange dream conjured by the exhaustion and the weight of the night. A man you’d seen break bones with his bare hands, a ghost cloaked in shadow and violence, was sitting here, asking about your childhood dreams like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He wasn’t asking for strategy or survival or any of the cold, pragmatic things that shaped your lives, he was asking about you. About the innocent dreams you’d once cradled as a child, long before the world had stripped them bare.

Your throat felt tight, your pulse loud in your ears.

You didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare move. Simon’s eyes fixed on you, and for the first time, you felt truly seen. Not just as a soldier, or a subordinate, or a figure in the periphery of his life. No, this was different. His gaze stripped away the uniform, the masks, the pretenses, and settled on the raw, unvarnished truth of you. And for the first time, maybe since you were born, you felt truly seen—not for what you did, or who you were supposed to be, but for the person you were beneath it all.

It was terrifying, exhilarating, and impossibly tender, like standing exposed beneath an open sky, bathing in the warm light of the rising sun after years spent in shadows.

And against your better judgment you answered him.

“I don’t believe in this shit anymore.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and fucking hell, you hated yourself for it. But Simon didn’t react, at least not the way you thought he might. No teasing, no scoffing, no dismissive comment about how wishes were for children and fools.

He just nodded.

“How many?” he asked instead.

You were caught off guard. “What?”

“How many have you made?” he clarified, gesturing with a faint nod to the scattered pieces of folded paper on the cool metal table. “You’ve been countin’.”

You hesitated, swallowing hard. “Seven hundred and seventeen.”

His mesmerising gaze drifted, no longer lost among the stars, but tethered now to you and only you. The faintest shift of his balaclava betrayed the subtle lift of his brows, an almost imperceptible gesture, yet it held something unspoken. It was as though the constellations he sought had rearranged themselves, but not in the folds of paper, instead in the contours of your face. “You’re keepin’ track.”

“Huh,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I am.”

“Then they’ve got purpose, yeah?”

The words struck like a fist to your chest, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you hollow, trembling beneath their weight. You stared at him, your heart a thunderous drumbeat, as if it were trying to hold together what was already breaking apart inside you.

His eyes held the quiet reflection of something lost, a mirror of your childhood dreams unraveling before you. They shimmered there like stars on a clear night sky, distant and unreachable, their light a reminder of all you had once yearned for and all that time had stolen away. It was as though he had gathered the pieces of your forgotten hopes, cradling them in his gaze, not to mend them but to show you what you had buried. And in that moment, you felt yourself flood with the bittersweet ache of what could never be again, the dreams you had let slip through your fingers now overwhelming you, spilling into the cracks he had unknowingly revealed.

The weight of your childhood dreams pressed heavy on your chest, their once-vivid colors now dulled by the blood, sweat, and tears that had stained your hands as you grew. You longed for someone like Simon to see the ache beneath your scars, to cup your weathered hands in his own and wash them clean of the years you’d spent fighting against the world, against yourself.

You imagined him not as the ghost cloaked in a balaclava, but as a quiet sentinel, gathering the fragments of those lost dreams and folding them into delicate paper stars. He would drape them over you, a celestial blanket stitched with the memories you’d long forgotten, their glow soft and forgiving. And in that moment, you wouldn’t need words, the stars would speak for you, conserving the innocence you’d once carried so lightly. Oh, maybe then, wrapped in their light, you could relive those dreams—not alone, but with him, sharing the stories of who you were and who you still longed to be.

“You’ll get to a thousand, love,” he said, his voice steady and sure, like it was a promise. “And when you do… maybe you’ll figure out what you want to wish for.”

And just like that, he stood, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the table. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t look back as he walked to the door with his now cold cup of tea in hand. But as he reached the threshold, he paused, his hand resting on the frame.

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the dim light of the claustrophobic room, the paper trembling in your hands and his words echoing in your mind.

Fuck.

You really missed your mum.

The stars shiver in the quiet of the night, their trembling light a mirror of hearts too afraid to speak but too full to remain silent. They are fragile in their beauty, yet enduring, a reminder that even in the vast emptiness of the cosmos, there is still something that dares to burn.

Yeah, I’m not really sure what this was, maybe something a bit too personal, maybe something a bit too raw. Either way, thank you for reading, and for being here. Happy New Year to each and every one of you. I love you all.

[corruptedcaps]

Travel Size

Rebecca flopped onto the bed, letting out a groan of relief. "Finally. I thought that bus ride was never going to end."

Alex dropped her bag onto the other bed, collapsing beside it. "I feel like I’ve been folded in half for hours."

"I can't wait to just chill out for the next 8 hours and watch basic cable." Rebecca said as she striped off her jeans and went to open her bag to get her pyjamas.

However before she could, there was a knock at the door. Rebecca dragged herself to her feet and opened it to find their friends, Bianca and Cassie standing there, their faces a mix of confusion and annoyance.

"Hey, I think there’s been a mix-up. This isn’t my stuff." Bianca said, holding up her duffel bag.

"Same with mine." Cassie added, holding up her own bag. "I opened it, and it’s full of… weird girly stuff. Definitely not mine."

Rebecca thought back to their departure a few hours before. Her and her friends were on a trip to a science fair while the cheerleaders were heading off to some regional finals. Their buses had been parked side by side, scheduled to leave at the same time.

"Ugh our bags must have been swapped with that sorority brat Amber and her vapid friends!" Rebecca said as she unzipped her bag to find it did in fact contain Amber's things. "Even a weekend away from her bullying and she still manages to annoy us."

Rebecca looked into the bag with a frown, how was she suppose to go to the science fair tomorrow with a bag full of Ambers tight fitting and revealing clothes, she thought to herself. She figured that Amber had to have something more modest and started digging through the bag. That's when she came across a small, mysterious pink box. She held it up, tilting her head in confusion. "What the heck is this?"

Written across the box on a label was the words 'Travel Size'. Cracking it open, Rebecca was shocked at what she saw. As she held it up for the rest of the girls to see, they started to laugh.

"What kind of girl carries a vibrator in her bag? Is she that horny all the time?" Alex said laughing.

Bianca snorted, peering closer. "It’s so… pink. Like aggressively pink."

Cassie giggled. "That's definitely Amber’s. She’s obsessed with anything that screams ‘princess.’"

Rebecca laughed along with them, holding the vibrator out in front of her like it was some kind of prize. She noticed engraved in the side the words ‘Mini-Bitch’.

"Maybe we should hold it ransom, like some sort of kidnapping." Rebecca teased, pressing the button as a joke. However as soon as the vibrations reached her hand, she froze. Her laughter faded, her eyes going wide as an odd, glazed expression overtook her face.

"Rebecca?" Alex asked, frowning. "You okay?"

Rebecca’s hand moved as if it had a will of its own, lowering the vibrator. Her friends watched in confusion and slight alarm as Rebecca lowered her panties, spread her legs and placed the device into her pussy.

The moment the vibrator touched her, a wave of warmth surged through her body. Her shoulders straightened, her posture instantly becoming more elegant and poised. Her frizzy brown hair began to smooth and lighten, taking on a golden shine.

"What the hell?" Bianca whispered, stepping closer.

Rebecca's eyes rolled back as the vibrations shook her body. She gasped as her lips plumped and her skin smoothed.

"Rebecca, stop!" Alex said, not knowing what to do.

But Rebecca either didn't hear her or didn't care and continued to pleasure herself with the device. Her legs lengthened, her hips swayed, and her breasts swelled. Her baggy white shirt tightening up to reveal a now perfect and taut stomach, one that would be envied by the most athletic of cheerleaders.

"Oh my God." Cassie murmured, her hand over her mouth. "She’s gorgeous."

Rebecca let out a pleasurable moan as she orgasmed hard and the changes solidified. She pulled the vibrator away and opened her eyes revealing her previously brown eyes were now an icy blue. Her lips parted into a slow, wicked smile. "I'm not gorgeous loser... I'm perfect." Her voice was softer, smoother, dripping with confidence.

"Rebecca, what the hell happened?" Alex demanded, panic rising in her voice. "Whatever that thing is, it’s not normal!"

Rebecca glanced at the vibrator in her hand, her smile widening. "Not normal? This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m a fucking bratty bitch and I love it!"

She turned the vibrator back on, the buzzing sound almost hypnotic as she looked at her friends with malicious intent. "In fact maybe you all should give it a try."

Rebecca’s wicked smile grew as she turned her gaze to her nearest friend, Bianca. Before Bianca could react, Rebecca lunged, grabbing her arm with surprising strength.

"Rebecca, what are you doing? Let go!" Bianca shouted, trying to pull away.

"Oh babe, you’ll thank me in a moment." Rebecca purred, her voice silky and commanding.

With a swift motion, Rebecca shoved the buzzing vibrator against Bianca's jeans, right next to her pussy. Bianca squirmed and tried to fight, but once the vibrations hit her, her protests waned.

"That’s it, doesn’t it feel good? Wouldn't you like some more?" Rebecca cooed, her voice dripping with darkness. Bianca only managed a guilty nod as she reached down and undid her pants. They dropped off easily and once Rebecca had enough room, she slid the vibrator into Bianca's now eager slit.

Any of Bianca’s remaining struggles vanished as the changes began. Her unruly hair smoothed and darkened to a glossy chestnut, cascading perfectly straight over her shoulders. Her skin glowed with a radiant, flawless sheen, her lips plumping into a sultry pout. Her glasses slipped from her face as her eyes brightened, sharp and predatory. Her tits grew into perfect little orbs.

Rebecca satisfied with her creation, removed the vibrator before it could make Bianca into a beauty that could challenge her. She wanted a bitchy best friend, not a rival.

Bianca gasped as it was removed, her breathing heavy as she ran a hand through her transformed hair. Her lips curled into a slow, sultry smile. "Mmm, thanks Becky. I feel so yummy and bad now."

"Becky? Mmm, I like the sound of that." Rebecca grinned, clearly pleased at the sound of her new name on her lips. She glanced at Cassie, who was frozen in wide-eyed horror. "Now, grab Cassie. She’s next."

Without hesitation, Bianca turned to Cassie, her newfound strength overpowering her easily as she slammed her onto the bed. Cassie kicked and screamed, but Bianca held her in place, smirking all the while.

"Please, don’t do this!" Cassie pleaded, her voice cracking.

Becky stepped forward, holding the buzzing vibrator like a weapon. "Oh, Cassie." She said with mock sweetness. "This isn’t something I’m doing TO you. This is something I’m doing FOR you. You’ll see."

With deft speed, Becky lifted Cassie’s long skirt and slipped the vibrator inside her. Becky watched in evil glee as Cassie moaned like a wanton whore as her body trembled with the changes. Her red hair growing sleek and voluminous. Her plain, nervous demeanor gave way as her features perfected and became strikingly beautiful.

The chubby fat she had always had melted away to give her a slim and enviable tummy. Long pretty nails grew on her fingers, erasing the dirty ones she had. Her crooked teeth magically aligned themselves it a flawless set that she ran her tongue across. 

Becky took the vibrator out even earlier than she had with Bianca. She was creating a hierarchy and each girl would know their place, but the main thing would be that she alone sat atop it. Bianca would be her bitchy bestie but Cassie would be her slutty bestie.

Cassie stood up as Becky backed away, vibrator in hand. Cassie admired herself in the mirror, touching her lips, her eyes gleaming with lust. "Wow, I, like, look incredible. I could cream my out panties right now." She giggled, her voice now in a higher, bitchier register. 

Becky chuckled, crossing her arms. "Told you. Doesn’t it feel amazing to be this perfect?"

Cassie turned to Becky, a slow, wicked grin spreading across her face. "You were soooo right. Thanks, babes."

"Anytime." Becky replied, her voice cool and dripping with authority. She gestured toward the door. "Now, girls, I think we should go out and show ourselves off don’t you?"

Becky, Bianca, and Cassie rummaged through the bags scattered around the room, tossing aside cheerleading uniforms and workout gear until they uncovered sleek, sexy outfits. Becky held up skintight black latex pants, and a top that looked like it would barely contain her new tits. Grinning wickedly she slid them on. Bianca found a fiery red jumpsuit that accentuated every curve, while Cassie chose a shimmering silver mini-dress that barely covered her ass.

The three girls admired themselves in the mirror, their beauty and arrogance radiating from every angle. They looked less like college students and more like models ready to dominate the club scene.

Becky adjusted her hair in the mirror, her icy blue eyes gleaming. "Perfection. We’ll have every head turning tonight." She purred, turning to her friends. 

Bianca laughed, tossing her glossy hair over her shoulder. "They won’t know what hit them. I think I’ll break up a relationship tonight."

Cassie giggled, striking a pose. "We’re like so fucking hawt. I can’t wait to wrap my lips around a big cock."

"No! No this… this is wrong." Said the quiet voice of Alex in the corner.

All three girls quickly shot Alex a look that made her shiver. Becky looked at her with genuine surprise. “Forgot you were even there dork. Girls, grab her.”

Without hesitation, Bianca and Cassie moved in, each grabbing one of Alex’s arms. Alex struggled weakly, her voice trembling. “Becky, please, don’t—”

“Oh, shut it Alex.” Becky said, sauntering toward her with the pink vibrator buzzing in her hand. “I’m giving you a gift. You’re about to become one of us. Special, beautiful, powerful. You should be thanking me!”

Alex’s eyes darted to the vibrator, her breathing quickening. Deep down, a small part of her wanted to give in, to join her transformed friends and bask in the allure of their newfound perfection.

Becky leaned in closer, the vibrator just inches from Alex’s crotch. “Don’t fight it. You want this. I can see it in your eyes.”

Alex’s resolve wavered as the buzzing sound filled her ears, but just as Becky moved the vibrator closer, it suddenly sputtered and died. The buzzing stopped, and the room went silent.

Becky blinked in surprise before letting out a sharp, cruel laugh. “Well, well, looks like it’s out of juice.” She said, shaking the device mockingly. She tossed it into her clutch and turned her icy gaze back to Alex.

“Guess that means you’ll just have to be our bullying victim then, loser.” Becky sneered. Without warning, she slammed her fist into Alex’s stomach.

Alex gasped, doubling over in pain as Bianca and Cassie dropped her and laughed cruelly.

Becky stood over her, smirking. “But that can wait until Monday back on campus. Right now…” She glanced at her friends, her voice dripping with anticipation. “We’ve got a nightclub to get to. Come on, girls.”

The three of them strutted out of the room, their laughter echoing in the hallway as Alex remained on the floor, clutching her stomach and watching helplessly as the door swung shut behind them.

Alex lifted herself off of the floor and onto her bed, the lingering smell of the three bitches perfume hanging in the air making her sick. Her eyes roamed over to the discarded case on Becky’s bed that had housed the vibrator. The words on the case giving her pause.

“If that’s the ‘travel size’, then where is the regular size?” She thought to herself.

[werewolf-femboy-maid]

guys straight up I just like :"0

dude like uh just..... so I was sitting here right? after I changed into pajamas and got a good piano playlist on and I had the 4th gif on. and like im gonna go to the bathroom and I was like oh im gonna eat my yummy tomato sardines from the phillipenes later after I go to the bathroom!! yummy!!! I never tried before sounds so good.

um and then I spat out my gum because I wanted to let my palate rest for a little, so I sat down and spat out my gum and started eating the week old Christmas treats on my desk. that had been out the whole time. there are multiple flies in my room. ive accepted the present and anticipate the future. I SUCCESSFULLY PUT CLITHES IN THE CLOSET IMMEDIATELY AFTTER CHANGINT!!

but ANYWAYA

was sitting and eating the treats and I saw the present thats just been sitting there on my desk that I forgot about. I just never considered opening it until now...

I didnt even know who it was from. I was quite curious. the mood was quite perfect with the piano music...

I looked at the Christmas card that was attached to the shiny purple ribbon. I looked at it and it was nice on the front very good and had a lot of houses in 3d on the front just sticking out. it was nice it had snow and it was night time.

I finally opened the card. it said "from Santa and everyone else" 2024...

it was from 2024... "huh... I guess Santa gets forgetful too... lolol"

and the back of the card it said thoughtfully designed by Charlotte Evans

nice stuff it even said on the top what the default message inside is. it said merry Christmas and a happy new year

any way I got to opening the present. finally... I opened the wrap (lmao I thought it was a white background with Christmas trees but no its a red background with green and purple and white shapes and individual letters) and I saw... a book... a thick book with thick pages but was light... cardboard pages with rounded edges...

I got to the corner of the back... kittens... HUH?????? a bunch of kitty books? it seemed like the back of a children's book series advertising the other ones...??? oh dear did Santa put me on his special ed list...? lololol...

I opened the front.

I stared at the book for a few seconds, completely motionless, before my eyes had to piss a relatively plentiful amount. I silently let the tears go ahead and do their thing. the chemicals in my mind, the grief the anger, every tear helped it a little. the loneliness. the inevitable loneliness that makes companionship so necessary to society. as much as self relfection.

it had a little boy on an elephant; it was a bright blue day. it said, in a nice cursive ish font, "You're here for a reason"

thats what got me man. thats why privilege is something that does need to be talked about. the separation of families is one of the first attacks of any serious threat.

momoslimes_ on ig

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

♡‧₊˚ Babydaddy!Chris x Sweetheart!Reader coded

“Me and my bitch got a complicated relationship

She’s so controllin’, I noticed it ain’t no playin’ with

I met her off when I was off the porch as a teenager

She said one day I would right my wrongs and see paper

We started out young, lookin’ for some identity

Made a thousand mistakes but never did we lack chemistry”

“Whenever you want me, you got me ‘til the end of time”

“Said you gone see other people if I didn’t grown with you

Wasn’t no more holdin’ pistols in front of stores with you

You want reality, not tragedy, for sure, I get you”

“Then fall right back in and love the very moment that I touch you.”

“Loved you more, when you flip and lose your shit, I hugged you more

It’s sexy to me, cuss they ass out and hold that grudge some more

Down bitch, I know your favorite movie, is it Notebook?”

“My baby boo, you either kill bitches or you heal bitches

Both is true, it takes some tough skin just to deal with you”

“Bitches want you, but they ain’t strong enough

I heard her talkin’ we notorious”

Pink - Sweetheart to Chris

Blue - Chris to Sweetheart

♡‧₊˚ Sorry I just love this song so much. It’s def on my Spotify playlist for them lol 😋 also I changed the lyrics second to last verse bc it makes more sense & I’m very much white, so I don’t feel comfortable writing that word 🫣 I’m a hugeee Kendrick fan and BLM supporter, so pls don’t take that the wrong way! I don’t want to offend anyone. I just love the song and think its very fitting for this au lol.

Also this is my thing posting something like this so lmk if you guys like it!!

Babydaddy!Chris Masterlist

Masterlist

Taglist (comment to be added)

© m00nl1ghts1vt - Please do not copy my work.

[nullifi-blr]

A witch, a simple alchemist, a captain of a borrowed ship, and nobody's daughter

I have been working on this piece for nearly a week now, and its FINALLY DONE!!!! If you want some PNGs of the character renders, and some of my thoughts on this piece, read below! (warning for spoilers though!)

SO. the season's first off. Henry is in spring, Fia is in summer, Irina is in autumn, and Zirk is in winter.

Henry is in spring because of Leonora's curse. Its the most obvious one.

Irina is in autumn because that's where they found Irina in the Glade.

Zirk is in winter because of his final deal with the winter fairy

Fia's in summer because why not (sorry there's not much behind this)

no solo headshot of shank, just because he was just a head. but here's phillip, spirtel, and bukvar!

Below is an outfit detail breakdown for each character!

Henry - he's got spoonie tied onto his belt! - i usually draw hank without any shine in his eyes, but i added a little bit, as i would place this drawing after the final episode. his curse is lifted, so he gets some light back in his eyes - the blue scarf on his waist is mostly just a callback to the ocean, and because i wanted him to have some pop of color - i associate henry with the earth or sea if we're talking in a cosmic sense. - also! henry still wears his ring from izzy, just on the necklace and not a finger. i think he'd be too hopeful/sentimental to let it go.

Fia - emily brings up in a short rest that she associates fia with the moon, which is great cause i do too - her skirt is torn and ripped because i hc she doesn't often mend clothes or doesn't know how to. its also dirty because she lives in the woods. - the shawl she wears would have probably been a gift from batilda. it has sword embroidery on the hem, so it was a first act of training fia as a blade.

Irina - i really wanted irina to feel ethereal, since she's the daughter of a god. its why her eyelashes are white, but zirk's aren't. its also why she has silver freckles - patchwork dress! not just because its mentioned in the episode, but because fia likes people who make their own clothes. - i kiiinda associate irina with the sun, but i moreso associate her with the stars. the night sky needs both the moon and stars, always together <3

Zirk - i wanted to include zirk's little stirstick from his art and ep 1, so i'm glad i got to do that! - zirk's lineart has so many layers because of the glass bottles. - all the metal with zirk is bronze, because i wanted him to keep a warm palette, and felt gold would clash too much - those sleeves can roll down and make this labcoat regulation i prommy, he's just too busy serving

Thanks for reading!! Eldermourne is my favorite campaign, and I really wanted to take some time to make a piece that I knew I'd love. If all goes well, I'm looking to get this uploaded to the NADDpod fanart gallery, so you'll be able to buy a print! UPDATE: Until it's on the gallery, you can buy the print HERE!

[frogsinflannel]

If I Kiss You Where It's Sore

Rated T | 9-1-1: BuckTommy | 2230 words

“So.”  Tommy smiles at Buck from his place between his legs, hands gently cupping his knees.  His teeth are showing, white and sharp.  

The callouses on his hands catch on the downy leg hair, and he rubs little, teasing circles with his thumbs.  Buck feels his face split into an answering grin, one arm tucked under his head and the other laid against his side, his hand resting on his stomach.  “So what?” he asks.

Tommy presses his mouth to the meat of Buck’s leg in a slow kiss.  There’s no expectation there, no heat, just comfort and ease and the reassuring warmth of skin on skin.  They’re both stripped down to just their underwear, in a soft, sleepy bubble in Tommy’s big worn-in bed.  The duvet Tommy has is a creamy, striped linen, and it feels cozy and gentle and good where Buck lays on top of it.  There’s something approaching luxurious about how comfortable the bedding is, how intentional Tommy was in choosing it.  Something about a thing used fully for its intended purpose, enjoyed and well taken care of.  Buck gets the feeling that’s how Tommy is with the things he has now: careful.  Thoughtful and attentive, and Buck feels envy for every object lucky enough to be tended to with his big, exacting hands.  

He gets to be one of those objects again now, and when Tommy’s thumbs circle again in a play of soft-padded kisses a shivery thrill tracks up his spine. 

“ So. ”  Tommy gives him a look trying too hard to be exasperation.  Buck spreads his legs a little wider.  See, he’s accommodating, too, making room for Tommy’s broad, broad shoulders.  “Did you like the movie?”

Buck laughs and with a mock-scowl Tommy pops the thick, elasticized waistband of his briefs.  It snaps in pleasant not-quite-pain against his skin and he wiggles his hips.  “The movie?  Uh.  You think I watched the movie?  Hey, let me remind you whose mouth was on whose neck.”

Tommy grins but hides it, scooting up and burying his face in the soft skin of Buck’s inner thigh.  He shakes his head, rubbing against him, and Buck feels the gentle scratch of his stubble.  “Don’t know what you mean,” he says.  Buck sighs, content, and rakes touch-hungry fingers through Tommy’s fluffy, bed-softened hair.  It’s another one of those things about him he missed so much.  “I mean, did I have my hands on some gorgeous guy?  Was I kind of distracted myself, marking him up?  Did I touch him so good he lost his mind a little?”  Tommy looks up at him then, and his nose scrunches as he beams, playful and teasing, waiting for Buck to give him an answer.

The hand in Tommy’s hair moves down to cup his cheek and Buck thinks–not for the first time–that he’d fall over himself for the chance to touch Tommy, to be in a position where Tommy could touch him.  He’s already made a fool of himself for this man, and chances are he’ll be doing it again and again.  “A little?” he repeats, lifting one brow.  He presses his thumb into the cleft of Tommy’s chin.  Tommy’s eyes are soft, worn-denim blue, and Buck watches them flick down to his mouth.  He bites his bottom lip, a tease, and feels a hot splash of satisfaction in his belly when Tommy’s gaze zeroes in on the press of his teeth.  “Don’t undersell yourself,” he says, and he keeps his voice low and intimate.  Soft.  “You touched him so good he lost his whole mind.”

One big hand slides up his stomach and taps an arpeggio from his ribs up to his collarbone.  There’s a blossoming spot of purple right at the base of his throat, and Tommy presses the tips of two fingers into it–a slow, gently building pressure, just enough for Buck to feel it.  He groans and tilts his head back, baring his throat.

It feels like another question, the way Tommy’s hand lays hot and heavy against his clavicle.  The way his fingers push bluntly into the bruising warmth his mouth had made.  He wants it.  Tommy knows he wants it.  But things are still petal-soft and new, they’re re-learning the way they fit together.  Even in Tommy’s careful hands, it’s a question that needs an answer.

Because Tommy deserves to be tended to.

“Feels good,” he says, and his voice comes out rougher than he means it to.  It’s hoarse, a half-whisper that still sounds loud in the quiet of Tommy’s bedroom.   

“Yeah?”  Tommy glances up and their eyes meet.  He looks so pleased, his mouth crooked up and the corners of his eyes creased.  Then his gaze travels down–slow, slow–to fix on the point where his hand touches Buck’s skin.  Awareness and expectation start to rise and Buck feels the prickle of goosebumps up and down his body.

“Yeah.”  Buck swallows.  He wonders if Tommy can feel the bob of it.  “It’s like… like a memory, but better.  ‘S not the same.”  He groans when Tommy’s presses in with a touch more pressure, when Tommy’s body shimmies up and Buck can feel him warm and solid against the inside of his thighs.  “I can remember how we were the only two people in the theatre—because come on, Tommy, it was a shitty movie, you know this.  A-and how you let me put my arm around your shoulders because I was trying to be smooth, and you didn’t say anything even when I wasn’t.  You smiled about it and then turned so I couldn’t see it.”  He swallows again, working himself up and wanting Tommy to hear what he was saying–god did he want Tommy to hear it.  He cups the back of Tommy’s head and bends one leg, bracketing Tommy in with the mountain of his knee.  He thumbs at Tommy’s earlobe, scritches gently at his scalp.  “You wore your special cologne that I know costs more than you say it does, but it smells so good.  And even when I couldn’t see you, because the theatre was too dark, when you leaned in close it brought that scent with you, and I knew you were there.”  He gentles his hand and lets his fingers brush through the short hair.  “I knew you were there.”

“And then I kissed your neck,” Tommy murmurs.

“Uh-huh,” Buck agrees.  He shifts his hips, knows that Tommy can feel that he’s getting hard.  Knows that they’re not going to do anything about that yet.  “You kissed my neck.  I… I felt your teeth but you never bit down.  I felt when you sucked.  When you…”  He lets out a long, breathy exhale and he presses his knee tighter in to Tommy, wants to keep him right where he is for as long as he can.  “When you left a mark.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Tommy asks, and his eyes are so dark and his mouth is set and Buck knows what it looks like when it’s soft and open and wanting.  

“Yeah it hurts,” he says.  He lifts his chest, arches up as much as he can into Tommy’s fingers.  “It’s supposed to.  I want to know it’s there.”

Tommy sucks in a breath and then, quick for somebody as big as he is, he lifts himself and shimmies up to cover Buck’s body with his, blanketing him strong and solid and warm.  He presses a pleading kiss to the corner of Buck’s mouth.  It tastes bittersweet.

Their legs press together, Tommy’s hips fitted neatly into the cradle of Buck’s pelvis.  He hooks an ankle over Tommy’s calf, keeping him snugly in place, and then brushes a hand down the length of Tommy’s spine, landing softly on the small of his back.  He runs a finger along the line of his underwear, knows if he looks down he’ll see it clinging to the curve of Tommy’s luscious ass.  They’re so close, stacked on top of each other, and Buck never wants to leave.  He has Tommy, right where he wants him.  And Tommy is there, choosing to stay.  “Wanna remember you were there.”

With a huff, Tommy presses his face into Buck’s shoulder.  Hiding.  “Don’t say shit like that,” Tommy says, his voice muffled in Buck’s skin.

“Hey.”  He pinches his side and Tommy squirms.  “Honesty, right?  We’re saying what we mean?”  His fingers dig in further and Tommy grunts, nuzzling into him and then pushing the point of his nose into the crook of Buck’s neck.  “Well… I mean it.  I like thinking about how much you want me.  That you couldn’t even wait to get out of the theatre before, uh.  What was it you said?”  He feels it as his mouth curls up, and it takes restraint he doesn’t usually exercise to keep from sliding his hand down to grope or pushing his hips up again into Tommy’s.  “You got your hands on some gorgeous guy.  Gorgeous you said.”

Tommy hums.  “Maybe I was exaggerating.”

Buck covers his hand and cranes his neck as much as he can.  He slots his fingers between Tommy’s and then guides both their index fingers to press again at the almost obscenely large hickey on his neck.  “Huh.”  He feels it and feels it and it’s such a good sort of pain.  “Your enthusiasm suggests otherwise.”

A teasing slant of teeth nips at his collarbone.  It’s meant to distract him, he knows, but he’s got Tommy right where he wants him.  He wraps his arms around him, holding him tight.  The trap’s been sprung.  Tommy lifts his head, looking with mild curiosity at Buck’s needy grapple with one eyebrow raised.  “Well.  Maybe gorgeous isn’t entirely wrong.”

Buck grins big and wide.  

Tommy’s eyes darken.  “Yeah?  And maybe, if he asks really nicely—”

“Hey.”  Buck clears his throat, waits until he has every last speck of Tommy’s attention.  “I love you.”

Tommy’s mouth goes slack.  It’s not the first time he’s said it, but those few occasions have been precious, usually during something intense.  After getting back together and airing out their issues.  During sex.  He waited until now, until a moment of easy calm, because he wants Tommy to have to hear it.  He wants Tommy to know how much he means it.

He blinks and Buck can see him reeling back.

“Hey,” he says.  He squeezes once, then loosens his hold.  “I love you,” he says again.

“That’s…”  Tommy breathes out and Buck’s arms fall away a little as he props himself up to hover over Buck.  “That’s a big thing to say for one love bite, even if it is some of my best work.”

“Maybe I’m just grateful I get any of your work, even if it turned out to be your worst.”

“If you really want to thank me…” Tommy starts, and his voice is light.  Buck knows this game, he can already feel the deflection coming.  Tommy pets over Buck’s chest, lingering on his nipple and then a tattoo.  “You can put on that jock I know you’ve got in your bag and we’ll see if my work can’t improve with the right motivation.”

Buck shivers and he knows Tommy catches it.  He can’t help it–because Tommy’s right, he’d come to spend the night prepared, and maybe he’d wanted to encourage those large, masterful palms.  He is proudly aware that his ass is excellent motivation.  But this is important enough for his heart as well as his dick, and he shoves all the horny thoughts aside.  “That sounds… really damn good,” he says.  “And I want that.  I do.  But right now I want to cuddle, and digest that awful movie, and tell my gorgeous guy that I love him.”  He leans up and kisses the first part of Tommy he can reach.  “And I do.  I love you.”

For a long moment, Tommy is silent. Buck focuses on the warmth of him seeping in, on the soft bedding against his skin, on the buzzy ambience of the room around them.  There are still the faintest traces of his cologne lingering on Tommy’s body and he breathes in, trying to catch those, too.  He wants all of Tommy.  He wants his best work and his worst, the smell of him and the weight of him, too.  He wants to find all the cracks and stick his fingers in, see if they come out bleeding from the sharp edges.  He’s never known when to leave well enough alone.  He doesn’t want to leave Tommy alone again.

“Okay.”  Tommy breathes out and lowers his head.  His eyes are closed.  Buck wants to kiss the thin skin of his eyelids.  Very slowly Tommy starts to press down.  His body covers Buck's.  His weight starts to sink in.

Buck lays sandwiched between Tommy’s heavy, scarred body and the soft foam mattress topper covered by a fresh cotton sheet.  The pressure of that body brings a clarity he doesn’t often feel.  He drank a full glass of water.  He remembered his meds.  He doesn’t have to hold so tight when Tommy is the one keeping him pinned down, unable to get away.

“Okay,” Tommy says again.  He speaks against Buck’s skin.  His voice is soft and Buck can feel the words even better than he can hear them.  “Okay, Evan,”  he says.  “Okay.”

Read @ AO3

Song Inspo / Fic Soundtrack:

[cozzzynook]

For the Miroah ship.

One day after work Noah heads into the garage only to freeze in place when sees something strange in Mirage's arms. In the mech's arms in seems to be a 'baby' well, whatever an alien robot baby looks like but that still means Mirage is holding a baby! Rushing to Mirage's side Noah is demanding to know where and who's baby did he find or possibly steal. Mirage just looks at Noah blankly for a few moments before giving a quiet laugh as he pulls the sparkling closer to his chest with a warm smile.

"I didn't steal them, sweetspark" Mirage's smile grew wider. "They're all ours"

"Huh, what?!" Noah just blinks as he takes a deep breath. "What do you mean by 'ours?' "

"Well, remember that night where we spent the night on a long drive with just the two of us?" Blush and embarrassment found its self on the blue and white mech's face. "You might have, well...sparked me"

"You can get pregnant?!"

(Meanwhile Optimus is just grumpy sitting in the junkyard with crossed arms and smoke bellowing out his smoke stacks. He isn't very pleased to hear that Mirage had gotten himself sparked but he can admit that the bittie is very cute, even if they are hybrid)

Whoever you are i love this, thank you!

[kenniex2]

you bitter ass white bitches need to leave this poor girl the fuck alone, transandrophobia doesn’t exist and if you’re mad at someone for criticizing someone with a rape fetish look into yourself and find out what the fuck is wrong with you. I expected the white website not to understand the greater nuances of gender expression within the POC community but if we seriously have to spell out sexism to you dumb fucks without getting paid imma need you to log off and read a fucking book. Y’all stop with this fucking blue-boy pink-girl bullshit and start to actually use your fucking brains. You’re never going to bash a black girl as a white woman in her 20s and be right. Look me in my face and tell me any black woman has power over a white trans person and i’ll pop you in your dumbass face. And calling this girl a terf for emphasizing very real social phenomena is insane to me. You can just watch ONE video and see how trans men realize they’re treated very differently after they transition. So funny how you think Aisha can’t speak on this but you, a white woman, can decide who’s oppressed or not? This is white tumblr bullshit at its finest I just can’t with you bitches.

My friend @princessefemmelesbian recieved this submission

Velvet has harrassed her in the past with multiple attempts at arguing with her in her inbox when Aisha said she,as a black lesbian,hates transandodorks for having corrective rape kinks and their racism to tmoc,most of all trans black men,including me,who she literally asked for permission to post about it.Aisha has boosted the voices of multiple trans women in the past and many transfems agree with her on her 'transandrophobia is just MRA shit' takes based on their personal expressions of harassment by transandrodorks.Aisha does not persecute trans women who disagree with her and Velvet is twisting the narrative-*She* came to *her* and won't leave her alone and mind you it's mainly twoc who're anti-transadrophobia truthing and Velvet is a white woman and in her mid-20s going after an 18 year old because she hates men with rape kinks about her identity and dosen't care if they're queer about it.Velvet has also hypocritically enough gone after many other transfems she disagrees with enough to garner a reputation on the transfemcentric side of tumblr as someone who cyberbullies other trans women to 'do solidarity with' tmascs.Velvet even goes as far as to allow repeated hateposting about Aisha,again,an 18 year old black lesbian,on her blog(screenshots provided by Aisha herself)

Aisha has never tried to argue with trans people on their oppression and her posting was partially motivated by me telling her how shitty transandrodorks have been to me for being a trans male femme and disregarding my blackness and girlhood/womanhood for their own comfort.She always asks me for permission as her trans friend to see if what she's saying is real allyship or just not true and goes into it extensively with my consent.This is not a callout post or 'warning post' for Velvet but me defending Aisha before things get out of hand and lies spread about her because a white woman with like ten years on her dosen't care if she's being misogynoiristic to a young black woman and very dangerously potentially putting her in a harrassment campaign

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