#but surely they should at least pretend that they do?

[prael]

Conciliation

ILLIT Moka x Yunah // part 2 to Punishment

words: 6,035 Masterlist

Two weeks have gone by. Two weeks since the incident in their dorm room. For Yunah, it's as though that night never happened. It was just some afterthought that had been shoved down in the deep corners of her memory, as though she would sooner forget and have Moka pretend it was nothing at all.

Moka thinks of nothing else.

She thinks about it in her classes, daydreaming when she should be practising. Rehearsals have become a stop-start procedure, with everyone turning to Moka with the same question: are you okay? She feels so pathetic. Embarrassed at herself, but still thinking, wondering, wishing, that maybe tonight might be that night; that Yunah might snap at some point and give her just a single touch.

She's thought about doing it again, just the same way, touching herself while Yunah is around. Even the mere idea has Moka wet with shame. It would work, surely, it has to work. Then Moka talks herself out of it. Doing it again, trying to instigate a reaction, she may as well just confess, beg, and plead with Yunah. Admit that she likes her. Tell her just how crazy it makes Moka when she walks around the room in only a t-shirt and panties. When she shakes her hair loose out of a ponytail, her brunette hair cascades in the moonlight, looking so soft and thick, and Moka can't get over her.

They're on their way out of the country, for another big show. Another sleepless night spent travelling. Another opportunity for Yunah to glare at Moka when she's obviously not focused or too busy stumbling through her moves. Another opportunity for her to sit there, only her and her dirty, little thoughts.

There's a slight turbulence, enough to make the sleeping Yunah move in her seat, her head rolling to the side. She looks peaceful and beautiful. That same fringe she's so particular about always ends up in her eyes, so naturally, Moka wants to reach up and push it away, but she forces herself back, that's the last thing she wants; to wake her and look suspicious.

"Not sleeping?" A voice from the other side, makes Moka tear her eyes away from Yunah and find Minju. Minju gives a curious look at Yunah before returning her gaze to Moka.

"Can't sleep," Moka confesses with a sigh.

Minju doesn't reply at first, the look she is giving, makes Moka believe she is contemplating whether she should share or not. "Me neither. Keep thinking about tomorrow."

Moka hums a vague affirmative in response. She wants to appear agreeable and that she isn't preoccupied with the thoughts of someone else.

Minju gives her a wry smirk. "What about you? You keep spacing out."

Her question strikes a chord in Moka. For some reason, she can't deny it or lie about what's been going through her head, and even when she should probably deny it, Moka still finds herself talking about her. "Have you ever liked someone who hated your guts? Like so much it physically hurts," Moka can't help the questions slipping past her lips. It's pathetic really. She should know better, and she knows she's saying too much and too openly, but it's not her fault. She just can't handle it all, not for another minute.

"Are you saying there's a guy you like?" Minju asks, which at least offers Moka the reassurance that the others haven't realised what's going on; why else would she ask that? "You know we're not allowed to date anyone, Moka."

"I know, and I'm not going to date anyone, but I can still like someone, right?"

Minju laughs. "Yeah, you can do what you like," she replies while stealing another look at the older girl across from them, sleeping. "So why does he hate your guts then?"

"Well, I—"

Yunah sighs, breaking the conversation as the pair suddenly falls quiet. They freeze like deer caught in the headlights of a car as Yunah, shifts in her seat, adjusting her position before relaxing again. There is a relief between them, letting out a heavy breath at the realisation that their friend is still very much asleep.

"Lucky her," Minju finally says, shaking her head. "I can't wait for us all to be back in our hotel rooms and having some proper sleep." Minju sighs, turning back to Moka. "You were saying?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Don't worry about it, forget I said anything," Moka rambles. She finds herself silently cursing herself. If the truth of her desires slipped and spilt out, there's no telling what kind of trouble she would be in. But Minju looks at her in a strange sort of understanding, nodding and giving her a reassuring smile.

Moka returns the sentiment and lays her head on her friend's shoulder. Her heartbeat starts to slow down, and as time passes, sleep draws in, luring her into its clutches, and at last, her eyelids flutter shut.

-

It's 4 am and they're shambling into the hotel lobby, weary, eyes burning, muscles tired, with sore shoulders and legs.

"We've booked rooms for you all. We just went with the same arrangement as the dorm," the manager explains, sending Moka's heart crashing. She and Yunah. Of course. She nods weakly and trudges to the lift alongside her members.

Yunah opens the door, and Moka follows. They haven't spoken a word to each other. The moment the hotel door is closed, and Moka drops her bag on the floor, Yunah takes off her jacket, hanging it on a hook. Moka slips her shoes off, trying her hardest not to make eye contact.

"Moka?"

Fuck. Why couldn't she just walk past without saying anything? Moka's cheeks feel hot. Why now? She glances up, and the look she receives from Yunah doesn't give anything away.

"What's gotten into you? Are you sick?" She snaps, walking right up to her. A rough hand takes hold of her chin, forcing her face up and it shocks Moka so much that it knocks her off her axis for a moment.

There she is. Again. So close. It takes a moment, or three, to figure out what she even said. Moka goes to shake her head, but with her face being held so firmly in place, it's impossible. "No, I'm fine." She swallows. "Just a little nervous."

"Why are you lying to me?"

Her face is still gripped, she's forced to keep eye contact with her and she hates it. She hates that her skin prickles as Yunah's beautiful gaze pours down.

"Whatever," Yunah says incredulously, her hand holding Moka's jaw. Moka nods as best as she can and then she's released. She misses her touch the moment Yunah's hand is gone and she's left to drop her head. "We can't have you being distracted tomorrow. Just get it together."

The older girl retreats into the bathroom, closing the door and leaving a disgruntled Moka alone. She could scream, but instead, she swallows down her frustration.

Moka undresses and slips into her shorts and tank top. She flops onto the soft covers and waits. Curses and empty wishes run through her mind; her fist tightens into a frustrated ball and her eyebrows furrow. How is she supposed to do anything like this? How can she think about anything other than her?

Soon, Yunah returns, but all Moka gets from her is silence, nothing, absolutely nothing, and yet here she is, lying and waiting. Pathetic, it's downright fucking pathetic. She takes a deep breath and lets herself turn and stare at her back. "Yunah?"

"What?"

"Why did you make me feel good?"

"You talk about that like it meant something," Yunah responds, turning her attention away from her phone. Her beautiful hair fans out against the pillow.

"Did it?"

Yunah responds with her own question, "Did you want it to?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry." She turns her attention back to her phone, effectively dismissing her and the conversation altogether.

"Please—"

"Goodnight, Moka," Yunah bites. Her tone leaves no more room for discussion. No room for questioning.

Moka clamps her mouth shut, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. What more could she say? How many ways could she plead with her before it becomes demeaning? But the silence in her room makes the ache between her thighs feel unbearable and impossible to ignore.

It's nearly an hour later when Moka gives in, dipping her hands between her legs. She rubs against the front of her shorts and shudders as she teeters on the brink of losing her senses and giving in to her desires. But the bed shifts, the sheets move, and she stops.

Yunah rolls over and she looks at Moka, as though expecting her to do something, anything. The eye contact alone has Moka feeling so small and helpless.

"Do it," Yunah whispers.

"W-what?"

"I know you want to. These past weeks you've been so distracted. I know you're always thinking of it, of what happened, what I did. I see the way you look at me."

"I... I'm sorry."

Yunah rolls her eyes. "Just do it."

"But you hate it. It makes you uncomfortable, I can't—" Yunah cuts Moka off as she moves closer, she slips her fingers past the waistband of Moka's shorts, down to the wet warmth of her cunt. "Yunah," she whimpers. Moka bites her lip to hold in the noises, but it's impossible to stay silent as Yunah runs teasing touches over her lips, threatening to slip between them.

"You can't do it, can you? Not on your own, not since I've touched you." She says it so plainly that Moka can't help but agree. She knows the truth. "But you don't want to ask for my help because you know I'll just say no. So here I am, doing it for you." Yunah's finger slides between Moka's lips and runs up to her clit. It makes Moka gasp. "Think about why that is. Why would I want to help you?" she murmurs as her fingers circle the hard, little nub.

"I don't know." The words are barely audible.

"I think you do," Yunah says and then her fingers go away.

"No, don't stop."

"I know it's hard, Moka," Yunah whispers. Her fingers are back. They're running through the lips of Moka's cunt, sliding easily, making the skin slick and sensitive. Moka can hardly think as the fingers run up and down, stroking and teasing, edging closer to the opening. "But I need you to say it."

"Because," Moka chokes out. Her head is spinning, and she feels so dizzy. She can hardly form a single thought. All she knows is how good she feels, how desperate she is for those fingers. "You like making me feel good. Because you want it just as bad."

"Because I want it, Moka," Yunah whispers, pushing a single finger into Moka's tight entrance. It sinks in so deep and she moans. She's so fucking sensitive. The feeling of the finger as it enters and stretches her, the feeling as it curls inside, the way it moves slowly and deliberately, is enough to have her trembling. Yunah has to lean in and put her mouth by Moka's ear. "I can't get the fucking thought of you out of my head."

"Oh god."

The words have the desired effect and Yunah's hand moves faster, the thrusts come harder and Moka is completely helpless. Her body starts to arch, her back rises off the mattress and her chest is pulled upwards as if offering herself to the other girl. Her little chest rises, her nipples hardening under the material of her top. Yunah looks at her body and smiles. She pushes a second finger inside, her thumb begins to work her clit and Moka's hands are holding tight to the pillow behind her.

Moka doesn't care that she's moaning, or that she can't stop saying her roommate's name. All that she cares about is how her body is starting to clench, how her hips are bucking and how her legs have gone so rigid, and it's just the best feeling, the best thing that she's ever experienced in her life. Moka opens her eyes and finds Yunah staring. Her face is so close; Moka wants her closer.

She has the overwhelming desire to taste Yunah's lips, but not the strength to pull her down, so she settles for the fingers inside of her and the hand that keeps working her cunt until the orgasm comes.

Moka pulls the pillow tight around her head, muffling the sound that spills from her mouth. She feels her walls tightening around Yunah's digits, her entire body clenching and shaking, and her eyes rolling back. She's so close.

Yunah climbs over her, kneeling between her slender thighs and her fingers never leave. They're so deep. The pressure is too intense. She feels the walls inside of her start to tighten, the heat growing inside her. Moka's head turns and buries into the pillow she holds onto for dear life.

"Look at me, Moka," she coos, leaning into her. "I said look at me."

Yunah takes Moka's hand, prying it away from the pillow. Powerless to resist, Moka's arm is pushed above her head, and then the other. They're placed together, held under Yunah's grasp and Moka's head is free and forced to look at the beautiful woman on top of her, forced to see those deep brown eyes and that gorgeous hair, that pretty face with the full lips, the perfect lips, the ones Moka wishes were pressed against her. But that would be too much. Moka would never want anything more ever again. If she kisses her then it's game over, all she would ever need would be right here. Moka could never think about anyone or anything other than her, ever again.

Moka's stomach tightens, and her face contorts. She lies there helplessly as she is overcome, and the climax hits. She can't help it. She's moaning so loudly and she's clenching around Yunah's fingers. Her legs shake and her arms try to pull themselves away, to have something to cling to. But she can't move. All Moka can do is give into the pleasure. It washes over her, the sensation coursing through her body, making her toes curl.

She leaks messily onto Yunah's hand. The sounds of wetness fill her ears, the lewd, squelching noises as the fingers continue to work her pussy, fucking her through the high and prolonging the sensation until her mind blanks, her body convulses and her voice breaks into a pathetic whine. Moka's head thrashes back and forth, and she's crying, sobbing out loud.

She's left panting, chest heaving as she looks at Yunah who's smiling. That beautiful smile, the one she loves to see.

"You're so pretty when you cum, Moka." She says it most sweetly, and her eyes seem so sincere. Moka wants to kiss her more than ever, and she wants Yunah to feel good too, just like she did. But her body feels like jelly and she can barely move. So she can only lay there and try to catch her breath.

Yunah lowers, laying her head on Moka's chest, her ear pressing gently to her heart, as though listening to it. Her body still twitches and shakes and her legs remain spread with Yunah still nestled between them. Moka tries to calm herself, and she can feel Yunah's breathing slow and soften, her weight shifting on top of her.

"I'm sorry, Moka. For ignoring you, but I knew this would happen. I knew that once I gave in, I wouldn't be able to stop," she murmurs. Moka can only manage a hum in reply. She doesn't even understand what Yunah means, not really, she can barely understand her words. Yunah puts her hand on her waist and slips her own pyjama shorts over her hips and down her long legs. She kicks them off and they're left tangled up at the foot of the bed.

It's when Yunah raises her head from Moka's chest that Moka realises what's happening. Yunah slips her fingers into the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down and off of her legs and throwing them aside. Moka feels so exposed. She can't hide the fact she's blushing, that she's so nervous, that this is what she's been waiting for, what she's wanted.

Yunah pulls her own shirt over her head and throws that off the bed too, and now Moka's staring. Tight and toned. Perky. It's like she can't help but let her eyes roam. She's the most perfect girl in the world. Moka's hands reach up to her, running along the curves of Yunah's body, the smoothness of her skin. Her thumbs brush over her nipples, feeling them harden and rise.

Yunah sighs, and Moka wants to make her do that again. She wants to hear all her pretty noises, just like Yunah said she loved hearing hers. So, she sits up and her hands go around Yunah, holding onto her, bringing her closer. She's so tall. Moka's face presses into her chest and she breathes against her, feeling the heat and inhaling the sweet scent of her.

Moka is so nervous. So anxious that she will do something wrong. She has to force herself to lift her head and part her lips, to lean forward and place her mouth over the stiff, little peak on Yunah's breast. She sucks, pulling it in, feeling the way it moves, the way Yunah lets out a breath and the hand that comes up to her hair. Fingers run through her black locks, nails drag along her scalp, and Moka moves her head to the other, repeating the motion, sucking the skin, flicking her tongue over it and pulling it with her lips.

Yunah moans and the grip tightens, she holds her head, and the other arm wraps around Moka. Reassurance in the form of a touch. It tells her she's doing well, that Yunah's liking it. That's all that matters. Moka wants her to like it, she wants to please her, and she wants to know how to make her feel good. She smiles against her smooth skin, placing kisses, licks, and bites all over her. Appreciation for this girl and her beautiful, wonderful body.

Then Moka finds herself lying on her back. Yunah climbs on top of her and Moka's heart thuds hard against her chest. This is everything she's wanted.

"Don't freak out," she whispers, her breath against Moka's face.

"Never."

Yunah shifts her weight and then Moka feels it, the wet heat of Yunah's cunt against hers, and the sensation of her body on hers. Moka looks down at their bodies and can see the point of their connection, where their skin meets. The sight of it alone makes her mouth go dry, her stomach flips, and it takes all her strength to keep herself together. And then Yunah rocks her hips, grinding against Moka, her slick pussy rubbing against Moka's. The sensation of her skin moving, her wetness, it makes Moka's eyes roll back.

"Yunah..." Moka gasps, her body arching, and Yunah pushes her down.

She does it again, and again, sliding against her, pushing her hips hard. Her breathing is growing faster, and heavier, and her moans are so quiet. Sparks ignite in her lower body. The pressure, the heat. It feels so good to have Yunah against her like that.

Yunah leans down and buries her face in the crook of her neck and she kisses and nibbles at her skin there, whispering against the spot. "Why does this feel so good?"

"I don't know," Moka gasps. She's losing her breath already. She's panting and she feels so hot and dizzy, but in the best possible way.

Yunah can't hold back, she can't hide the fact that Moka makes her lose her control. This cute, petite little thing below her; with her innocent, big brown eyes, and her adorable smile, that makes Yunah want to melt, she's her weakness. Moka, who she heard so many times, night after night. Moka, who she's ignored and tried to put from her mind, but can't. And now she has her. She has her little Moka beneath her, squirming and panting and whining, and Yunah's hips can't help but rut down into her.

Yunah can't get enough of it. Moka's pussy feels so soft and warm against her own. The slick mess that grows between them, it's addicting. The sounds are even worse. She wants to make more. She wants Moka to scream.

All the confusion Yunah once felt has vanished, and in its place, a sense of belonging, a feeling that she has to do this. That she's supposed to be in this bed with Moka and no one else. She never understood it. She was scared to admit it. But now there is nothing else she could ever ask for.

Yunah takes Moka's hand, interlocking fingers and squeezing. It's reassuring, and Moka's grip on her hand is strong, it tells Yunah she's feeling the same way.

"Moka."

"Yes," Moka answers.

Yunah looks down at the younger girl. Moka's face is contorted with pleasure, her lips are parted, and she's breathing so hard. She's completely lost to her sensations, and the sight makes Yunah's heart flutter, her skin burns and her body feels weak. "Moka," she whispers again. This time Moka's eyes open, looking straight at her. Their gazes lock and their fingers squeeze. "I like you."

"I like you too." Moka's smile is the most beautiful thing Yunah has ever seen, it triggers an instinct to fuck her harder. Moka's hand snaps to Yunah's hip and holds her tightly. She's moaning louder now. She can't hide it.

The bed creaks, the headboard hitting the wall. The sheets become tangled. They're sweaty and panting, and Moka's moans grow more desperate by the second.

Yunah can't stop herself any longer. Her stomach tenses tight, her body is on the verge of breaking and she can't take much more. "Moka," she calls her name, she's saying it so desperately. "Fuck, I'm going to cum." She can't hold on. Moka feels too good. Everything about this moment is perfect. It feels so right. Yunah can feel her own pussy twitch, she's getting closer to that edge. She can hear Moka whine, she's almost there. She wants Moka to finish. She needs it. "Cum with me."

"I want it, please Yunah. Please make me cum."

Yunah grinds harder. Moka's moans are so pretty. They fill her ears and they're the only sound in the room. They're music, they're the most perfect thing she's ever heard and the best song Moka has ever sung.

Yunah feels Moka's fingers tighten on her hip as she bucks her own up to meet Yunah's thrusts, and the sensation overwhelms them both. They cling to each other, both bodies trembling as the climax washes over them. Moka cries out, and it's loud. She doesn't even try to muffle herself as she squeezes Yunah's hand, and her hips jolt against hers. Yunah's face buries itself in Moka's neck, groaning into the skin, kissing, biting and sucking as the heat consumes her and her mind blanks, the pleasure takes over.

They lay there for what feels like forever, panting, their hearts thumping in their chests, the sound filling their ears.

It's then that Yunah looks up, pulling her head away. She looks down at Moka. Moka, her Moka, staring back up at her with her big eyes. The most gorgeous girl she's ever met. Her skin is so smooth and flawless. Her little nose, her cute lips, and the black, messy hair splayed on the pillow behind her, framing her face like a painting.

"Moka."

"Yunah."

Yunah leans down, pressing their foreheads together and Moka smiles, she can feel it against her face. Their breaths mingle and their hearts are so close, and Moka is holding onto her.

"I shouldn't have," Yunah pants, "shouldn't have lied to myself. Shouldn't have tried to ignore this."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not okay." She can feel Moka's lips brushing against hers. They're so close. It's just a little movement to close the distance between them, but Moka does it. She pushes her head up, and then Yunah's lips part. She kisses her and Yunah can't help but kiss her back, her tongue slipping into her mouth. Their tongues swirl and slide. Moka moans against her lips. The sound sends shivers down her spine. And Yunah wants her. She wants her so bad.

Moka is panting when Yunah breaks the kiss.

"It's okay now," Moka whispers, her breath ghosting over her. Yunah feels so weak. She's completely helpless.

"I think we need to talk about some stuff. But not now, not right now."

"No, not now," Moka replies with a giggle, leaning up and stealing another kiss.

Yunah gives her a lazy smile, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. She rolls onto her back, lying next to Moka, their legs still half-tangled. They lie in a comfortable silence. It feels so natural and normal as if it were always supposed to happen, that they were always meant to end up here. Yunah turns and looks at her, watching Moka stare at the ceiling.

"Is it weird that I want to do it again?" Yunah asks.

"Probably," Moka answers. She looks at her, grinning, "But so do I."

-

Thirty minutes later and Yunah finds herself mounted over Moka's face.

She's on her knees, straddling the girl, and the tip of her tongue is tracing patterns against her cunt. She's writing out love letters with her tongue. Signs her name on her clit and makes her legs shake.

Yunah braces, flat-palmed against the wall and throws her head back as she cries out Moka's name, grinding her pussy against the tongue. Sensitive and overused, yet still she wants this. She has to. It's not an option at this point. She's going to ride her until she can't possibly take anymore.

There's no coming back from this. There is only this, them, this room. The whole world has fallen away. It doesn't matter.

Moka is all that matters.

The warm tongue pushes past her lips and sinks into the soft heat, tasting her from the inside. She's moaning into Yunah's cunt, sending the most beautiful vibrations against her and Yunah is so fucking sensitive. Her thighs are shaking and she feels weak, she's struggling to hold herself up, but she can't bring herself to get off her.

"Your tongue, fuck," Yunah moans. The wet tongue laps at the mess, licking up her slick. Yunah can feel Moka swallowing, gulping her down, her little noises growing louder as she feasts. She's going to cum all over that pretty face. She's going to ruin Moka's perfect features and make them shine. Yunah is so close. She can't stop herself from thrusting forward. Her pussy is aching for more, throbbing as Moka eats her. She needs this, wants this.

"Moka... I can't stop, please don't stop," Yunah pants, pushing herself back onto her. Moka grips Yunah's thighs and digs her nails into them. "Fuck!" Yunah squeals. Her hips jerk forward. It's happening. It's too much. Moka's tongue won't stop, it swirls inside of her, and Yunah's legs are trembling.

Her thighs close tight around Moka's face, trapping it between her legs and her back arches, her mouth open, her voice hoarse and broken as she cums, and the walls inside of her clench tight.

And Moka is still eating her out. Yunah can feel the hot mess dripping from her pussy. She feels so sensitive. She can barely stand it, and her body twitches and spasms, and her heart pounds so hard. Her mind blanks. She's so tired, her body aching and exhausted, but her pussy still wants more.

"Yunah," Moka calls to her, patting her thigh and bringing her back from the brink of collapse, "Yunah, I can't breathe." Her little, muffled pleas have her snapping back to reality, realising that Moka's face has gone bright red. Yunah shifts, and she watches the way the girl gasps for air.

"Fuck, Moka." Yunah climbs from her and collapses beside her, chest heaving, sweat coating her skin. "Are you alright?"

Moka doesn't respond at first. She lays there, taking a breath and then she's turning, moving and climbing onto Yunah. "More than alright."

Yunah smiles at her, a sleepy smile that makes Moka blush, and she reaches up to push her black hair from her eyes. Her pretty little eyes are half-lidded and glazed, and her cheeks are rosy and flushed. Lips wet, with Yunah's arousal, it might be the hottest thing she's ever seen. "You're so pretty."

Moka giggles, a bashful laugh as she looks away. "Stop it."

"No," Yunah whispers with a smirk that she knows Moka likes. "I won't."

She flips Moka over and the girl lands with a yelp, a surprised and adorable little sound. She takes her liberties, to kiss and to bite, to suck her skin. Yunah is marking her. Deep kisses on her neck, bites that make Moka's body flinch and writhe, and her little noises are like the prettiest melody in the world. "So pretty," she repeats. "All mine."

Yunah moves down her body, her kisses trailing and leaving little bruises. She sucks her nipples into her mouth, swirling her tongue, sucking and nibbling on the stiff peak and making Moka's body buck up. Her mouth goes to the underside of her breasts, to the flat expanse of her stomach. She sinks her teeth in and Moka is whining. Her back is arched, her head pushed back and she's gripping the sheets, and Yunah is getting closer and closer to her destination. "My pretty girl," she murmurs into the smooth skin.

"Yunah," Moka whines and Yunah looks up, finding her staring, biting her lip. Her eyes are wide and desperate, pleading.

She lifts Moka's leg and kisses the back of her thigh. The younger girl is so sensitive. Her skin shivers as Yunah's mouth moves closer to her core. "Once we're home, Moka, I want to fuck you. Like really fuck you, hard, fast. I've seen those videos. What you watch when you're on your own." Moka squeals and her face goes crimson. She covers her head with a pillow. Yunah can't help the smile as she continues, "I want to do those things with you. One of those strap-ons. You'll look so pretty taking it."

Yunah kisses the girl's clit and Moka's entire body flinches. A hand shoots to Yunah's hair and grabs tight, holding onto the locks. She smiles against her, teasing her pussy, her mouth kissing and sucking on the lips of her cunt. "You can do anything you want to me," Moka gasps. Yunah can't help the laugh that slips out, a laugh of amusement and happiness, and Moka is squirming.

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that." Yunah kisses the mess from her lips, and Moka lets out the cutest, most frustrated noise, her hips lifting and her back arching.

"You can use me."

Yunah stops for a second. She raises her head and finds Moka looking at her. There is a blush to her cheeks and she looks embarrassed, and maybe even a little shy, but that glint in her eye is undeniable.

Yunah lowers herself, pressing a soft kiss to Moka's inner thigh. She takes her time, making a show of it, and Moka's breathing is getting heavier, more impatient. "Yeah?" She kisses her again. "Let me bend you over?" Another kiss. "Hold your face down on the bed while I fuck you?"

"Please," Moka whines, "Yes, yes."

"What else?" Yunah's eyes flick up. Moka's chest is rising, falling, rising.

Moka whines again. She throws her head back. Her body trembles. Yunah kisses her cunt. It's a deep kiss. It has Moka's hips bucking against her lips. "You can be rough with me," she finally manages, her voice breathy.

"Rough?" Yunah's eyebrow arches. She dips her tongue past the wet entrance and laps at Moka's heat. The girl's body is writhing against her mouth and Yunah can't help the muffled giggle. She's so cute like this, so easy to tease. Moka is panting. Her face is contorted in a desperate need for more, for release.

"If you want to," she mumbles, and Yunah is so tempted to tease her further. But Yunah is just as eager. She is so desperate for more of her taste, her body, her scent.

"Maybe," she whispers against the wet lips, "maybe, I'd rather be soft with you." Yunah sinks two fingers into her tight, wet hole. Moka gasps, and then moans. Yunah's mouth latches to the little nub of her clit, sucking it and swirling her tongue. The fingers thrust into her and curl. The walls tighten and tremble. "Take my time, fuck you slowly."

Yunah starts a slow rhythm with her fingers. Moka is whimpering, moaning and trying to buck into the fingers. But Yunah is stronger. Her free hand grabs the younger girl's thigh and forces her down, keeping her still and making her accept the pace.

"Slowly," Yunah repeats, "So slow you'll think it's torture. And I won't let you cum, not for a long time, until you can't bear it anymore." She kisses the skin, kisses her pussy, and then looks at Moka who's staring. She's flushed, her eyes wide and needy, her lips parted, and her body is trembling. "Until your little body is begging for release." She pushes another finger into Moka. She can feel the tightness around her digits and the way she throbs.

"Oh fuck," Moka moans.

"Or maybe I'll fuck you hard and fast." Yunah pushes down hard on Moka's thigh, and the pace picks up, the fingers slamming in and out. The lewd, wet sounds that Moka makes are enough to drive her crazy, the sloppy, messy sounds that come with every thrust and the sight of Moka's pussy, spread wide, stretched and accepting everything she's given, it has Yunah's head spinning. She feels delirious, high off of the pleasure she can give this pretty girl. "Hard, fast. Pound your pussy and make your entire body ache. Make you scream, make you beg me to stop because you can't handle anymore."

Moka's throat strains, and her body tenses. "I can't," Moka moans and Yunah can feel her pussy twitching, clenching around the digits inside of her. So easily does she cum against Yunah's fingers, and she's crying out, loud, without restraint. She doesn't even try to hold it back, and she's so wet. Her cum is leaking out, soaking her fingers, and it's the hottest thing Yunah has ever seen. She can't take her eyes away. She can't look anywhere but the way that Moka is cumming against her fingers.

She curls her fingers a little more and moves a little faster. The flow of cum becomes stronger, and Yunah can't stop the groan that leaves her. "Fuck." Moka's body is thrashing, she's whining and whimpering, and then it sprays a little, her cum, squirting from her and soaking her hand, her arm, the sheets. It leaks and sprays, it's the hottest thing she's ever seen, and Moka's body is spasming. Her hips are bucking and the moans sound so pretty.

And then Moka goes limp, she collapses onto the mattress and pants. She's staring up at the ceiling and her body is still trembling and shaking. Cum still leaking out and staining the sheets. All she sees are stars; pretty, beautiful stars.

"I'll never get tired of seeing you do that," Yunah murmurs as she pulls her soaked hand away.

"Shut up." Moka giggles and pulls her hands to her face. She covers her blushing face. "It's so embarrassing," she mumbles into her palms.

Yunah laughs, climbing from between her legs and lying next to her. Moka turns, lying on her side. "It's not," she whispers, "it's hot." Yunah runs her hand up Moka's bare thigh. Her hand slides to her ass and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Really hot."

[brainmuncher]

Visiting an old friend

The whole way to Bludhaven Danny kept on telling himself that surely he’d made a mistake. He knew he could be impulsive sometimes but flying to Bludhaven on a rumor? He felt like he was a teenager all over again.

It’d been some dumb article he’d found while trying to focus on editing the design of a Fenton battery. It was a Bludhaven paper he’d forgotten to unsubscribe to that sent him a breaking news email. He used to eat up those papers, glad to have any way to see how his old friend was doing, but now it just felt suffocating to remember. He’d almost deleted it without even opening it, but some nagging feeling told him he should open it. He never would've expected to open it to a new blurry photo of a figure in blue, soaring above on the rooftops.

He barely got a couple of sentences into the article claiming that Nightwing could be back before he shot out of his apartment. Ever since that day when he watched invisibly as his coffin was laid in the ground he searched for Dick’s ghost. But no ghost this new could control their appearance that well. Colors were some of the hardest to control after all. So Dick could be… he really could be…

After that, the rest of the flight was much more nerve-wracking. He hadn’t ever met the other bats, but he knew that they could have some interesting rouges. Some kind of convoluted plan might have been behind all of this. Maybe someone was impersonating him? Or maybe some other blue vigilante has taken up Bludhaven… Was one of Dicks siblings taking over the Nightwing name? That last one was quickly shot down though. He saw how distraught the group was, he doubted if they would’ve even been able to touch the suit without breaking inside.

So all that led him to now, standing outside Dicks apartment building. Before they lost touch this was the place Dick told him he could go if he ever needed help. And seeing the lit-up rooms from the outside, Danny knew that at least someone had to have been there.

For the sake of normality, Danny decided to take the stairs within the building to Dicks floor. It definitely wasn’t because he was nervous or anything… it had nothing to do with that at all. Although the stairs seemed to reach the top quicker than he expected. 

He walked up to the apartment number that he was told about. A snarky ‘This house has gone 0 days without a pun’ welcome mat sat outside the door. The joke actually helped Danny calm down a bit, breathing in a deep breath of the slightly dusty hallway air before letting it out again. Without further ado, he rapped his knuckles on the hardwood door. Internally he winced at the loud noise. It was much later at night than any normal person would be awake. If someone was here and had a good sleep schedule then Danny probably just woke them up.

A few minutes passed by before his hearing picked up movement in the apartment. One part of him jumped in excitement, while the other sank with anxiety. Was that Dick? Or was it one of his siblings? Damn, Danny should have gone through with this invisibly, that way if it is one of the siblings he won’t have to face them. But it was much too late for that now, he knew that there had to be at least one camera facing him right now. Maybe he can just pretend to be lost? But then why would he climb up so many floors just to ask for directions? He really should’ve thought this through…

Before he could sink any lower into his panic the door let out a click of a lock. Momentarily frozen, he watched as the door slithered open without so much as a creak. To his amazement, the Dick Grayson stood staring back. He looked tired and was dressed in comfortable civilian clothes, but it was Dick. Before anything could be said Dicks eyes went down to look into Danny’s. His eyebrows creased in confusion, no doubt surprised by the random visit.

“Danny?” Dick questioned, his voice sounding a bit rough around the edges.

Danny couldn’t help the disbelieving smile from creeping up on his face.

“Hey Dick,” He spoke, his grin never leaving his face. “I’ve really missed you.”

A small breathy laugh of shock left Dicks lips as he looked down at Danny. He loosened his stance at the door, seeming to relax now that he knew who was there. Danny couldn’t help but feel bad at the scare he must have given the other. 

“I hadn’t thought we’d be seeing each other again. It’s been…” 

Years, Danny finished in his head. We haven’t seen each other in years.

They initially met on the streets funnily enough. Danny had been on the run from the GIW and Dick had been freshly fired from Robin and kicked out of the manor. Not that either one knew that much of each other at first. Danny had been hiding in a warm corner of a building when Dick bumped into him trying to find a warm place to stay as well. Danny offered for him to stay, not seeing any danger in letting someone around his age stay with him. After that things got revealed slowly, like Dick realizing that Danny wasn’t just homeless, he was hiding. And Danny noticing the odd skills that Dick had and the way the other held himself back in other situations. Slowly their secrets were shared with each other… and they found that they didn’t mind.

Eventually, they drifted apart though. Jazz and his friends finally found a way to create him a safe identity and eventually, he enrolled himself in college, deciding to take a break from Phantom for a while. Dick ventured out and created the Titans, even forging a new hero identity for himself as Nightwing. They slowly just stopped talking to one another after that. Not out of malice or anything, but just because they got busy. Life took over. It was only when a life was taken away, that Danny frantically tried to find out what happened to his friend.

But now that he’s here in front of him… He’s noticing the same things he’d seen from when they were on the streets. Dick had bags under his eyes like he was watching the candle burn at both ends and doing nothing to stop it. His clothes weren’t just baggy, they were unwashed. There was a faint toothpaste drop on his shirt that had been attempted to be rubbed off… but to no avail. His hair was shiny with unwashed grease and grime. And his face… He didn’t look like he was eating enough.

Like a truck had hit him, Danny suddenly found himself much less happy than he was before. Something was wrong with his friend. And if the crystae around the grave that Nightwing was supposedly buried were any indication… then… 

Danny straightened his stance subconsciously. It seems like he was due a serious conversation with the other.

“Can I come in? I’d rather not have this kind of conversation in the hall,” Danny asked awkwardly, looking around himself as if there was another person that he could see.

To Danny's concern, Dick’s body tensed up at the prospect of letting him in. He swore he saw Dick grimace at that for a split moment before a plastered-on smile was on his face. Nonetheless, Dick opened the door with much less bravado than he would’ve years ago and waved him in.

“Welcome to my abode,” he tried to joke, but the tone felt forced.

Danny didn’t understand why the other had looked that way until he walked through the doorway. While he may be no Kryptonian with insane super everything, he did have enhanced senses. And every single one of those senses went off like a bomb when he walked into the apartment. There were dirty dishes and clothes haphazardly left around collecting mold and mildew. He could see a portion of the Nightwing suit stuffed into a corner like Dick had tried to hide it from his sight. There were more than a few bottles of soda and coffee mugs spread across the room, some carrying a scent that Danny could live without. Then there was a shattered photo face down on the side of the room, glass still spread around the frame like a horrific halo. 

But the worst was probably the energy of liminal surrounding the whole place. The emotional energy within it was heavy, grief and desperation covering every inch. Everything just screamed pain pain PAIN PAIN-

Danny had to close his eyes, steeling himself against immediately answering the cry. It went against his very core to go against the cry for help but he knew he’d only make things worse if he dived straight in. Dick wasn’t one to accept help easily. He’d shown that multiple times in his various rants about Bruce’s attempts to help as Robin. Instead, he had to go about this differently.

“Man, you almost outrank me in the messy department,” Danny tried to joke instead.

He turned to look at Dick who finished locking his apartment back up against intruders. Hopefully, his eyes weren’t glowing from the intense cries his core was trying to fight against. Dick seemed to attempt to go with the jab, his smile not looking all there.

“I doubt that. I'm not the one who lost his phone and found it in his shin,” Dick replied, settling himself further into the apartment. 

Danny scoffed, waving his hand in the air like he could physically wipe away the comment. Slowly they started to migrate to where the couch was. There were blankets and pillows at the end like Dick would fall asleep there. Judging by the open case files on the table in front of it, he didn't sleep on purpose. 

“I actually keep it in my arm now. Much more convenient,” Danny winked, hopping on the couch and letting himself bounce on the spring underneath. “Although I do keep everything else in my haunt. I can make little portals now!”

Without further notice, Danny opened one of the said portals with his hands. As he hoped, although in any other circumstance, he normally wouldn't, a group of blob ghosts were near his things. A couple of them filed through the gap, chirping up at him. However, that sense of play quickly left them as they felt the energy around the place. Silently they flew away, off to do what they do best. 

Danny saw a twitch of a real smile for a second on Dicks face. Although it was quickly shut down like a sour memory. Like he was trying to escape it, Dick joined him on the couch, sitting a whole cushion away. 

“Should I be worried about them?” Dick motioned his chin towards the silent blobs making their way into his things.

Danny waved them off, still playing into his old impulsivity. He wasn't nearly as bad as he was as a teenager, but Dick didn't have to know that yet. Dick gave a skeptical look at him, watching as one of the blob ghosts swallowed one of the dirty cups whole.

“They're like bottom feeders in a fish tank. At most, you'll just find less dirt around. At the least… you might gain a cuddle buddy,” Danny hummed, watching the same blob from before sneeze and drop a perfectly polished cup back out.

At that, Danny could see Dick turn to look at him in his peripheral vision. Turning to join him in looking right at one another he could see Dick staring at him. Dick held a look on his face that Danny couldn’t uncover. His eyes wandered over Danny’s face like he was searching for something. But the rest remained perfectly blank. It reminded Danny of when they were still teens, trying to see if they could trust one another. Dick had given a similar look then before he'd nodded and sat down to talk. Hopefully this time it'll be no different. 

Although, Danny doesn't know how to feel when Dicks face shuts down a little. He can feel the exhaustion in the air. Somehow he feels like he just failed whatever Dick was searching for.

“Danny, why are you really here?” Dick asked finally.

The question was so out of the blue, and the answer so obvious. Danny couldn’t help the way his head tilted in confusion, not understanding why such a thing had to be asked. This wasn’t at all how he had planned for their conversation to go. He had wanted to keep things light so that the emotions wouldn’t make Dick clam up… or lash out. His next words need to be chosen carefully…

“Because I was concerned. One of my good friends just came back from death and I needed to make sure you were ok. Dying isn't an easy thing to process,” Danny spoke carefully, his own experience trickling into his mind.

The words seemed to make Dick even more defensive. It was exactly the thing Danny had been trying to avoid. But despite everything his efforts still led him to this moment. Dick had his guard up, his eyes glaring into Danny’s core.

“Well I'm alive,” Dick spoke with terseness, “so why are you still here?”

“Because I care about you,” Danny reiterated, his confusion turning over into concern. “Dick, you died. That type of thing sticks with you. I'm not about to leave you to deal with that alone.”

Dick scoffed. He readjusted himself on the couch, sliding a bit farther from Danny. At this point, he was almost leaning on the edge. The physical representation of the distance between them hurt more than Danny was willing to admit. He hadn’t had Dick run from him before.

“Ignoring me for years is one hell of a way to show it,” Dick bit back.

A wave of annoyance hit Danny from the comment, but he instead closed his eyes and ignored it. Dick used to do this constantly when they were young. He'd use a healing mental wound to pick at to bring the other person away from his own hurt. Except Dick made the mistake of using it too many times on Danny in the past. He was old enough now to stop and learn from what he was trying.

Letting out a breath of air, Danny looked up into Dicks eyes. He could feel the pain all around him. The wails of someone touched by death echo all around. This wasn't something he could let go. No matter how much Dick tries to push him away, he isn’t going to go anywhere.

“Dick, I'm not asking you to tell me what happened… or even how you came back. I would know more than anyone how painful it can be to relive those memories. I'm just asking for you to let me stay and help you. You're not okay.”

If Danny's words made an impact on Dick, he sure as hell didn't show it. He looked away from Danny’s eyes, instead staring at something far off. His movements seemed almost robotic. Like there was some kind of memory playing in his head that Danny couldn’t see.

“Whoever said I died? I went undercover Danny. Nothing happened. Nothing to talk about.” Dick spoke with a scarily devoid tone of voice, almost like he was reciting someone else.

Danny couldn’t stop the scoff from coming out of his mouth. Dick looked his way again, seeming to be surprised at the action. As if he could simply lie his way out of death. Danny tried the denial shtick. You can only tell yourself it was nothing for so long before you realize that not breathing in your sleep is probably a sign. 

“Dick I saw your grave. I don't know the details because I wasn't exactly invited, but I saw the crystae flowers blooming around the dirt. Those only bloom around memorials for the dead,” Danny explained carefully, watching as Dick looked more and more like he'd panic. “Even now I can feel death's touch on you. Your place is soaked in liminal energy… I can feel that you're in pain.”

Danny was a little hesitant to reveal that last bit but knew that Dick would pick up on it eventually. Especially with Danny sticking around, that liminality would only get stronger. That's just how ectoplasm is. It won't stick onto a healthy person unless they've already been exposed to it. Depending on how long Dick had been dead, it might be more attracted to him.

Although now Danny couldn’t help but feel awful about it as he saw Dick flounder. He at least took his time in coming to terms with his death, he should've known an emotionally repressed bat wouldn't be able to handle it all at once. Danny tried to reach out a hand, as something for Dick to physically hold onto to stay in the present. But in a moment of fear, Dick slapped it away. He jumped up from his spot on the couch, never looking at the same spot for more than a couple of seconds. 

“Dick I'm sor-” Danny tried to apologize but Dick started to do a panicked angry rambling right over him. 

“No! It doesn't count. I didn’t die. My heart only stopped for a couple of minutes. I was fine. Everything is fine!” He tried to reason to himself, his pacing taking a hysterical turn.

Danny winced at that. It doesn't matter how long you die. Ectoplasm doesn't care about that, only that you have some kind of exposure to it. Even in the first seconds of death you already create the energy for ectoplasm in the body. How much was created, and how much was in the air already, is what determines if you become a ghost. It's a natural part of life.

“Dick please,” Danny began again, but was stopped by Dicks piercing stare.

“I didn't die, Danny. I didn't die because that would mean he was right and I can't-” 

Dick let out a noise somewhere between a gasp for air and a dry sob. It tore at Danny's core to hear but considering how Dicks reaction to the last time he tried to reach out went, he stayed in place. One of the blob ghosts must have felt his pain, rushing over and chirping into Dicks chest. It caught the other off guard long enough to stop and take a few ragged breaths of air. The blob continued its chirping assault of cuddling into Dicks chest while the other refused to look at Danny. But in that moment Danny couldn’t have felt any more thankful for the blobs and didn't mind if Dick needed a moment. So they sat there for a moment, Dick sitting in his emotions and Danny waiting for him to calm down. 

The air was charged with a tone of sorrow. It was the kind that Danny was all too familiar with. It was the kind that left you feeling that there was no chance for your life to be happy again. The kind where everything felt like it had fallen apart all around you with no hope of it being repaired. It tore at Danny’s heart that Dick of all people was left to feel this way. Where were all the people that should be here supporting him? Where was his family in all of this? Surely Danny can’t be the only one to see the pain Dick is in.

“How…”

Danny looked up at Dick who seemed to be at a loss of what to say. He wasn’t looking up at him at all, only absentmindedly playing with the blob curled against his chest. 

“How did you get over it?” Dick spoke again, now looking up at Danny with an unsure gaze. “How can you just go on with your life without it constantly playing in the back of your head?”

Danny pursed his lips, knowing that his answer wasn’t one that Dick would like. Just at the action alone, he could see the little hope in the other's eyes die out. He once again turned his head to the blob ghost. With a gentle hand, Dick pets the back of the ghost's body.

“I’ve never gotten over my death. With help from my friends and sisters, I was able to accept it and heal from it… but I can never forget it,” Danny spoke solemnly.

He couldn’t help but notice the way Dicks petting movements momentarily paused at the mention of his support. It sent an alarm of concern through Danny. While he was here he couldn't believe that things could get so bad around here. There was just too much time in the layers of sadness and grime for this to be new. So why hasn't anyone tried to stop it and help? There was a disturbing painting being made before his eyes. For the sake of the heroes on this planet, he sure hopes his suspicion is wrong.

“But I promise you, Dick, that this is not the end. It might not seem like it, but things will get better,” Danny promised, something he didn’t take lightly. “I will be here to do everything I can to help you heal.”

Dick didn’t say anything back for a long time. He simply played with the blob on his chest, flicking its tail side to side in between his fingers. The blob certainly didn’t seem to mind, blubbering little chirps to itself. Neither did Danny, who could see that this was a bit too much at once for Dick. 

“Are you still retired?” Dick asked eventually, looking up at Danny with a begging look.

It was one that Danny could recognize. One that was asking for them to try and pretend that nothing was wrong. To give him time to break away from reality and think things over with himself. So Danny let the conversation lead off. It would just be more damaging than helpful to continue on this path. So, conceding to Dicks wordless pleas, Danny let it go.

“Technically. But I wouldn’t mind going back out again if it means I can work with the great Nightwing,” Danny smiled, hoping to bring back the light atmosphere of before.

It seemed to work if the small smile that Dick gave was any indication. Danny hadn’t realized how happy he would be to see a real, albeit small, smile from the other again. Giving a last pat on the blob ghost's head, Dick walked over to where half of the Nightwing suit was discarded.

“Then I hope you still have your spirit,” Dick quipped back, stepping away towards a hallway. “Cause I won’t be going easy on you old man.”

Danny scoffed at the old nickname, jumping off the couch in fake offense. Although it was much too late to say anything about it before Dick scampered down the hall. He could hear a door open and close, signaling Dick is putting his suit on. Danny doesn’t envy the suit that Dick has to put on. Who would’ve thought that putting on a skin-tight suit might take someone a bit?

Luckily Danny didn’t have to even lift a finger. Letting out a breath he let the cold of his core take over, feeling a rush of weightlessness hit him. Knowing that he still had plenty of time to wait for Dick, Danny turned and opened another temporary portal. This time he had opened it directly to his keep, spotting Fright Knight in the distance.

“Frighty,” Danny called into the portal, half laughing to himself as the said knight nearly jumped. “I need a favor from you.”

After years of beating up multiple ghosts, quite a few of the citizens of the realms held respect for Danny. Honestly, it was refreshing to be able to just talk with half of the ghosts he used to fight. While he still held fights with them, cause it’s a form of affection apparently, things had cooled off for the most part. 

Which means it allowed Danny to get to know a lot of them better. This is how he found out that Fright Knight was cursed to serve the king. Thankfully with a little help from Jazz studying the books in Ghost Writers library and a surprisingly life-or-death adventure, Danny freed the ghost. This led to Fright Knight giving his servitude to Danny… which kinda undermines the whole point of the adventure in the first place but it wasn’t Danny’s place to judge.

“What can I do you for, Sir Phantom?” Fright Knight asked, getting closer to the portal and standing guard right outside it.

Oh yeah, and had he forgotten to mention the nickname? Yeah, it bothered Danny too. Although he’s learned that there's not much he can do to change it.

“There are some mortals I’d like to keep an eye on. They are the vigilantes of Gotham,” Danny proposed, making it a suggestion even though he knows Fright Knight will just do anything he says anyway. “Could you look over them for me?”

Fright Knight gave a deep bow before stepping through the portal. His extremely tall frame still absolutely dwarfed Danny in size. Which means it was kinda funny to watch him step through a portal that was sized for Danny's height. He's just so used to making a portal no bigger than that that he hadn’t even considered it.

“I would be honored,” The ghost replied, to which Danny nodded with a thankful smile.

“Thank you Frighty. I’ll check in with you every once in a while,”

And with those last words, Fright Knight nodded and disappeared. He tended to be less on the wordy side anyway.

Was it smart to send someone to spy on the bats? Probably not. But chances are, Dick isn’t going to say anything. Unfortunately, Dick had a mentality that he had to deal with things that are hurting him on his own. Whether from a sense of guilt or fear of not being enough, Dick would rather lead himself into the deep end than call for help. So to figure out why he’s been left so hauntingly alone, Danny is going to have to investigate. Thankfully just him going ghost had already scrambled Dicks security cameras, so the entire conversation wouldn’t be noticed.

The sound of a door closing took Danny out of his thoughts. He turned to the opening of the hallway, feeling himself smile at Dick. It’s been a very long time since he’s seen Dick in costume. The last time he saw the Nightwing suit in person it had honest-to-god tassels. He’s honestly really glad that Dick had changed the costume since then. This new suit in front of him was much more sleek. 

As he nodded to himself he could see Dick raising an eyebrow at him. He stood much more relaxed than before, a smile that didn't look entirely fake on his face.

“At least you’ve gained some sense of style after all this time,” Danny hummed, finding delight in Dicks scandalized gasp.

“I thought you loved the old costume!” Dick said, trying and failing to smother his amusement with an upset face.

Danny shrugged and folded his legs underneath him. It felt so easy to use his powers like this again. While he wasn’t exactly shy to use his powers normally, his range of them was muted in human form. As he hovered in place, he tilted his head teasingly at the other.

“Sorry, I was so busy staring at your chest that I missed what you were wearing,”

Dicks off guard laughter was the best thing Danny had heard in years.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Jealousy Looks Good on You

Notes: mentions of smoking! mentions of jealousy! drinking!

You weren’t expecting Wally to be here.

Then again, maybe you should have.

The party was already in full swing by the time you arrived, music thumping through the walls, the smell of cheap beer and too many different colognes thick in the air. People packed into every corner of the house, red cups in hand, laughing, shouting over the music.

You’d barely made it through the front door when you felt it—that prickling sensation creeping up your spine, like you were being watched.

And then, there he was.

Wally Clark, leaning against the wall near the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found. Instead, his dark eyes tracked your every move.

Your stomach flipped.

Your date—Ryan, sweet, safe, boring Ryan—didn’t seem to notice the sudden shift in atmosphere. He laced his fingers through yours, tugging you further inside. “Come on,” he grinned. “Let’s grab a drink.”

You hesitated, but nodded.

Wally didn’t look away.

Fifteen minutes later, you were perched on the arm of the couch, laughing at some story Ryan was telling. Or at least, pretending to laugh.

Because you could still feel him.

Every time you glanced up, Wally was there—lingering near the kitchen, posted up against the back wall, watching.

Your stomach twisted.

He was never this quiet at parties. Never this still.

Ryan’s hand landed on your knee, snapping you back to the conversation. “So,” he said, giving you a playful smirk, “why’d you finally say yes to going out with me?”

You forced a smile. “Figured I’d give you a chance,” you teased.

Before he could respond, a shadow fell over the couch.

Your heart stopped.

You didn’t even have to look up. You knew.

“Didn’t think you were coming tonight, sweetheart,” Wally drawled, his voice smooth, laced with something dangerous.

Ryan blinked. “Sweetheart?”

You knew Wally was trying to get a rise out of you. You knew he was doing this on purpose. And yet, your skin burned under his stare.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here,” Wally continued, tilting his head, a slow, smug smile finally curling on his lips.

You clenched your jaw. “Didn’t think I had to.”

Wally chuckled, low and slow. “Right. Of course.” His gaze dropped, sweeping over you, pausing on the way Ryan’s hand still rested on your knee.

And just like that, his smirk vanished.

Ryan cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Uh, do we—do we have a problem, or…?”

Wally finally looked at him. “Nah,” he said, too easily. “No problem.”

Ryan nodded, obviously unsure. “Cool, cool.” He turned back to you. “So, you were saying—”

Wally moved.

Not much. Not even close enough to touch you. But just enough to make his presence undeniable.

Just enough to make Ryan notice.

Just enough to make you hold your breath.

Your fingers curled into fists. “Wally.”

His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unreadable. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

Ryan sat up straighter. “Okay, man, seriously. What’s going on here?”

Wally smiled, but it was sharp, predatory. “Nothing. Just making sure my good friend here is enjoying herself.”

You wanted to strangle him.

Ryan exhaled. “Right. Well, we were.”

Wally hummed. “Yeah?” He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You havin’ fun, sweetheart?”

Your stomach flipped.

Ryan frowned. “Dude, do you mind?”

Wally looked at him, slow and deliberate. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached out—fingers just barely grazing your wrist before you yanked it away.

Ryan noticed.

He wasn’t stupid.

His mouth parted slightly, realization dawning. “Oh,” he muttered. “Oh.”

You could feel Wally’s smirk without even looking.

Heat rushed to your face. “Wally. Go away.”

Wally exhaled through his nose, finally—finally—stepping back. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He flashed a grin, turning toward Ryan. “Good luck, man.”

And just like that, he walked off.

Ryan let out a breath. “Okay,” he said slowly, looking at you. “What the hell was that?”

You rubbed a hand over your face. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

You found Wally outside, leaning against his truck, flicking a cigarette between his fingers.

“You are such an asshole,” you snapped.

He barely glanced up. “Nice to see you too, sweetheart.”

You stomped over. “You just embarrassed me in front of my date!”

Wally smirked. “Date?”

Your face burned. “Yes! My date!”

He hummed, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “Looked more like a charity case to me.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious right now?”

He shrugged, exhaling smoke. “I mean, come on, sweetheart. We both know you weren’t into him.”

You clenched your fists. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Wally chuckled, shaking his head. “Please. If you actually liked him, you wouldn’t have let me get under your skin so easy.”

Your stomach twisted.

Because he was right.

And you hated that he was right.

“You’re jealous,” you accused, crossing your arms.

Wally tilted his head, his smirk sharpening. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice lower now. “I am.”

You weren’t expecting that.

He stepped closer, flicking his cigarette away. “Hated watchin’ you sit with that guy,” he murmured, eyes flicking over your face. “Hated him thinking he had a chance with you.”

Your heart pounded.

“Wally—”

“You wanna know why?” he interrupted, voice quiet.

You swallowed. “No.”

He ignored you.

“Because that should’ve been me sitting next to you.”

Your breath caught.

Wally’s hands slid into his pockets, his expression unreadable. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said softly.

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because you couldn’t.

And he knew it.

Wally exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And then, before you could even process what just happened, he turned—walking away, leaving you standing there, heart in your throat, knowing nothing between you would ever be the same.

[sturnioz]

you ask mechanic!matt to teach you how to fix his car, and it's not as easy as you thought it would be.

"you... y'want to learn how to fix my car?" matt repeats, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and amusement as he rolls out from beneath the car on the creeper. his arms and hands are smeared with grease and oil, and the corner of his lips pulls into a crooked grin as he looks up at you.

it didn't sound that ridiculous when you first said it, but hearing him repeat it now makes you frown just a little, and you tilt your head, planting your hands on your hips in defiance.

"i see you do it all the time, and i thought it'd be fun to learn," you said, lifting your chin with a hint of pride. "plus, i think i'll be good at it—better than you, even."

matt snorts, a breathy laugh escaping as he pushes himself up from the creeper, wiping his filthy hands on his already ruined jeans, giving you a lazy once-over. you're standing there in one of your cute t-shirts and a pair of denim shorts—your current summer outfit for this sweltering heat.

"better than me, huh?" he finally says, rubbing a hand across his jaw with an exaggerated hum. "big talk for someone who's never touched an engine before."

"i've seen you touch engines, though," you counter smartly, a grin plastered across your face like you've already won this argument. "how hard could it be?"

matt grins back at you, and he nods toward your outfit. "you sure you wanna work on a car wearin' that, sweetheart?"

you cross your arms over your chest, "i'm not afraid of a little oil and grease."

"a little?" he repeats as he leans casually against the hood of his car, "y'think it's just gonna be a little? look at me." he gestures to his grease-streaked arms, the smudges along his jawline, and his jeans, which are more oil-stained than denim at this point.

"i'll..." you pauses for a moment, before tilting your chin up again. "i'll be fine."

"alright, sweetheart..." he hums softly, licking his bottom lip. "but the second you're all covered in grease 'n you start screamin' about how it won't come off, m'gonna remind you that you're 'fine'."

you stick your tongue out at him in defiance. "i won't scream."

matt's grin doesn't falter as he grabs his toolbox, holding it so effortlessly before handing it over to you. but the second it lands in your hands, you huff softly, the weight straining in your arms.

it's heavier than you expected, but you bite your tongue and straighten your posture, pretending it's nothing.

no way are you letting him see you struggle—not when you're trying to prove you can handle this.

it should be easy. so easy. peace of cake.

...it's not easy.

it's hell.

you're filthy. your shirt is ruined—completely soaked with sweat and streaked with black smudges of oil and grime. your hands are a mess, and you're pretty sure there's smudges all over your face that you can't even wipe off because your hands are too disgusting.

your back aches from laying on the creeper, the hard surface digging into you every time you shift. your arms are screaming at you from turning the wrench over and over and over again, and you're absolutely positive you've chipped at least one nail—maybe two or three.

it's unbearably hot under the car, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and makes the air feel heavy. you can barely hear matt's voice over the sound of your misery as he crouches nearby, casually rattling off instructions after instructions like this is the easiest thing in the world.

"and don't touch that—it's still hot," he says, his voice muffled as you squint up at the car, trying to figure out which that he's even talking about.

"how the FUCK do you do this?" you finally snap, your voice echoing from beneath the car.

matt's face appears on your left, upside-down, and far too amused for your liking. he's holding a bottle of water, taking a sip before he quirks a brow at your outburst. "y'alright down there, sweetheart?"

"no. i'm not alright!" you whine, flinging the wrench down beside you. it clatters loudly against the concrete floor, the sound echoing in his home garage. you wince at the noise, but your frustration refuses to dim. "you do this every day?! and for fun, too?"

"i do this 'cos it's my job," he corrects with a smirk. "the funs just a bonus—i enjoy workin' on cars."

you glare at him, your pout deepening. before you can fire back another compliant, he disappears from view. for a brief moment, you wonder where he's gone—until you feel something.

you're suddenly being dragged out from under the car by your ankles, matt's grip firm as he pulls you out with ease. you come to a stop with a clumsy thud, blinking up at him in stunned disbelief as he grins down at you.

you sit up, your arms trembling slightly from the strain of holding yourself upright, and matt doesn't even try to hide his laughter as it spills out of him in a warm, throat chuckle.

he reaches down, grabbing your hands with his own and tugging you to your feet. you stumble, but manage to steady yourself, standing there with a dramatic pout as he grabs a rag from the table.

you take the opportunity to glance down at yourself, and the sight is... disgusting.

you look awful.

you are completely covered in oil and grease—your shirt, your shorts, your arms and your legs. it looks like you willingly rolled in engine grease.

you keep your pout firmly in place, even as matt tilts your chin up slightly to press the damp rag to your cheek, wiping away the mess staining your face with care.

"i think i broke my back..." you mumble pitifully. "and my arms. and my spirit."

"poor baby," matt hums softly as he tosses the rag aside, using his fingers to gently brush the damp strands of little hairs away from your sweat-slicked face.

"it's not funny." you complain, but it's hard to sound convincing when your voice is this whiny. you exhale deeply, your shoulders slumping as you look up at him in defeat. "okay, maybe i'm not better at this than you. you win. go ahead. say 'i told you so' before i collapse."

"i don't need to say it," he murmurs, shaking his head as his grin softens slightly. "you already know."

"you're insufferable."

"and you look kinda hot," he shoots back without zero hesitation, his eyes flitting down. "covered in grease 'n all. i like it." you're caught off guard by the unexpected compliment, but he doesn't give you time to respond as he grabs your hand. "c'mon, sweetheart. let's get you cleaned up before you start cryin'."

"i'm not going to cry," you grumble, but you let him pull you along anyway, lacing your fingers through his. as he leads you toward the door, you glance up at him, the corner of your mouth twitching into a little grin, and you wiggle your eyebrows. "you think i'm hot?"

© STURNIOZ

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — golden hours, golden hearts : chapter 034 !

the warm scent of something savory filled your apartment, mingling with the soft hum of the stovetop. you leaned against the counter, watching as sae moved effortlessly in your kitchen, sleeves rolled up, focused on whatever he was making.

"a special meal, just for the special lady," he had said when you asked what he was doing. you hadn't pressed further, just enjoying the rare sight of him doing something so domestic.

"i didn't know you could cook," you mused, propping your chin on your hand.

sae glanced at you, unimpressed. "i'm not useless."

you laughed. "yeah? never said you were, though."

he didn't respond, just plated the dish. it was something simple, but it smelled incredible. setting it in front of you, he nudged the chopsticks toward you.

"eat."

you picked up the chopsticks, taking a bite, without much expectation, but the moment the flavors hit your tongue, your brows lifted in surprise. "this is actually good."

"obviously," he scoffed, but there was the tiniest twitch at the corner of his lips. was he pleased?

you rolled your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest had nothing to do with the food. there was something oddly endearing about seeing him like this. relaxed, in your space, cooking for you.

"alright, chef itoshi," you teased, taking another bite. "you've officially impressed me."

his eyes flickered to you, acting uninterested, but you caught the way his fingers drummed idly against the counter, like he was holding back a reaction. “took you long enough,” he muttered.

you smiled. “so, what’s the occasion? feeling generous today?”

he tilted his head. “you snuck out of the lv fashion show just to hang out with me. i figured i should at least feed you.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “in my own apartment? wasn't this your idea? is this your way of saying thank you?”

“sure,” he said, though his tone was too casual, like he didn’t want to confirm or deny it outright. typical sae.

you shook your head, amused, and nudged the plate toward him. “well, since you cooked, you should eat too.”

he raised an eyebrow, hesitating for just a moment before finally sitting down next to you. without a word, he picked up his own chopsticks and took a bite, chewing slowly.

but you caught it, that slight nod of approval, the way he barely hummed under his breath.

you smiled. “good?”

he shot you a flat look. “obviously.”

the two of you ate in a quiet rhythm, the occasional clink of chopsticks against plates the only sound breaking the stillness of your apartment.

it was… nice. surprisingly so.

you hadn’t expected to feel this comfortable with him, but something about tonight felt different.

and then, without realizing it, you found yourself just watching him.

the way his lashes cast faint shadows against his skin, the way he moved with that same effortless precision he had on the field. even something as simple as eating. he made it look composed. but here, in the glow of your kitchen, with the faint scent of food lingering in the air, he seemed more human. less of the unreachable prodigy the world saw him as, and more of just sae.

and that thought lingered a little too long.

because if you let yourself think about it, really think about it, you’d have to admit that maybe, just maybe, you had a crush on him.

after dinner, the two of you ended up on the couch, the weight of the night settling into something easy, something almost peaceful. the only sounds were the faint hum of the city outside and the quiet rhythm of your breathing. sae sat beside you, legs stretched out, his arm lazily draped along the back of the couch. his presence was familiar, but for some reason, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

you tried to ignore it.

you tried to focus on the random movie playing on your tv, even though neither of you were really watching.

you tried to pretend that your heart didn’t pick up its pace every time he shifted just the slightest bit closer.

“you’re quiet,” he noted, breaking the silence.

you blinked, turning your head to look at him. “huh?”

“you’ve been staring at the screen for the past twenty minutes, but i don’t think you’ve actually processed a single thing.”

you scoffed. “that’s rich, coming from you.”

he exhaled a small laugh, barely there, but you caught it. when you glanced at him again, you noticed the way his eyes lingered on you.

something inside you tensed.

“do you ever overthink things?” you found yourself asking.

sae raised an eyebrow. “no.”

you sighed. “figures.”

a smirk tugged at his lips, but before you could roll your eyes at him, he shifted suddenly, his hand moving too fast and too smooth and flicked your forehead.

you jerked back, startled. “ow, what the hell?”

“you’re thinking too much,” he said simply, as if that justified the unprovoked attack.

“you-” you were about to throw a pillow at him, but then he laughed again, barely a breath of amusement, and suddenly, all your frustration disappeared.

because hell, that laugh did something to you.

maybe it was the exhaustion. or the fact that the walls you had carefully built between you and him had slowly been wearing down all night. or maybe it was because, for once, it didn’t feel like you had to overanalyze everything. it was just the two of you, here, now. and that realization made something snap inside you.

so when you turned to him fully, you didn’t think twice before shoving at his shoulder, only for him to grab your wrist, pulling you toward him with little effort.

you barely had time to react before his lips were on yours.

your breath hitched as he kissed you, his fingers tightening around your wrist for half a second before releasing it, letting you make the choice to stay, to kiss him back. and God, you did. you leaned in, your hands finding his shirt, gripping it like you needed to hold onto something.

chapter 033 > here > chapter 035

taglist is open ! <3

back to golden hours, golden hearts

a/n: i, in fact, did not cook smth tmrw like i said a few days ago so here's an apology kiss i guess ...

taglist: @darling-dearesttt @ffleurist @yuukiririix @sof888a @beepbopzlorp @luvrrin @narcjsistx @catukin @megumismyhusband @morgyyyyyyy @levihanmyotp @kaz-0e @nensi @vaelils @loverryxx @kunascutie @swagkittybear @alexiaray @kaidostwin @pookiei-bookie @syarc0re @vayahatesu @yangx2isawhore @pinkfqiry @treeguzzler @shumeow-h @modxbea @90s-belladonna @rory-cakes @sapph1r3x @yuiearyi @pctterheadd @thecallofmedusa @whisperofae @belovedfedya @anqelkoz @yukari1k @dontmindtheevie @pookalicious-hq @pan-kojiwa @spookysoowpprince @mivqko @chuuyalvover @viviinpt @h1sllvr @luvvmae @renchai @yourlocaleffy @x3nafix @saeglazer

[sibsteria]

pls for the love of god write more spencer. ur writing is everything

The difference between love and pretending…

Spencer Agnew x fem!Reader

a/n ask and ye shall receive

Masterlist

Warnings/Content: This be a short one, little bit of angst, pining, kissing, cheating, alcohol

Summary: He dated your friend, granted she treated him like dirt and you, doesn’t that break some kind of girl code? But he stood there, oh so beautiful and you just…

New! Spencer Agnew Prompt Series!

Prompt: “I can’t stop thinking about the last time we kissed.” “You say you don’t love me but you kissed me back like you did.”

Flashback

The living room was heavy with the heartbreak of your best friend and colleague, for that matter. A stupid romcom blaring colour from the tv that he swore he didn’t like in the dim light room, wine drunk to high heaven, scattered takeaway containers around the table and a big big box of chocolate.

Having just broken up with your friend, catching her kissing one of her guy friends when she thought she was alone, you were here to help him feel better. You didn’t know if it was working, but you hope it was, you hated seeing him like this- not because you had a crush or anything. You set them up together so really it’s your own fault, your own fault that you had to watch the two people you love in this world kiss over and over, your own fault he sat here upset.

The tension grew awkward after he spoke, “I should have dated you instead.” He laughed, but in a sort of self deprecation way. And the alcohol that cling to your brain made the case even worse as you blurted out- “Maybe…” Your eyes met his, you know it was wrong- he was going through heartbreak and he had belonged to your friend not six hours ago and…

He leaned down, unsure of what he was actually doing right now, and sure enough your lips met. It turned sloppy and messy, your lipstick smearing over his face as you gripped each others clothing.

What were you doing?

You felt embarrassed at yourself, he was hurting and you just let him kiss you like that, how selfish can you be?

Soon after you had pulled away, you made an excuse and left, you can’t do this to him or to yourself. You didn’t want to stay and become a rebound girl for the man you were pretty sure you loved.

You didn’t talk about it after that night, the rooms went silent and stuffy when it was just the two of you, neither of you knowing what to say.

Both of you tried to build your friendship back up, eventually getting to a point where you could exchange niceties when working, but in the back of your head you were sort of regretting what happened.

Until….

“Can I talk to you for a second…alone?” You paused as you packed up to leave, it was getting late and you didn’t want to bother the clean up crew.

“Um, yeah, sure- is everything okay?” You ask, your eyes darted anywhere but his face.

“No.” He put it plain and simple, it had been at least four months since that night, was he still angry at you?

“Oh…” Was all you could say, waving goodbye to your desk buddies before it left just the two of you.

“I can’t stop thinking about the last time we kissed.” He huffed out, swiping some hair out of his eyes.

“Ah…what do you mean?” You knew this was coming eventually, it was stupid to think it wouldn’t.

“I can’t stop thinking about it, about you…” You blink at his words, about you?

“About me?” Your breathing became a little heavier as the office was silent and still.

“About how much I want to kiss you again…” You gasped quietly, was he on drugs?

“Spencer…”

“I get it, if you don’t feel the same way but…I kind of know you do…” He trails off, looking a little awkward.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” You panicked a little, how did he know about your feelings? Was this a trick? You betted on Ian spilling the beans, of course he did!

“I feel like I used you that night, the night we kissed because…I knew you had feelings for me and I just…wanted to feel like someone loved me.” He’s upset at his own words, at himself for taking advantage of you and your feelings for him. You had gotten it all wrong, he wasn’t angry at you. You stayed calm even thought you felt utterly embarrassed that he had known about your feelings for so long.

“I…thought I was using you…because of how I felt and I thought I was being selfish letting you kiss me when I knew you loved her.” Her being your friend, of course.

“Let me kiss you again…” He stepped towards you, a fire in his eyes.

“What? Why?” You don’t want your feelings played around like that.

“Because…I, I like you back.” He softens at you, “Since that night, since the kiss, it’s like you messed with me…and I can’t stop thinking about you.” This can’t be true, it was just convenience.

“Spencer, no, you don’t. It’s just-“

“Yes…I do, I know the difference between love and pretending.” He was a smart man, of course he knew, not that you fully believed it.

“Okay, well…” You couldn’t do this to your friend, could you? You had only just patched things up after being angry at her for so long for breaking his heart, how would it look now if you just swooped him up? “I can’t…because she-“

“Forget about her, I stopped thinking about her the moment our lips touched and it’s not like she doesn’t deserve this…you shouldn’t care about her feelings more than your own.” Why was he so right?

“How are you so sure I love you, still? I don’t.” You had it coming as soon as you said that, your voice wavering because of the dishonesty in it. You couldn’t do this to her-

He scoffed, putting his hands up and cupping your jaw before pulling you into the most phenomenal kiss of your life, it happened quickly and you followed suit- kissing him back with the same passion.

His hands tangled in your hair as you came up to steady yourself on his chest, it went on for a while before he pulled away- a sick grin on his features.

“You say you don’t love me but you kissed me back like you did.” His eyes are shining as you can’t find anything to deny.

“I…” You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, you didn’t know what to say.

“One date? If we aren’t a match then that’s the end…but I don’t see that happening, I really, really want this to work with you. Don’t think about what she might think or say. We were friends for much longer and…you don’t need someone like her in your life” She did treat you terribly, you were always so kind to people and they took it for granted more often than not.

“You know, you are really stubborn.” You suppressed a smile, looking at him with a glint of joy in your eyes.

“Tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at 6? They do discounts on the bowling place down the street after 8, we could get some dinner…or something like that?” That sounded amazing, a chill first date.

“Perfect.” You bite your bottom lip, smiling.

“You won’t regret it.” He leans in to kiss your cheek.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[eeerrrrewsd]

Losing Game

Jason Todd x Reader

(Based on I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski)

Jason Todd had always been a losing bet.

You knew it the moment you met him—the way he carried himself like he had already lost everything worth holding onto. He wasn’t the kind of person people chose. Not for long, at least.

But you did.

You chose him, over and over, even when it hurt.

He was standing on the rooftop when you found him, cigarette smoke curling in the cold night air, the faint glow of Gotham’s neon lights casting sharp shadows across his face.

“You didn’t come back last night,” you said, stepping closer.

Jason exhaled, tilting his head slightly but not turning to face you. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”

You scoffed. “That’s funny, Jay. Really.”

Silence stretched between you, tense and brittle.

“Where’d you go?” you asked, softer this time.

Jason sighed, finally looking at you. His eyes were tired, bloodshot, the kind of exhaustion that sleep wouldn’t fix. “You know where.”

Of course you did.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whispered.

Jason huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You say that like it’s a choice.”

“It is a choice,” you said, stepping forward, closing the space between you. “You don’t have to throw yourself into every fight, every damn war like you’re trying to die.”

Jason clenched his jaw, looking away. “What do you want me to do, huh?” His voice was sharp now, cutting through the cold air. “Sit around and do nothing? Pretend everything’s fine? Because it’s not.”

You felt it then—the weight of it all pressing down on him, the way it always did.

He never let himself rest. Never let himself believe he deserved to.

“I just want you to want to live, Jason.”

That was it. That was the truth.

Jason stared at you, his breath coming out in shaky exhales. “I don’t know how,” he admitted, voice so quiet it barely reached you.

Your chest ached.

You reached for him, hesitated for only a second before pressing your forehead against his, fingers curling into the leather of his jacket. “Then let me show you.”

He let out a trembling breath, his hands hovering over your waist like he wasn’t sure he should touch you, like he didn’t trust himself not to ruin this too.

But you didn’t let him pull away.

You never did.

Jason closed his eyes, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, gripping onto you like you were the only thing tethering him to the ground.

And maybe, just maybe, you were.

But you couldn’t hold onto him forever.

Jason Todd had always been a losing bet.

And yet, you kept placing your heart in his hands, hoping—just this once—you wouldn’t lose.

[pricegouge]

an increase of interest and sweet, encouraging asks and also these posts (i, ii) have led me to do the unthinkable: write a little extracurricular for haul, can you even believe it?

went in a bit of a different direction here. i've gotten a lot of asks about past victims and while i don't really wanna get too bogged down in the specifics of their time with the boys, i thought it might be fun to see how different price is from simon when he's hunting so. here's a different doll not knowing what's good for her.

cw: prostitution, coercion, kidnapping. implied murder. unedited cause i'm freaking out to be touching this again lmao. MDNI

You know something's wrong with him. Beyond the pale, beyond the knowledge you could never introduce him to your mother. That you're used to, well-versed at. It's something worse, something unsettling. something that clings to you long after he leaves, the very cells he sheds infecting, spreading.

Within and without.

You'll be like on of his soon if you're not careful - that pack of rabid dogs that follow him. It disturbs you, how easily you can see yourself among them sometimes, glinting eyes and too-sharp teeth. One more desert predator, runt of the pack and yet a par of it.

Better never to know. Better to leave it like this - small doses. Better to let him fuck you in a truck stop shower so you can scrub yourself clean after, pretend you remain unchanged by him. Ignore all the evidence suggesting otherwise, the undeniable ache and the trail of come he always leaves to trickle down your thigh.

You should know better, but it's hard to remember when his thick cock is driving up into you in one slow drag, splitting you open cruelly just to hear you cry about it.

He like them, your tears. Too much, probably, but you like the drag of his tongue on your cheek too, hot even in the tepid spray of hard water. You feel the rough scrape of his beard at your temple and wonder - is he actually infectious, or were you always predisposed? Was this something you were always capable of? Letting a customer add your services to their tab? Take you out back with their to-go bags and their travel-sized toiletries? You like to think nit, like to blame John and that strange quality of his, the way he can somehow manage to make you feel less-than and wanted for it all at once, sells you some unspoken promise of betterment if you just play along.

You sweat you know better, but you've said that before. It's how you wind up back here, always back here, his bulging bicep wrapped around your throat as he grunts in your ear.

He's pressed against your back as closely as he can be, so tight you imagine the runoff can't even slip between you. But that can't be right because he's slick against you, streams of soap finding their way down your spine through the follicles of his thick chest hair, coating your skin to let him work against you in slick, slow grinds. You can feel his belly settled against the small of your back, forcing you to arch your spine just so, let him fuck in deep to the very end of you, cock head leaking against your cervix.

He'd asked you if you were on some sort of contraceptive once, much too late for it to have mattered. You'd told yourself you wouldn't take his money again when you'd caught the look of disappointment on his face, but you'd told yourself a lot of things.

It's hard to feel shame, in the moment, at least. And maybe that's the worst part - the fact that you ache for him when he's away. Empty, hungry. But if there's something wrong with him that means there's something wrong with you, right? That means the long nights spent with your fingers stuffed in your cunt just wishing for something thicker are just as bad as this: bellied up against a dirty shower stall with a strange man's cock buried so deep inside you you're sure it'll take this time, that seed of doubt that makes you want to climb in his truck when he inevitable offers. Why settle for lot lizard when you could just be his?

Of course, he never phrases it like that, never admits he'll keep you. And maybe he won't but he'd take you Arkansas, maybe, where his plates are from. North, where he's headed tonight perhaps. Usually you see him returning form out West and you wonder… He doesn't have to keep you. You don't need to hear him say it. Cause whatever's wrong with him, it's catching.

But he doesn't ask, not when he's still panting like a bellows in your ear, rocking his hips against you aimlessly as he works you both through it. He doesn't ask when he slips free and immediately cups his callused palm against your cunt, groaning when he feels his own spend leaking onto his hand. He certainly doesn't ask when he makes you lick it clean, salt and the heavy tang of grease which Irish Springs will never fully cut through. You think maybe he'll ask when he goes to shove the money in your hand, as is his usual. But he doesn't, so you do, your own stomach acid boiling up your esophagus as you try (and fail) to keep the desperate edge out of your voice.

And John, well. You did know there was something wrong with him.

"What's is to you?" he grunts, hand snapping back out of your reach when you go to take the proffered money.

"But… you said -?"

"Know what I said. Don't worry, I'll take care of you," he soothes, a balm for the fear you hadn't even been able to voice. "Just… maybe it'll look different now?"

"How do you mean?" you hedge, and John steps closer, blots out the flickering overhead light. Behind him, the door to the shower room opens and rapidly closes, the soft pad of boots treading back down the hall confirming your would-be voyeur had wanted nothing to do with this scene.

At least your reputation remained undamaged.

"I mean. I'll keep you fed. Clothed. Keep you out of the elements. You really gonna make me pay on top of all that?"

"Oh," you wilt. "I guess not."

John's eyes crinkle when he grins at you encouragingly, that same deceptively endearing quality that had first drawn you to him all those months ago. He pulls you against himself, lets you bask in the warmth of his soft, furry chest as he continues to soothe your fears. "But don't worry, not gonna let you put yourself in a bind, hm? You still got something saved from my last visit, yeah? And if you ever need some more, we'll find you some work." He swats you on the ass before you can protest, leaning away to collect his flannel. "Now get dressed. Running behind schedule and I'm already gonna have to skip a stop in Oakley."

"That why you didn't take the time to stretch me open properly?" you ask, cheeky - testing your boundaries. You're pleasantly surprised when he just huffs a laugh, leans close to grown in your ear about how he'll never have to stretch you open again.

It's surreal following him out, ducking behind his broad frame to let him weather the stare of the would-be voyeur. John doesn't flinch so neither do you, head back to your post behind the till with the same confidence you've seen among his boys. A runt still maybe, but part of the pack now.

"Where're you off to?" John asks when he sees you slinking off in the wrong direction. You wait until the other driver disappears down the hall to unlock the register, grinning at your partner as you lift a few hundred from it.

"I know what 'some work' means," you say by way of explanation, and frown when it fails to earn any sign of chastisement.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, love," John warns instead, eyes rolling warily to the overhead security camera.

You wave him off, a loose fiver fluttering free of your fist. "Take this," you order, shoving the hills into his chest. More spill free but the ducks to collect them as you pull up the feed on the laptop behind the counter. "Retired truckers don't know much about security," you impart wisely.

"That so?" he drawls, voice rich with a humor you don't quite understand.

"Yeah, word to the wise - always have a live feed backed up to a separate, private location." to illustrate the importance of this, you cut the feed and then proceed to delete all evidence of the night's recording. It won't stop Roy, the owner, from knowing who's shift if was but it would keep John safe from all but that other driver who apparently already knew enough to keep his head down any way.

When you peel yourself away from the screen, John's eyeing you with a sort of appreciation that makes your tummy flip, a low simmer of excitement building just there, just where you feel him most when he's inside you. Infecting. Spreading. "Clever doll, you are," he praises as you step back around the counter. He hands you your loot back, now properly shuffled into a neat stack. "I'll have to remember that. Now go on out to your car and get what you need. I'll just be a minute, he says, nodding to a display of beef jerky like there's nothing of more value to him in the whole store.

It seems to take him forever deciding, but when he comes back the other trucker still hasn't left.

[undiagnosedcruelty]

The Cat Test

Pairing: bf!l.minho x GenderNeutral!reader

Summary: Because dating Minho means dating his cats, too.

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Genre: fluff, crackfic

Content Warnings: chaotic cats, fluff, established relationship.

Word Count: 923

A/N: I was craving fluff and chaos while writing this💗

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EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION ───NOTHING DIRECTLY RELATES TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

You had been dating Minho for a few weeks now, and tonight was finally the night.

Not a big, dramatic event. Not an elaborate date. Just… a cozy, peaceful night in. You had been mentally preparing for this—picturing the scene in your head like a Pinterest-worthy romantic moment. You’d both curl up under a blanket, Minho’s arm wrapped securely around you as some random movie played in the background. Maybe he’d absentmindedly run his fingers through your hair, and you’d pretend not to melt at how sweet he was.

Calm. Cute. Cuddly.

At least… that was the plan.

What you had not accounted for was the fact that Minho’s apartment was a certified war zone.

The moment you step inside, expecting warm lighting and a cozy couch, you are instead met with absolute, unfiltered chaos.

A blur of fur shoots past your legs with enough force to nearly knock you over. Something crashes in the next room. In the background, you hear the ominous scritch-scratch of claws against fabric, and when you look up—

Dori. Hanging from the curtains like a tiny, fluffy demon, his eyes locked onto yours with unsettling intensity. His tiny legs kick as if he’s about to drop down at any moment.

A reasonable person might leave.

A reasonable person might fear for their life.

But you are not reasonable.

You are a new partner, desperately trying to impress your boyfriend.

"Uh…" you start, carefully stepping inside. "...Should I be concerned?"

From the couch, Minho—completely unbothered by the madness—looks up at you with a lazy smirk, sipping his tea like he’s in a peaceful countryside cottage instead of a battlefield.

“They’re just saying hi,” he replies.

You cautiously take another step in, eyes flicking around as you assess the situation. It does not look safe.

Another loud thud echoes from the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable sound of something shattering.

"...Are you sure?"

Minho just shrugs. “Welcome to my world.”

Despite the growing fear that this would not, in fact, be a chill and relaxing evening, you make your way toward the couch, dodging an unidentified flying object (which you later realize was just a sock Doongie had launched into the air).

You barely sit down before Soonie appears out of nowhere and claims your lap as his throne.

Your heart melts immediately.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, resisting the urge to cry. “He chose me.”

Minho, watching with amusement, raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t get too excited,” he warns. “He’s a little—”

Too late. The second you move your hand to pet him, Soonie’s eyes darken. Then, in the blink of an eye—he’s gone.

Just… vanished.

Like a ghost.

You blink at the now-empty space on your lap. Then at Minho. Then back at your lap.

"...What just happened?"

Minho snorts. "He played you."

Betrayal.

“Here,” Minho says suddenly, tossing you a bag of cat treats. His smirk turns devilish. “You do it.”

You catch the bag and hesitate. This feels like a trap. But you’re determined. You’re new to this relationship, and you refuse to be defeated by a few tiny, adorable creatures.

With all the confidence of a person who has no idea what’s coming, you crinkle the bag.

And then—everything changes.

The room, which had been filled with playful chaos, falls eerily silent. The air shifts.

Three pairs of glowing eyes snap toward you at the same time.

Then—

Absolute anarchy.

Dori launches himself off the curtain rod like some kind of possessed ninja. Soonie, despite previously acting like he doesn’t care, is suddenly inches from your face. And Doongie? Doongie has materialized from the void, tail flicking like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life.

Before you can react──you are tackled.

The impact sends you falling backward in 0.2 seconds flat. Tiny paws scramble all over you. A chorus of urgent meows fills the air, demanding tribute.

Minho, from his place on the couch, watches you get devoured by his own personal army. His grin only widens as you accept your fate.

“I am their leader now,” you mumble from beneath the pile of fur.

Minho finally takes pity on you, reaching down to help you up. He casually brushes stray fur from your sweater, then boops your nose.

“You passed the test,” he hums. “They like you.”

You sigh, still winded. “Are you sure? Because I think I just got jumped.”

Minho chuckles. “If they didn’t like you, you wouldn’t be standing right now.”

Before you can question what that even means, he leans in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to your cheek. The warmth of it catches you off guard, and suddenly, despite everything, your heart is fluttering.

Just as you begin to relax into the moment—

BAM.

Dori LAUNCHES HIMSELF onto Minho’s head like he’s been possessed by some ancient battle spirit. Minho yelps. You scream.

The cuddle session? Officially over.

Minho, with the patience of a man who has clearly been through this many times before, peels Dori off his face while muttering a string of curses. The cat clings to his sweater sleeve, refusing to let go.

You stare at the scene before you, taking a deep breath. Then, you simply shake your head.

“Yeah,” you mumble to yourself, “this is my life now.”

Minho glances at you, a soft smile playing at his lips. “Regrets?”

You turn to him, watching as he cradles Dori in one arm while swatting Soonie off the couch with the other.

“…Not even a little.”

[thegaissilent]

The rest of Galinda's day goes by as normal. Once class is finished, she makes her way to the Gardens as she usually does to decompress. Making sure no one else is around, she finds her secret spot; entering one of the bushes to end up in a spot under a few trees. She doesn't think anyone else comes here and she hopes it stays that way; it's the one place in this entire school where she can be alone.

She lies on the grass and lets out a sigh, letting the soft breeze touch her face; she only needs a few minutes to stay in that peace before heading back to her room and having to deal with Elphaba.

Elphaba.

The moment her stupid green face comes to her mind again, she remembers their little exchange during lunch and she body warms up and she is instantly mad. No, no! This is her peaceful moment. Away from everyone and especially of her! It doesn't matter that they both made each other feel flustered today. Or that she called her wicked and oh, no.

Why did Galinda have to remember that?!

"It's so stupid!" She tells the squirrel that always hangs out at the tree — which she named Adelaide — and that has gotten used to her presence. Or at least, she thinks it's a squirrel. If it is a Squirrel pretending to be a squirrel so she can get the good gossip, well... She is surely being given a lot of tea.

But the little animal simply tilts her head, paying attention to Galinda.

"I mean! It's just a game between us, isn't it? We've always competed with each other and today it was just... Seeing who was better at teasing. That is all!"

The animal scratches her face in response.

"Don't give me that look. You know that's all that was!"

"Kik kik."

"I know." Galinda sighs. She wants to scream inside a pillow. "Ugh. I should just... Go back to the dorm. And shower. Maybe that will fix me."

"Kik?"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Addie."

"Kik!"

She makes her way back to her room and of course, Elphaba as the little nerd she is is already there, face stuck in a book. Galinda considers acknowledging her but she has no idea of what exactly will come out of her mouth so instead she just waves with her head and makes her way to the vanity, to clean her hair of any remaining leaves and also brush it.

There is a weird tension in the air which was definitely not there before, and every so often, Galinda can't keep herself from just looking at Elphaba as discreetly as possible; for some reason more interesting than the mirror and perhaps Galinda should just make her way back to Adelaide and stay at her secret spot. Or even better! She should become a squirrel herself so she never has to deal with whatever this is ever again!

If they remain in silence, Galinda will probably explode, though, so she breaks it with the first thing that comes to her mind.

"Squirrels are cute."

...what.

She couldn't have started with an actual question, like "hey, do you like squirrels" or a fact about the animals. No. She had to throw a completely random commentary out of nowhere and hope that Elphaba doesn't think this is a very strange way of starting a conversation.

It is the most natural way for Galinda to start a conversation, though. Most of the time, she forces herself into starting the way people normally expect a conversations to start, but this took years of observing and learning social behavior patterns. But she still slips sometimes.

The blush on Galinda’s face made Elphaba grin triumphantly, though what exactly she was celebrating, she wasn’t certain. Was it that she had managed to fluster her? She supposed so. It was fun, seeing the golden girl so caught off guard, and because of her efforts.

She finds herself distracted during class, and at first, she attributed it to the newness of their situation. But then the day drags on, and all throughout, Elphaba can’t stop thinking about Galinda’s words, and the way she looked at her.

It’s for that reason she finds herself rereading the same passage in her history book for the umpteenth time, rubbing her temples as she sits at her desk in their dorm room. It’s taking every ounce of self-discipline she has left not to look across the room at Galinda. What was happening to her?

[galway-girlatwork]

Smells Like…

Fandom: The Mentalist-AU

Rating: Mature. Angst. Smut. Angst. Mush. Angst.

Central Characters: Marcus P. and Female Reader

Central Relationship: Marcus P. and Female Reader

Word Count: 2,668

AO3

This was written for Jana and Daphne’s Writing Through The Season’s challenge. I got Marcus Pike in Winter and the prompt was “Smells Like Jealousy.” So, grab whatever tickles your tongue and enjoy. If this is not your shot of whisky, scroll on by.

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal the moodboard. It was a gift. Stealing is just WRONG. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform. If this is not your shot of whisky, scroll on by. If you wanna read, grab whatever tickles your tongue and enjoy.

Music Inspiration:

Fallout-Mariana’s Trench

Can’t Forget You- My Darkest Days 

Lips of Angel-Hinder

Summary:

Marcus had always told himself he wasn’t the jealous type until her. He told himself she was gone for good, that she had moved on. But when he sees her at an art exhibit a year later, with another man, something inside him snaps. The jealousy, the longing, the love he never let go of all crashes down on him.

One heated confrontation later and the past proves impossible to ignore. The chemistry is still electric, the connection undeniable. But Marcus isn’t willing to let her slip away this time. As passion ignites and old wounds resurface, he makes one thing clear—he wants her back.

But is Marcus willing to risk his heart one more time to find out?

Marcus had never been the jealous type. Or at least, that’s what he’d always told himself. He was calm, rational, someone who took heartbreak like a man and moved on. Maybe that was a slight over exaggeration, when in reality he always felt like someone who’d been kicked to many time in the ribs, protecting that heart that beat furious in his chest. Until he met her. Someone who’d truly stolen his heart, his soul, like a thief before disappearing with both.

They’d been together for two years before he ended it, thinking it was what she wanted, the demands of his job finally getting to her. He knew it was a fear, not an irrational one, that she had. That one day someone would show up at the front door and tell her the unimaginable. What he didn’t expect was for her to take that out and go radio silent for a year. He’d given her time, space, hoping she’d come back. He had buried himself in work, pretended he didn’t check his phone late at night, hoping for a text that never came. He had told himself she was probably out there, happy, moving on—just like he should be.

But here he was, a year later, at some stupid art exhibit that the higher ups wanted him at. How it would look good to see the Feds there, making sure they were all safe while they drank watered down champagne, mingled and stared at God awful art.

The place was packed, air thick with conversation and the scent of expensive perfume, the kind that induced migraines, not caring if the pain crippled you or not. It’s why he was at the corner of the bar, water in hand, praying the six Advil he took would put him in a better mood.

But then he saw her.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a second, his pulse pounded so hard he could hear it. She looked beautiful, radiant in a navy dress that hugged her curves, curves he used to trace with his hands. That familiar way she tilted her head, the way she smiled—God, he had missed that smile.

But she wasn’t alone.

His stomach turned to stone as he watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, laughing at something the man beside her had said. Tall. Polished. Probably some lawyer or broker, someone with soft hands and an easy life. Someone who hadn’t spent years chasing criminals across the world.

He hadn’t expected jealousy to burn through him so hard and fast that it stole his breath. His jaw clenched, forcing himself to look away but he knew it was useless. It was like watching a car accident, one you couldn’t look away from, one that caused back-ups on the highways. Fuck, he thought, it had been a year and he had no right to feel this way. No right to feel the sudden, savage possessiveness clawing its way through his chest.

And yet, when she turned and met his eyes, her smile faltering for a second and he knew. Knew that he wasn’t the only one still haunted by the past.

He didn’t think, didn’t give himself a chance to reconsider. He was walking toward her before he even realized what he was doing.

“Marcus.”

His name had never sounded like a warning before.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, keeping his tone even, careful. He didn’t acknowledge the man beside her, didn’t even bother looking at him.

Her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something, but she hesitated. That hesitation was all he needed.

“You look good,” Marcus murmured, stepping closer.

She swallowed, her gaze flickering over his face like she was trying to gauge his mood. “So do you.”

“Really?” His voice dipped, rougher than he meant it to be. “Because I feel like hell.”

She blinked. “Marcus—”

“No.” He exhaled sharply

He took another step, closing what little distance remained between them, voice dropping lower, just for her. “You really think I stopped loving you?” he whispered.

Her eyes shone, and for the first time in a year, Marcus felt like he could breathe again.

Her date extended a hand. “Hey, I’m—”

Marcus didn’t so much as glance at him. He couldn’t. He wasn’t interested in this man’s name; in whatever role he played in her life.

She sighed, shaking her head. “Seriously?”

Marcus’s lips curled. “What?”

“You’re glaring,” she said, arching a brow. “And it smells like jealousy in here.”

Marcus stepped closer, so close that if she just leaned in, her body would be pressed against his.

“It should,” he murmured. “Because I’m drowning in it.”

Her breath caught as silence stretched between them, heavy, suffocating, before she looked away, biting her lip. That damn lip. How many times had he kissed it, traced his thumb over it, stolen her breath just by looking at her?

Marcus saw the way her fingers twitched at her side, how she swallowed hard like she was trying to keep her composure but she couldn’t hide from him. Not after everything they had been. Not after the way he used to know every inch of her.

Before she could recover, Marcus leaned in, his lips barely ghosting over the shell of her ear.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice dark, possessive. “Does he touch you the way I did?”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Marcus—”

“Does he know,” Marcus pressed, his fingers grazing down the inside of her wrist, sending a shiver through her body, “that you like to be kissed right—here?”

He brushed his lips just below her ear, and she let out the softest, most infuriatingly beautiful gasp.

It nearly broke him.

Her date cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think maybe I should—”

Marcus turned his head, gaze cold, sharp. “Yeah. You should.”

The man hesitated for a moment before putting his hand up in surrender, stepping back, muttering something under his breath, neither one of them acknowledging his exit. They were too busy staring at each other. Too busy feeling the weight of what still lingered between them.

Her hand found Marcus’s wrist before he could say anything else. “Not here,” she whispered.

Something in her eyes sent a jolt of hope through him. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she wasn’t as over him as she wanted to be, the air between them still suffocatingly thick, heavy with things left unsaid.

Reaching for her hand, his grip firm, unyielding. “Come with me.”

Her breath was unsteady. “Marcus—”

“Now.”

She could have refused but she didn’t. She let him lead her outside, down the quiet side street, away from prying eyes and unwanted interruptions.

And when he turned, pressing her against the cool brick wall, his hands braced on either side of her, she didn’t push him away. She should have but she didn’t.

Instead, she lifted her chin, her breath shaky but defiant. “You don’t get to do this,” she whispered. “You don’t get to walk in here after a year and act like you still own me.”

“You don’t get to pretend,” Marcus interrupted, his voice rough with need. “You don’t get to stand there and act like I don’t still own every inch of you.” He watched, smirking, as she swallowed hard, fingers trailing up her arm, slow and deliberate. “Tell me to stop.”

He leaned in, lips ghosting over hers. “Say it,” feeling her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

Silence, eyes flashing with something desperate and raw. She was shaking.

“Tell me he touches you better.” His voice a challenge, his hands tightening on her hips. “Tell me he fucks you better.”

A broken noise slipped from her lips, and Marcus nearly lost his damn mind as her hands fisted his shirt, yanking him closer. “I hate you for this,” she whispered.

He smiled darkly. “No, you don’t.” Before he heard her whisper, “I never stopped wanting you.”

His lips crushed against hers, swallowing whatever words might have come next, feeling her melt against him, completely, utterly, like she had been waiting for this, starving for it. Hands slid up his chest, threading through his hair, pulling him deeper.

Like something dangerous, something forbidden, like something she still wanted.

That spark still lingered, a flame that had never fully extinguished.

“Come home.” Was all he whispered against her lips.

As soon as they were inside, he turned to her, pulling her close, hands cupping her face gently as he leaned in close, lips brushing against hers softly, like no time had passed at all.

Tongues tangled in a familiar dance as they continued to kiss deeply, room spinning around them as passion ignited like wildfire as they stumbled backward until they reached the bedroom. He pushed her onto the bed, body following hers, chests heaving with desire, eyes locked on each other. Deft fingers curled into the fabric of the dress, peeling it from her shoulders, baring breasts hidden beneath black lace, knowing the panties would match, since the set was a gift from him.

Fingers grazed against sensitive areas he knew would make her shiver, feeling her arch into him as he pulled the lace down, nipple already puckered, demanding attention. Lips wrapped around it, mouth pulling it deep into his mouth, knowing what it did to her. Clothes were pulled off so fast, buttons flew across the room, pinging as they hit the wood floor.

The need to possess her, filled every cell within his body, pushing what control he had out the window, each second that passed was fucking torture, wanting to remind her of where she belonged, with him, in his life. Reaching out, a finger traced her sternum, trailing down her stomach before slipping inside her body, feeling her clench around it, before adding a second digit, curling them up, finding that spot just behind her pelvic bone, just as his mouth latched on to the other nipple, his name falling from her lips like a chant. He could feel her hands in his hair, holding him to her, as her hips jerked against his hand, body begging for release.

So, in tune with her body, he knew she was on the edge, but he wanted to push her to her limits, hear her scream his name and beg for more. Was it his way of punishing her for the last year of hell he’d lived in? Possibly but it could be the way he loved watching her, bucking against his hand, breaths labored and quick, that bottom lip tucked between her teeth. It could be that he had fallen so deeply in love with her. Was he an idiot? Probably.

Moving off of her, hearing whimpers of protest, he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down on her. “Hands and knees. Now.” Her eyelids grew heavy as she turned over on her stomach, loving how she gave up control so easily to him, that slight edge of darkness and possessiveness surged through him.  

Hands grasped her hips, fingers digging into her skin as he positioned himself behind her. God how he loved when her back arched, head bowed almost to the bed, before one of his hands released its grip on her hip, sliding up her back, his fingers intertwining in her hair, giving her hair a gentle tug, pulling her head back slightly. “God you are so fucking beautiful.”

His other hand remained on her hip, thumb tracing the curve of her lower back before suddenly, his palm came down on her ass with a sharp slap, the sound echoing through the room, he heard her gasp, feeling her body tensing for a moment before she relaxed into the sensation.

With a swift motion, he drove himself into her, body merging with hers as he began to move in a rhythmic cadence. His hands returned to her hips, holding her in place as he thrust deeper, the air filling with the sound of labored breathing, of skin slapping skin as they moved together.

Continued thrusts into her, bodies began to tense, movements becoming more frantic and urgent. Her hands clenched into fists, arms trembling as she supported her weight, while his grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging deep into her skin that he knew would be bruised come morning. He could feel her shuddering, feel her cunt contracting around him as she came, his name screamed into the air before low, keening cries escaped her lips before her head dropped to the bed, voice now muffled by the bedding as her body continued to convulse.

His thrusts became shorter and more intense as he felt himself building towards his own release, arm wrapping around her waist, fingers finding her clit, the pad of his middle finger, gently rubbing against it, knowing how sensitive she was. With one final, powerful thrust of his hips, they both fell off the edge, sweat soaked bodies shaking with the intensity of what just happened. As the last waves of their orgasms faded, his body collapsed on top of hers, pressing her into the bed, as he held her close, lips trailing across her shoulders, as they slowly relaxed, trying to catch their breath. He could feel her beneath him, trying to adjust to the weight of his body, his arms loosening as he rolled to the side, but still holding her against him.

Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting silver streaks across the sheets tangled between them, skin still warm from where they'd been pressed together, Marcus now lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, watching her in the dim glow. She was quiet, staring at the ceiling like she was already thinking of slipping away before dawn.

“Don’t,” he murmured, voice low but firm.

She turned towards him, brows lifting slightly. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t run.” He traced a slow path down her arm, fingers brushing the familiar curve of her wrist.

A flicker of hesitation in her eyes betraying her, before she lowered her head. “Marcus…”

“I mean it.” He shifted closer, his fingers curling under her chin, making her look at him. “I let you go once. I told myself it was for the best, because you were afraid, you didn’t want to know what could happen if you got that visit. But that was a lie. I never stopped wanting you. And I think—no, I know—you never stopped wanting me either.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Marcus, this isn’t that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” he countered, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “You belong with me. You always have and you know it.”

Closing her eyes, breath shuddering slightly. He could almost feel the war inside her, the push and pull between instincts and heart. When she opened them again, something softer lurked there beneath the guarded exterior. Something that looked dangerously close to hope.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you don’t want this. Say you don’t love me, and I’ll let you go.” Silence stretched between them, thick and electric.

But she didn’t say it. She couldn’t say it. She loved him. More than her life. A life that would be a shell if something ever happened to him.

Instead, her lips parted, voice barely above a whisper. “I fucking hate you for knowing me this well.”

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “No, you don’t.”

Sighing, she leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. “I can’t say those things Marcus because they would be lies and you know it. It’s never been about loving you, belonging to you…It’s always been about the what if.”

“I know baby. I love you. Come home and we’ll figure it out. Promise.”

He watched as she moved over him, lips brushing against his, whispers between them of yes’s and love you’s before they showed each other that there never really be a good-bye between them.

@guiltyasdave @sizzlingcloudmentality @jessthebaker @tinyglamdramaqueen @almostfoxglove @pedgito @whocaresstillthelouvre @iamasaddie @burntheedges @ease-out-the-clutch @beefrobeefcal @toomanystoriessolittletime @pearlessance @littlemisspascal @goodwithcheese @burntheedges @jolapeno @604to647 @missladym1981 @kittyfox1107 @secretelephanttattoo

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Dad Mode Activated

Character: Park Gyeong-Seok x Fem!reader

Summary: You catch Gyeong-Seok building an over-the-top pillow fort for Na-Yeon, but he swears it’s just for her (even though he’s obviously having way too much fun)

Warnings: None🦑🦑

It started with just a few pillows. That’s what Gyeong-Seok told you, anyway.

You had been in the kitchen, minding your own business, when you noticed the suspicious silence in the living room. Na-Yeon was usually giggling or chattering about her latest imaginary adventure, and Gyeong-Seok—well, he never stayed quiet for long, either.

Curious, you peeked your head around the corner.

What you found was nothing short of ridiculous.

Gyeong-Seok stood in the middle of the room, surveying his masterpiece with his hands on his hips. The “pillow fort” (if you could even call it that) had long since outgrown its original purpose. What should have been a simple little hideout for Na-Yeon had turned into a multi-room fortress, complete with couch cushions for walls, a bedsheet roof draped between chairs, and a tunnel entrance made from upturned laundry baskets. Fairy lights were strung haphazardly across the top, twinkling like stars in their own tiny sky.

Na-Yeon, the supposed recipient of this architectural wonder, was standing beside him, clutching a stuffed bunny and watching her dad with an expression that clearly said, Isn’t this a bit much?

“Uh… Gyeong-Seok?” you called out.

He jumped slightly, spinning around like a guilty child caught red-handed. “Oh! Hey, babe.” He cleared his throat and gestured to the monstrosity before him. “It’s for Na-Yeon. Obviously.” “Obviously,”

you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Na-Yeon tugged on his sleeve. “Appa, can we play now?”

Gyeong-Seok perked up immediately. “Yes! Of course! Just one more thing—”

He darted off and returned moments later with a cardboard paper towel tube. He proudly stuck it into the top of the fort like a periscope, nodding in satisfaction.

You crossed your arms. “Let me guess… That’s for defense?”

“Pirate lookout,” he corrected, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Then, catching your expression, he added, “It’s her pirate lookout.”

Na-Yeon, still watching her father with wide eyes, whispered to you, “I think Appa likes it more than me.”

“Oh, I know he does,” you whispered back, amused.

Gyeong-Seok turned, looking slightly offended. “That’s not true! I mean—okay, maybe a little. But it’s for Na-Yeon! I’m just making sure it’s structurally sound.” He knocked on one of the cushions as if testing its integrity. It promptly toppled over.

You stifled a laugh as Na-Yeon sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. “Appa, you ruined it.”

Gyeong-Seok gasped. “No! It’s fine! We can fix this!” He immediately started rebuilding, muttering under his breath about “reinforcements.”

You sat down beside Na-Yeon, watching as her father eagerly reconstructed his masterpiece with the enthusiasm of a man who had definitely been waiting for an excuse to do this.

Leaning toward her, you whispered, “At least we know he’ll never get bored of playing with you.”

Na-Yeon giggled. “Appa’s silly.”

You smiled, watching as Gyeong-Seok dramatically placed the final pillow with a flourish. He turned to the both of you with an eager grin. “Okay! Now it’s ready.”

Na-Yeon gasped in delight and dove into the fort.

Gyeong-Seok turned to you, eyes hopeful. “So… are you coming in?”

You sighed, pretending to consider it. “Well… it does look pretty cozy.”

His entire face lit up, and before you could say another word, he grabbed your hand and pulled you inside, where Na-Yeon was already making herself at home.

As the three of you sat inside, surrounded by pillows, fairy lights, and the warmth of each other, you couldn’t help but laugh.

Maybe Gyeong-Seok had gone a little overboard. But honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

🦑🦑🦑

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Keep You close

Synopsis: If you don’t belong with him, why do you always end up back with him?

A/N: since this idea got the popular vote, here it is!!

London wasn’t home. Not yet, at least.

The city pulsed around you—rain-slicked streets reflecting neon lights, the hum of traffic in the distance, the scent of cigarette smoke and damp concrete clinging to the air. It was supposed to be a fresh start. A chance to leave everything behind.

And yet, here you were. Caught up in something dangerous. Caught up in him.

Nick Leister wasn’t the kind of trouble you stumbled into by accident. He was the kind you should’ve seen coming from a mile away—the kind that sucked you in, chewed you up, and left you with nothing but regrets. But no matter how many times you told yourself to stay away, it never stuck.

Because every time you tried, he found his way back to you.

Tonight was no different.

You could feel him before you even saw him.

The club was packed—bodies moving under flashing lights, the bass vibrating through the floorboards. You were at the bar, fingers wrapped around a sweating glass, doing your best to pretend you weren’t waiting for him.

But then—

A shadow fell over you.

“Didn’t think this was your scene.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

Nick’s voice was smooth, dark, with that ever-present edge of amusement. He smelled like whiskey and smoke and something else entirely—something unmistakably him.

You exhaled slowly, bracing yourself. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

Nick stepped closer, his presence suffocating in the best and worst way. “I don’t,” he said, but the way his eyes dragged over you told a different story.

Liar.

Your fingers tightened around your drink. “Then why are you here?”

He smirked, tilting his head. “You tell me, sweetheart. You’re the one running around my city.”

His city.

You hated how right he was. You hated that no matter where you went, it always felt like Nick was there—lurking in the shadows, watching from across the room, reminding you that no matter how much distance you tried to put between you, it was never enough.

You turned to face him fully, your pulse kicking up a notch. “I moved here for a fresh start, Nick.”

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it. “That what you tell yourself?”

You swallowed hard. “That’s the truth.”

He hummed, stepping closer, so close that the scent of him curled around you. “Then why is it every time I see you, you’re looking for trouble?”

You stiffened. “I’m not—”

“You are.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “You don’t belong in my world, but you keep walking straight into it.”

You hated the way your heart reacted to his words, the way your stomach twisted painfully. Because he was right.

And yet…

“You’re the one who keeps showing up, Nick,” you shot back. “Maybe you’re the one who can’t let me go.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. The music throbbed around you, the air charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.

Then, Nick exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You should go home.”

You swallowed. “Is that what you want?”

Nick didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, his fingers brushed against your wrist, just for a second—barely a touch, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. Enough to make your resolve crack.

His jaw tightened. “Go home”

You wanted to fight him on it. Wanted to call him out for the way he always did this—pushed you away, only to pull you back in. But you didn’t.

Instead, you walked past him, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin.

And Nick?

He let you go.

For now.

But of course, it didn’t last.

It never did.

You weren’t sure if you were dreaming when you heard the knock at your door. It was late—past one in the morning—and you had almost convinced yourself to ignore it.

But something told you to check.

And when you did, there he was.

Nick leaned against the doorframe, looking like sin wrapped in leather, cigarette between his fingers, his knuckles bruised.

Your stomach flipped. “You’re bleeding.”

He smirked. “You gonna invite me in, or you just gonna stand there?”

You hesitated, but you already knew the answer.

The door clicked shut behind him, sealing your fate.

Nick exhaled slowly, flicking the cigarette out the open window before turning to you, his gaze darker than usual.

“Got into some shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair.

You frowned, stepping closer despite yourself. “Again?”

He let out a breathless chuckle. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not.” You exhaled sharply, grabbing the first-aid kit from your bathroom. “Sit down.”

Nick didn’t argue. He just watched you as you crouched in front of him, dabbing at the cut near his brow. His eyes traced over your face, something flickering beneath the surface.

“You know,” he murmured, “You don’t belong in my world, but I can’t seem to let you go.”

You froze for a fraction of a second before forcing yourself to keep going. “And yet, here we are.”

Nick’s lips twitched. “Yeah. Here we are.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and charged. You focused on the task at hand, ignoring the way your hands trembled slightly.

But Nick wasn’t letting it go.

“You should leave me alone,” he muttered.

You let out a humorless laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

His smirk faltered.

“I’m serious,” you pressed, setting the bandage aside. “You tell me I don’t belong in your world, but you keep dragging me into it.”

Nick’s jaw tightened. “You could still walk away.”

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. “Could you?”

The air shifted.

Nick didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The way he looked at you said it all—like he wanted to pull you closer and push you away at the same time.

Like maybe he couldn’t walk away, no matter how much he told himself he should.

Your chest ached.

“Nick,” you whispered.

His breathing was uneven. His fingers twitched at his sides.

And then—

He reached for you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate, his lips crashing against yours like he was trying to prove something, like he was trying to claim something.

You gasped against his mouth, fingers curling into his jacket as you let yourself fall.

Because no matter how much he warned you, no matter how many times he told you this was a mistake—

Nick Leister wasn’t letting you go. If you didn’t belong in his world well,

then he didn’t want it.

[urinarythreatinfection]

Will You Still Love Me?

Zoro and Luffy x GN!Reader (seperate). 1236 Words. Reader turns into a worm dumb concept mb 🙏

You wake up feeling suffocated, everything is dark. You try to walk but can’t, as if your legs are tied together, your arms feeling trapped as well. It's only when you hear a groan and someone rolling over that you see light through a small hole. You look around, everything looks blurry. “Hello!?” you call out but your voice feels weird too. “HELLO!?” You roll around, seeing your fleshy pink body. No, this can’t be! “HELP!”

Zoro

Zoro hears your voice, quiet but panicked, screaming for help and his eyes shoot open. When he doesn’t see or feel you beside him he gets more panicked. Did you get kidnapped!? Lifting up the bedsheets, he spots a worm. “What the hell?” Did you leave because you saw a worm in the bed? He’ll have to toss it and get you back in bed. The swordsman grabs it, you, and you yelp.

“HELLO??” You yell out into the air, suddenly off-ground. “ZORO!? IS THAT YOU!?” It’s hard to see but you think you see green. He stares at the worm, fleshy thing that sounds suspiciously like you, for a few seconds as you wriggle around trying to figure out what’s going on.

“There’s no fucking way.” Zoro mumbles, eye wide. “(Y/n)?”

“Zoro! It is you! What’s wrong with me? I-I think I’m small! Are you holding me?” You lean your head down and tap his finger.

“You’re more than small, you’re a worm. The hell happened?” He speaks then thinks for a moment. “Shit, maybe I should drink less.” He suddenly puts you back down on the mattress and lays back down to sleep, he must be dreaming.

“Wha!? Zoro! Wake back up, I’m a worm!? Zoro wake up!” You roll over to him and try to crawl onto him, but it’s too hard. The blanket keeps folding around you and you get stuck. “Uue…” You flop back onto the mattress for the 3rd time and stretch out. beginning to lament. A few seconds pass of you softly crying before Zoro can’t help but get back up. Even if this is a dream and you’re a worm he can’t just leave you distressed. He picks you up and places you on his palm, though you’re still bummed. “Zoro…”

“Stop crying.” He grumbles, looking down at you.

“But I'm a worm.. does this mean we’re breaking up?” Zoro’s eyebrow twitches at your question.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” The swordsman sighs. “...No, we’re not.. breaking up.” He’s embarrassed saying this, at least thankful you can’t make out his expression.

“Are you sure?” You’re still laid down, depressed. He hates seeing you like this, even if you don’t look like you.

“Yeah.. uh.. Usopp and Franky can make you something to move around quicker.” He looks away, cheeks tinted, this is so stupid. “And I'll protect you. I can still see and hear you.”

“What about Luffy?” You don’t think you can fight like this. “What if I have to leave?”

“Luffy wouldn’t kick you out, he’s tried recruiting all kinds of people, he wouldn’t toss out a crewmate for being a—a worm.” He’s being comforting, despite the embarrassment. “Now go back to sleep, we’ll figure this out later.” He puts you back down, laying his back on the mattress quickly. You try to worm your way under the sheets, still feeling nervous. He can sense you continuing to shift around and you feel yourself being lifted up and placed on his chest without a word. Do worms sleep?

__________________

Your eyes open, what a strange dream, you try to get up and your arms feel tight together. Oh no. “I’m still a worm!?” You yell, waking Zoro up. You look at him and realize you’re at eye level, oh, his arm was just restricting you.

“Stupid.” He groans, loosening his hold. Relief flows through you. It was just a dream. You lay back down with a sigh, closing your eyes. Zoro glances at you, letting out a held breath. ‘They turned back to normal.’ It wasn’t a dream, who knows what it was, but Zoro would rather just pretend it didn’t happen. You’re back to normal anyway. He doesn’t need “comforted worm lover” to be in your mind.

Luffy

Luffy continues snoozing away next to you as you panic, slamming into something, his body. “Luffy is this you!? Luffy!” You continue slamming into it, looking for the hem of his shirt to bonk at his skin. Bad idea. He scratches the spot and rolls over straight onto you, you’re being crushed. You try to squirm around, screaming. Luffy’s eyes slowly open, noticing you’re “gone”.

“(Y/n)?” You continue to yell and he feels something underneath him, making him lift his body off of it and pick it up. It’s you. He can tell. “(Y/n)??”

“Luffy! I’m small, what's going on!?” He stares at you.

“You’re a worm.” His eyes start to twinkle before noticing you look a little weak, realizing what just happened. “I ALMOST CRUSHED YOU!”

“Yeah I think I took some damage…” You flop to the side and Luffy shoots out of bed, stretching his arm on the way out to grab his almost forgotten hat. He bursts into Chopper’s room with his hat on his head and worm in hand, startling the reindeer awake.

“CHOPPER (Y/N) IS A WORM AND I ALMOST CRUSHED THEM!”

“Wha..??” He’s still half asleep as Luffy snatches the doctor and places him on his feet. Luffy shows you to Chopper. “..Luffy this looks like a regular wo-”

“A-Am I really a worm?” Your small voice interrupts him and his eyes bug out of his head.

“AAAH YOU’RE REALLY (Y/N)!” He panics, running around. “DOCTOR! WAIT THAT’S ME.”

_____________

After your examination it’s concluded that you're not seriously injured, just startled and a bit out of it from the shock of being suddenly small and almost crushed. You lay there on the counter as Chopper puts his tools away, though the examination was mostly just some prodding with tweezers and a magnifying glass, Luffy staying with you. You still look down. “I…I can’t believe I’m a worm.” You sit(?) up and look down at your body. “..Does this mean I’m off the crew? That we’re breaking up?”

“What? Why?” Luffy tilts his head in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I can’t fight like this, I’m useless..” It’s sinking in and you droop. Luffy’s eyebrows furrow more, as if offended on your behalf.

“You’re not useless!” He carefully picks you up, cupping you in his hands to put you close to his face. “You’re still (Y/n)!”

“But!” You can’t even finish your sentence, too ashamed this is how you’ve been taken down. You suddenly feel straw underneath you. You’re on his hat.

“There!” He adjusts you so that you’re resting inside the cloth band with Rayleigh’s vivre card, smiling brightly. You can’t see it but you know. “Now we can stay together.” If you still had tear ducts you might be crying right now, but before you can say anything else your body turns hot and you fall out of the band, turning back to normal. Luffy is knocked to the ground along with you. You look down at your body as Luffy sits up, putting his hat back on his head.

“I’m back to normal!” Dang, he was actually starting to look forward to keeping you with him.

Had this in my docs for a while and just finished it up, felt like it would be funny if they werent just asked but put into the "would you still love me if i were a worm" situation. I would say more but my head is kinda going blank from the ill sore throat i have (Bleach fumes.)

[hunrising]

What’s baffling to me is that according to what western governments/media said these past days, hamas shouldn’t have attacked civilians in response to the violence they’ve been suffering for decades because it violates international laws, and I agree, civilians shouldn’t have been victims of an attack like this. However now, according to those same people, Israel has the absolute right to defend itself and have no other option but to respond aggressively, no matter how many civilians get caught in the crossfire, and thus also violating international laws? I’ve been racking my brain to see if I’m missing something, or if all of these politicians and journalists are intentionally contradicting themselves in order to please each other?

[myokk]

“She’s tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me”😤😤😤

(Regency AU with Eloise and Sebastian inspired by my slow trek through Bridgerton these days & @bassicallymaestra ‘s AMAZING regency inspired art😮‍💨😇🙏)