#but that interaction between leaves a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to this ship

[melina-mellow]

I know about Sparkle's.... problematic attitude towards Aventurine.

But Dr. Ratio had a similar attitude towards Aven? Obviously not as bad as Sparkle... I guess he apologized? but it was still a micro aggression towards him...

Idk I guess the fandom decides to ignore that little detail about that Aven/Ratio interaction because yaoi.

[catboyieejeno]

mingyu + foreplay

18+ minors do not interact!

• kim mingyu, who leaves so many kisses all over your body that you can't get the feeling of his lips off your mind for days after.

“god, i could kiss you forever.”

• open mouthed kisses along your neck and the expanse of your chest first thing in the morning, panting and groaning into your skin and muttering a string of pleas and praises with his little lisp, that’s even more obvious when he’s just woken up

“please let me feel you, need to feel you so bad right now,”

• or at night, dragging you onto his lap fresh out of your shower to wrap a hand around your jaw/throat and kiss your lips slowly and sensually. would drag his palms along your spine to pull you closer, all the way up until his fingers disappear into your hair, the smell of your body wash and shampoo driving him up the wall and making his dick swell up in his sweats

“y’smell so good. fuck, i just wanna taste you,”

• the feeling of his hot tongue dragging across your stomach and thighs is so dizzying that it immediately makes your vision lose focus. he's obsessed with being the reason for that look on your face, eyes hazy and glossed over, drooling lips wordlessly begging him for more.

“mmm, look at you. my pretty baby is fucked out already?”

• makes out with your pussy over the layer of your pretty cotton panties until you're soaked-through and whimpering. absolutely loves when your squirm or try to wiggle away. loves to subtly dance along the line of edging and overstimulation.

“don’t run baby, let me make you feel good. you can take it right?”

• doesn’t abuse his strength, but will use it to his advantage when it comes to sex. keeps your pretty legs pinned open, or your hips rolling against his nose and tongue while you’re sitting on his face, even when you’re so exhausted from coming that you can barely hold yourself up

“I got you, honey. stay just like this f’me.”

• if any if the members are there, he’d cover your mouth with his hand to muffle your whimpers and cries as he rubs your clit with his fingers relentlessly. mind you—a few things can be true at once: yes, he loves the noises you make and would do absolutely anything to hear them as loudly and clearly as possible. yes, he doesn’t actually care if the members hear, nor does he care about the teasing he’ll have to endure later (besides, he knows they can probably hear you either way, despite his best efforts to keep quiet). while those facts are both very true—god, does he love how shy and nervous you get at the thought of being overheard by them, eyes blown wide and brows furrowed as you struggle to keep still and quiet all at once.

“Gotta be good and stay quiet, baby. you can do that, right?”

• loves to tease you before actually putting it in: taps his head against your puffy clit, presses himself to your entrance only slightly, chuckles breathlessly when his tip is so fat that it slips and ends up just laying heavy and hot on your pelvis or poking your thigh instead. slides his dick between your lips until you’ve soaked every inch of him and you’re shaking with need from the stimulation to your clit and the desire to just be filled up.

“be patient, yeah? let me enjoy this pretty pussy.”

• so easily distracted by you… if you were helping him with dinner he’d turn off the stove at the sight of you in your little shorts or lack-thereof, if you’re wearing just his shirt. immediately bends you over the counter and eats you out from the back, face buried in your pussy and hands sliding your shirt up or pinning your wrists together on your back

“forget the food baby, it can wait when you’re wearing those little shorts…”

• pictures. of your tits covered in his spit, of the marks he left on your ribs or thighs, of your spent pussy covered in his cum, of your hands wrapped around his cock, of his hand print on your ass—keeps them in a hidden photo album and jerks off to them all the time when he’s away. sends you videos of him touching himself, audio on.

“m’thinking about you. and looking at our pictures. goddamn… wish i could fuck you right now. i miss you so bad.”

[judyvan]

Keep It Down - Matt Sturniolo Fanfic

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Summary: You desperately want Matt, but his brothers are in the house. Will you be able to contain yourself to avoid the awkwardness?

Warnings: MDNI/ smut/ mattxfem!reader/ p n v/ soft dom!matt/ bf!matt/ hair pulling/ begging/ daddy kink/ mouth play/ vulnerabiliy/ use of "you"

A/N: This is my first fanfic. Interactions are appreciated. There are multiple parts to this story, this is the second one. The song very loosely relates to the storyline. Please don't steal my shit. Thanks!💋

To read the first part (Movie Night) click here.

To read the last part (The Morning After) click here.

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Matt hands you one of his t-shirts and grabs some pajama pants for himself. You head to the bathroom to change and do your nightly duties. Upon returning to Matt's room, he leaves to do the same. When he comes back in, you can't help but stare. He's wearing the pjs that he picked out and his chain rests flatly on his bare chest. You've seen him like this so many times, but you can't take your eyes off of him. Just the sight of him makes your insides fill with desire.

He walks over, crawls into bed next to you, and resumes the movie that you guys were watching downstairs. Matt's arms wrap around you, pulling you into him. Your head is now resting on his chest, and you can feel his heart beating. The smell of his cologne and the feeling of your face on his skin starts to make your head spin. You push off of his chest and give him a soft, sweet kiss. Matt cups your face with one hand, wrapping his other around your waist, as he kisses you back. As per usual, neither one of you can stop with just one. His taste is intoxicating, his touch is tender, and your heart begins to beat out of your chest. You slowly slide your leg up over top of his while his hand slightly veers from your cheek to the side of your neck. His thumb and pointer finger rest on the outline of your jaw, the rest of his large hand covers your throat. He holds your face in place as he kisses you more passionately. Your stomach flips and you begin to feel a pulse in-between your legs. Next thing you know, you're straddling Matt and his tongue slips in your mouth, launching your make-out session.

The feeling of wetness in your panties and the aching at the center of your thighs controls your every move. You begin to grind on the stiffness in Matt's pants, desperately searching for friction. Matt's breath hitches and your kisses become more and more hungry. As your lips collide, you gently tug on Matt's bottom lip with your teeth, hinting to him that you want more.

"We can't do that, and you know it," Matt says panting, his lips swollen.

You let out a desperate whimper, continuing to grind on him. "Matt, please," you beg. "I want you so bad."

"Baby, I know. I want you right now too, but Nick and Chris are still awake. They'll hear us." Matt empathetically pulls your head towards his, leaving a gentle peck on your neck. He then whispers in your ear, "Listen. Whenever they leave tomorrow, we'll make an excuse to stay here. Then we can be as loud as we want."

You straighten your posture on top of him. "Yeah, that's a great plan! I'm all for it. But I think we should also do it tonight." You smile cheekily at him despite the intense throbbing that you're feeling in areas downstairs, coming from both you and Matt.

Matt lets out a soft laugh. He brings his hands up to your thighs, making circling motions with his thumbs. "We can't. I'm sorry."

You let out a whine placing your forehead against his. "Mattttt! Pleaseeeeuh! I'll be quiet I promise."

"You know what? Fine. Fine, let's do it. But I swear if you are too loud and they start some shit, I'm telling them it was your idea." Matt says laughing.

"Wow! I thought that was going to take a lot more convincing."

You laugh as you dip your head down into the crook of his neck biting him lightly and kissing him sloppily. Matt lets out a groan as you continue to devour him. You veer away from his neck, continuing to pepper kisses down his chest and stomach. With every kiss, you feel Matt tense slightly under your lips as he releases soft moans. Right as you reach Matt's happy trail, you feel him sit up, grabbing your face and pressing an eager kiss to your mouth.

"Your turn," he says. In a swift motion, Matt trades you places, flipping you over. He begins to plant kisses on your neck, everywhere he touches being left ablaze.

Typical Matt. Missionary Matt. Soft moans escape your lips as you become more and more desperate. It's not just a want, it's a need. Matt pulls his shirt off of you. He takes a second to admire you laying in his bed wearing only your panties.

"I'll never get tired of looking at you. Especially like this."

You help him slip out of his pj pants and immediately, he's back on top of you. His lips gradually travel from the top of your throat to the waistband of your underwear, leaving you tingling all over. "God. You're already so wet," he says seeing your panties almost completely saturated with need.

Matt leans over top of you, reaching in his nightstand to grab a condom. As he does so, he places his knee in between your legs, putting slight pressure on your swollen clit. He knows what he's doing. You bite your bottom lip to suppress a moan. You don't want it to stop before it even starts. Holding the protection between his teeth, Matt removes his boxers. Your eyes widen in awe as you examine the length of him. It's something that'll never stop surprising you. You lift up your hips as Matt removes the only thing you have on. Opening the wrapper with his teeth, Matt slides the rubber onto his dick, throwing the trash in the floor.

"I'm going to go slow and easy. If you can take it and stay quiet, I'll give you more."

Lining himself up with your entrance, Matt pushes into you slowly, slightly struggling from the size of himself even though you're practically dripping. You both gasp at the same time, your needs starting to be fulfilled. Your walls stretch and then squeeze around him as he slides in and out of you with slow, deep thrusts, only giving you half of his length. You press your lips together to keep your sounds of pleasure silent. Matt groans lowly trying to please you both, as much as possible as quietly as possible.

"You feel so good inside of me," you muster to him, trying your hardest to convince him that you can take more.

"You're doing so good," Matt whispers surprised at how quiet you're staying. With each thrust he slowly starts to give you more of his length.

"Matt, I need more. Please give me more" you plea, desperately wanting him to go harder, deeper, and faster.

"Are you sure you want to? Do you think you can take it?" he asks, keeping his rhythm consistent.

"Yes. I'll stay quiet. I promise," you respond.

Matt pulls out of you and drags you to the side of his bed, letting your legs dangle off the side. He reaches over top of you to grab a pillow. You lift up slightly as Matt slides the pillow under your hips, giving him more access to go deeper. After pumping himself a few times, he inserts himself back into you, his movement quicker and harder than before. You let out a low moan as quietly as you can. Matt places his hands on your stomach, pushing down firmly. He knows this is your favorite because it allows you to really feel him, every last inch. The cool touch of his metal rings covers you with goosebumps. You start to whimper. As he begins to buck his hips into you, faster and with more force than before, you feel him repeatedly slam into your g-spot. Your soft pants increase in volume. Matt leans forward to kiss you, trying to keep you silent. He picks up his pace slightly and applies more pressure to your belly. Every returned kiss becomes a struggle. You need to cry out desperately, no longer being able to contain yourself. You bite Matt’s shoulder attempting to maintain composure. A series of moans escape your lips, each one growing louder. Matt’s eyes snap directly to yours, knowing you're getting too noisy.

“Stay quiet for me,” Matt says through his own low moans. You bite your bottom lip, doing everything in your power to suppress your noises, your pleasure building. Loud whines leave your mouth. Matt removes his hands from your stomach, placing one on the bed and the other one your mouth. “Keep it down,” he says speeding up his pace even more.

The tension builds in your stomach. You’re almost there! “Yes Matt!” you cry out, his hand barely muffling your screams, failing to keep your act discrete. There was nothing quiet about the high-pitched shriek that you let out. Matt rips himself out of you with no warning, leaving you feeling suddenly empty and hurt. Your body is still aching for him.

"I told you to be fucking quiet. Now roll over." he spits at you walking over to his side of the bed.

You curl up in the fetal position facing away from Matt, not wanting him to see the tears of shame, frustration, and pure sadness filling your eyes. He has always been the sweetest boyfriend. You never thought that being too loud while he pleases you would make him so angry. He was so angry to the point that he was going to leave you both there unsatisfied, never getting your release. As Matt gets on the bed himself, you feel your throat burn as you try to hold back your tears.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he says his tone now aggressive. You feel his hand slide around your waist. He pulls you towards him and lifts you up, leaving you on all fours. "I'm not fucking done with you." He glides his hands up and over your ass. "Now, arch your back."

You do as he says. You were slightly put off earlier, but his aggressiveness turned you right back on. His massive hands continue to move from your lower back to the middle of your back, pushing you into the mattress. The side of your face pressed against the pillow, your stomach completely flat on the bed, your ass propped up in the air. He thrusts himself into you roughly, forcing your mouth to fall open and your arch to deepen.

"Since you want to be so fucking loud, I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. Give you somethin’ to scream about." Him and his Mattitude. He starts to buck into you hard, deep, and fast, proceeding to do just what he said he was going to do. You let out a shriek, gripping onto the sheets tightly, needing something to hold onto. Your mouth finds the pillow case and bites down hard.

"No! Get that shit out of your fucking mouth," he says speeding up his pace. "Let me hear you fucking scream."

You let out pornographic moans, your mind now clouded with how fucking good he's making you feel.

"Oh Matt! Yes!"

He slows his pace down, wanting to prolong both of your orgasms. If he keeps doing what he's doing, neither one of you will last long. His right hand leaves your back, and his two middle fingers enter your mouth. He begins thrusting his fingers down your throat at the same time as his dick is pushing into you.

"Now, if you can't stay quiet next time, I'm going to fuck this pretty little mouth of yours," he says in a cocky tone. He slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, you suck on them as he does. "Do you understand?" he asks.

"Yes, Matt," you quietly whimper, breathless. You're trying your best to answer him, but he is quite literally fucking you senseless. Suddenly, you feel Matt wrap the length of your hair around his hand. Roughly, he pulls your head back towards him, forcing you to cry out.

"I'm sorry. What was that? I couldn't fuckin’ hear you," he responds. His other hand drifts from your hips, meets his tongue, and finds its way to your most sensitive spot. He begins to rub small circles around your bundle of nerves.

"Yes Daddy!" you scream, a jolt running through your body.

"That's what I like to hear," Matt says groaning loudly. He releases his hand from your hair and pushes you into the bed again.

After stabilizing himself on your back Matt begins to pound into you, fucking you as hard as he can. As his pace speeds up, so does the movement of his fingers on your clit. Your stomach clenches telling you that you're about to finish.

"Matt," you pant, "I'm gonna…," a loud moan finishes your sentence.

"Me too," he replies out of breath, "Give it to me. I wanna hear you scream."

Your muscles contract as you have the most intense orgasm you've ever had, your whole body left shaking. Matt cums with you. He continues to buck into you a few more times as you both ride out your high. Matt's moans fill your head. The sound of Matt bouncing off of your ass shakes the room. Your shouts ricochet throughout the house. There is absolutely nothing quiet about this. The both of you then collapse and catch your breath, the room now painfully quiet. Eventually, Matt pulls out of you and he gets up to dispose of the condom. He uses his shirt that you were wearing earlier to clean you up. Your trembling body was not in the state to move. He grabs a new shirt for you out of his drawer and dresses you gently, the complete opposite of how he was just fucking you. Matt picks up your panties and walks towards you.

"Just forget those," you say, your legs shaking. Your voice is now hoarse and raw.

"Hey, I'm not complaining," Matt laughs. He puts on his boxers and slides into bed with you. He cracks open your water bottle and takes a long drink.

"That's not yours," you poke at him playfully, your croaky voice breaking up your words.

"You said we can share."

"Well, currently I think I need that more than you do."

He hands you the bottle as you both giggle. After taking a sip, you return the bottle to him. He closes it and sits it back in it's place. Matt pulls you in and gives you a long, deep kiss, sending chills down your spine.

"Now, let's go to sleep before they decide to come in here to investigate," he says. With no response, you curl into his chest and you both doze off.

[priisprii]

I am trying to tell you somethin' , somethin' I already said - C.SC

Summary: Parties are all good, but getting fucked by your hot fuck buddy is better.

Warnings: dom! Seungcheol, sub!reader, fingering, unprotected sex, oral (m&f receiving) , spit kink, pussy slapping, light degradation.

Word count: 2.3 k

Minors don't interact.

All your friends warned you about Seungcheol, he was a bad influence, Heartbreaker, red flag blah..blah.. blah.

You actually didn't really gave damn about the rumours and gossips surrounding him, he's a Playboy.... So what? If blessed with that beautiful face and delicious body it would be waste to not to get laid left and right.Choi Seungcheol was fever dream for you.Buisness major, good gpa, athlete, plays guitar, looks like Greek God and so on. He was perfect and you want him.

So you plan on getting him.

Confessing to a guy a getting rejected might not be the worst thing that could happen right? You were sure Seungcheol felt something for you too, his lingering gaze on you in a crowded room was enough proof for you. Even though you both never exchanged any words, there was a strong pull between you too , which your bestfriend described as delusion. Turns out it wasn't your delusion, You confessed your feelings through Dm, ready to get rejected but all you got a one line message, meet me after class.

Six months passed to that incident, and you have Seungcheol in your life.Not as a boyfriend though but as fuck buddy and it was enough. Afterall all you wanted was to be one of his girls. So here you are attending some useless party, locked up in one of the room upstairs and getting used by Seungcheol just as you always wanted to be.

" I am gonna make you ride my shoe if keep sucking like stupid inexperienced whore. Come on I taught you better than that" Seungcheol warned, his voice dripping with lust. He was getting impatient with the way you were sucking him without any effort but what could you do? The way he was bobbing your head up and down was intoxicating, the rough carpet brusising your knees,his cock touching the back of your throat in most delicious way, he was big, so big that your lips started hurting, lipstick ruined long ago, spit dripping straight to your exposed tits, mascara ruined, Seungcheol would trade half of his life to see you like that forever.

Your grip on Seungcheol's thigh tightened, you tried taking him deeper in your mouth than he already was, gagging uncontrollably around him, your moans sending vibrations straight to his spine. The way he was grunting made it clear that he was close to his release, so you increased your speed, desperate for his cum and his pleasure.

"Yes babe Just like that, soo good"

His voice was so sweet now unlike the scary tone he used earlier, he rarely praised you and whenever he did it made you lose your mind a little bit. He was everything you wished for and he fucked you just like you wished, he fulfilled all your depraved fantasies, he was your first and when he gotta know that, he was absolutely gentle with you, cause he didn't wanted your first experience to leave bitter taste in mouth, the memory making you curl your toes, pussy dripping uncontrollably, crying for some stimulation.

"Open wide" Seungcheol purred, removing his dick from your mouth, you whined loudly not liking the emptiness you were left with, your action made him lightly slap your cheek, not in mood for your complaints. Nevertheless you obeyed mouth streching widely ,tongue out. Pathetic. Seungcheol thought to himself.

He pumped his cock few times before exploding on your tongue, you knew better to not swallow until he gave permission to do so, he purposely aimed for your cheek and forehead, something about you being covered in his cum made him go absolutely feral, he loved seeing you so vulnerable and fucked up,no one looked as pretty as you in his eyes.

"Swallow"

His one command was enough for you to quickly swallow his cum which was already over dripping from your lips. You looked at him with doe eyes, vision blurry with tears, waiting for him to give attention to your wet weeping pussy. He scooped the remaining cum from your cheeks and forehead by his fingers and put them straight to your lips mouthing suck which you compiled almost like a dog. With his two fingers he streched your lips wide, creating enough space for him to land spit directly in your mouth, the actions making you clench your empty wet cunt .

"You like everything I do with you, don't you?" Seungcheol asked cockily, none of his previous partners were as freaky as you were and none of them made him as wild you made him, you bring that side of him that no one knows.

"Please Cheol.. Touch me please"

you begged breathlessly. panties were soaked with your arousal and sticking against your folds, crying for his, fingers, his tongue, his cock, him. Cheol let out a chuckle, laughing at your neediness nevertheless you were so turned on that his voice alone could make get you off.

"Get on the bed"

Your heart cried out in happiness ,finally getting what you wanted since evening, when he invited you to this mediocre party, you got on bed almost immediately lying on your back, not caring about the pain in your knees, or your iron deficiency, you were already drunk on Seungcheol. He was better than any drug. Seungcheol discarded his pants which were barely hanging around his torso, his black T-shirt coming off next, your mouth watering at the beautiful sight infront of you, his abs, oh how much you wish you could ride them, well that's for another day. He climbed on the bed, not breaking the eye contact, his intense gaze making you squirm. You were almost naked, the only article on your body were your useless panties, who did a terrible job of hiding your arousal. Seungcheol pressed two of his fingers against your cunt and a breathless moan escaped your lips ,pleased with your reaction, pressed down deeper against the fabric.

"Always so wet and ready for me"

He removed your panties in blink of an eye, your bare cunt now fully visible to him, he eyed you up and down, his intense gaze making you try to close your legs, which earned you a slap on your thigh from Seungcheol.

" Try closing your legs again and I will tie you against bed and leave you like this all naked and desperate mess" Seungcheol threatened you , you immediately spread your legs as far as you could, the shame flying out your body.

"Please, Cheol I am sorry, please fuck me, I promise I'll be good"

He didn't replied to your begging but, a smirk made it's way on his lips, he eyed your pussy, diving straight to get a taste. His tongue lapped against your clit while his fingers aimed for your g-spot, burrying them deep inside your cunt and scissoring them deep inside, the sudden pleasure was overwhelming for you, you held yourself back from closing your legs, not wanting to disobey him. You gripped Seungcheol's hair, burrying his face deeper into your pussy, you could feel his smirk against your folds, your whole body trembling with pleasure. You were a blabbering mess , moaning Cheol's name like a prayer.

"Fuck Cheol, I am so close... Please don't stop"

He grunted against your cunt, blowing hot breathe against your folds, he knew you could combust any second but he had other plans, he liked denying you, keeping you on edge was addicting to him. Just when you were about to get your sweet release, Cheol removed his fingers and mouth, discarding you fully and delivering a sharp slap against your cunt, the sudden overwhelming force making you whimper and cry out in pain.

"Oh, poor baby wanted to cum?" Cheol asked you, lacing his voice with fake sympathy while moving his fingers up and down against your bare pussy.

"Please Cheol, fuck me" you cried out, giving him your best doe eyes. Seungcheol again slapped your cunt hard enough to make your whole body jolt up with pleasure.

"You like it, don't you? You could easily get off by me slapping your cunt" Seungcheol cooed, an evil idea plaguing his head, you were beyond stimulated, even a light touch could make you cum right then and there and the intensity with which he was smacking your cunt was enough for you to squirt uncontrollably.

"No.. please want your cock" you pleaded, squirming against bed, you just wished for Seungcheol to fuck you without any more teasing.

Maybe it's your tears or the desperation in your voice which made Seungcheol line his cock against your cunt, the movement sending you to clouds, even though he fingered you thoroughly, you were not prepared for his cock, the warmth of your walls making him grunt out in pleasure, your pussy was his favourite place right after your mouth.

"Always so tight"

"That's it, take it"

Cheol didn't gave you time to adjust, he grabbed your left thigh and without wasting any time started thrusting into your wet needy pussy. You let out string of broken moans , overwhelmed by sudden delicious strech . Seungcheol captured your lips for a ferocious kiss, his tongue diving straight to your mouth, nothing was cute or innocent about this kiss, it was dripping with passion and fire Seungcheol had for you, which he wasn't able to confess yet, he only hoped you would understand his incandescent desire.

"God, you're so beautiful" Seungcheol whispers against your lips, his unforgiving thrusts never stopping , he drags his tongue slowly against your lower lip, making you clench against his cock harder, with his free hand, he grabbed your tit, pinching and twisting your sensitive bud , you let out a yelp which was swallowed by him, he kept fondling with your tits pushing your body deeper into the bed, he was drunk on your scent.

"Cheol, Cheol hand, your hand please" you voiced out incoherently , trying to reach out to grab Seungcheol's hand , he stopped his movements for a second, processing your words, then it clicked to him , you wanted to intervene hands with him, how romantic he thought to himself before continuing his punishing thrusts and grabbing your hand, intervening your fingers with his and bringing it up to kiss your knuckles, the action swelling your heart with unexplainable feeling.

"You're mine" Seungcheol said , rolling his hips against you, he could feel that you are near with the way you were arching your back almost painfully, the room was filled with echos of skin slapping and strong scent of sex , all overwhelming your senses, you loved this. Loved getting used by him as he desired and he knows you love it too.

"All yours" you whispered, voice breaking with each syllabus, those words were enough for Seungcheol to pound against you harder, chasing his release along with you.

"Fuck Cheol, I am so close" you cried out, feeling your your orgasam ripping through you, your moans grew louder with each passing second. Seungcheol himself wasn't able to maintain a steady pace, your walls engulfing him , making him chase his own release.

"Cum for me, babe"

His words were enough for you to let go of all thoughts and cum "G-God, oh God, Cheollie," you whine, your eyes shut because of overwhelming sweet pleasure, it feels  too fucking good, you kept spaming around his cock like crazy, making him cum too.

"“Fuck, gonna let me fill this little pussy to the brim pretty, fuck keep squeezing me like that baby" Seungcheol breathe out, pushing warm ropes of cum deep inside you,His thrusts slowing down dragging his cock in and out of you, his breathe ragged against your lips , he halted after ensuring every bit of his cum was deep inside your womb, he crashed on bed beside you, engulfing you into a tight hug.

"So good for me" he purred, his fingers making its way to your bruised cunt, pushing the overflowing cum back inside with two fingers, you yelped, body burning with over sensitivity. You tried grabbing his hand but he didn't let you .

" Can't let any of the drop go to waste" Seungcheol said cockily, after few more strokes , he shoved his fingers to your mouth, you sucked them immediately not needing any further command, his sweet taste overpowering your senses.

Seungcheol pulled you into a kiss, stroking your hair so tenderly afraid you could breake, his kiss was soft and gentle, pouring his heart to you, the words I love you were sitting right on his lips, threatening to escape his any second.

But he stopped, he will confess but not today, not until he thinks he's worthy of you, till then he will settle for your having you in his arms like this, outlining I love you on your back with his fingertips not knowing that you understood each stroke.

A/N : Thank you for reading my first work after so many years, i apologise for the cranky writing, i promise I will be better.

[hayatoseyepatch]

Description: NSFW headcannons for Hajime Umemiya. Character: Hajime Umemiya. Word Count: 1.9k Contains: Fem!Reader x Hajime Umemiya. Smut. Breeding kink, daddy calling, p in v, marking, free use, public sex, exhibitionism, oral (f!receiving), praise, dirty talk, implied size difference.

Authors Note: This was a request for some Umemiya NSFW headcannons. I hope you enjoy this annonie! I've been dying to write more Ume (He's my second fave after Suo after all) so thank you for giving me an excuse to write some of the many many thoughts I have about this beautiful man. (❀ ˆ³ˆ)♡

•⋅⊰ Hajime Umemiya has a breeding kink, I will not budge on this. He calls everyone in Bofurin his family, and after losing his, he is so excited to start a family with you. Nothing gets Ume harder than the thought of filling your womb. And nothing is going to be able to stop him until that urge has been fulfilled.  

The day had started innocently enough, a visit made to the group home to drop off some of the produce you both had harvested from his garden that morning. But as he watched you interact with the little ones, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. The thoughts of you holding your own child in your arms as they giggled. The idea of the both of you looking up at him as you welcomed him home. These thoughts consumed him. And as much as they made his heart fill with warmth, he couldn’t help but feel the strain of his cock in his pants.

The thought of your tummy becoming swollen with his child plagued his mind as the head of his cock kissed your cervix. Your knees are thrown over his forearms, hands desperately gripping onto him for support. You both had barely made it to your bedroom, his lips attacking yours hungrily as he practically ripped your clothes from your body. A simple “Fuck, sunflower, I need you so bad” spoken breathlessly against your lips as he hoisted you into his arms. Groaning at the feeling of your velvety walls squeezing him as he slipped inside. His head ducking down to take a nipple in his mouth tongue circling the nub before letting his teeth grace you gently. Mind wandering to how swollen they would become, filled with milk, wondering how it would taste. The thought alone drove him to set a harsh pace, the sound of his hips slamming against yours filling the room. He pulls his head from you, teeth dragging your nipple until his mouth is free with a satisfying ‘pop’. Lips pressing themselves against your ear, words breathless as he spoke. ”I want to see that beautiful face when I breed this pretty pussy with my cum, bunny.”

He pulled from you, maneuvering you in his strong arms until you both reached the bed, having you lay on your back beneath him. Knees pushed to your chest once more by his grip on your thighs. Your hands gripping onto his skin, nails biting into the skin. Feeling an incredible sense of emptiness at the loss of his cock. Knowing just what to say to get him back inside you. “Hajime please, feel so empty. Put a baby inside of me, Haji, I need you to breed my cunt, daddy.” You looked up at him between your legs, the tears that lined your lashes only enforced the need behind your words, the need that caused the mess between your legs.

He leans down pressing a sweet kiss against your lips as he slips back into your cunt, thumb rubbing against your clit to match his pace. He could feel the spasming of your walls, the want, the desperate need for you to come all over his cock. He attacked your neck, leaving kisses and bites along the surface area of your neck. Pleased as the skin deepens in color with his mark. Though what really sent him into a frenzy, was one phrase in particular, you always knew just what to say to drive him insane. “Yeah, princess? Need me to fill that slutty cunt baby? Want me to fold you in half and breed you, princess, want me to really make you a mommy, huh baby? Well, how could I say no after you begged for it so pretty sunflower?”

•⋅⊰ Free use with Umemiya is a must. He often has you foregoing the use of your panties. If you do, more often than not he winds up pocketing them anyway, so what’s the point? Umemiya needs to have you at any given time, he’s a busy man after all, he’s got to make sure his little flower is well tended to doesn’t he?

His lips were attached to your neck, leaving hot kisses in their wake. One of his large hands keep you in place with its strong grip on your waist. He takes the opportunity to slide a large hand under the hem of your skirt. Fingers digging into the plush of your ass for stability. He takes the opportunity of you leaning forward to the side as leverage to slide his hand lower, slipping your panties to the side, swiping the wetness there, fingers sliding past your entrance. He groans into your neck feeling the way your slick walls swallow his fingers hungrily. “You're always so nice and ready for me, no matter what aren’t you sunflower?” He purrs into your ear, free hand coming to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your sundress. The both of you had just been gardening, watering the buds that were just beginning to sprout. The way the dress hugged your curves had Umemiya in a frenzy. He knew it was dangerous to touch you so openly, but that just added to the thrill.

You were frozen in his embrace Sugishita was not too far away as he tended to the other end of the garden. Your cheeks flushed, eyes locked on him to make sure you both wouldn’t get caught. “Hajime.. wait.. Sugishita is-“ Your words were quickly cut off, hands flying to your mouth to muffle your moans as Umemiya curls his fingers upward, expertly finding that spongy pot that makes the corners of your vision go white. He grinned against your ear, though he couldn’t ignore the spike of jealousy he felt hearing you call the younger male’s name so breathlessly. “Well then I guess you're gonna have to be real quiet now aren’t you darling?” He never ceased in his ministrations, if anything he doubled his efforts. Fingers pumping in and out of your drenched pussy, thumb moving to rub tight circles on your clit.

Your nails dig into the skin of his forearm, using your grip to help yourself stand on shaky legs as Umemiya works you over with his fingers, trying desperately to keep your wounds to a minimum. If anyone were to see you from the back it would simply look like Umemiya was holding you sweetly in his arms. But you knew better, you were suspicious Sugishita did too from how attentively he was gardening, tips of his ears peeking from within his long hair being red. “Haji.. please.” You whimper softly around your hand, his answer is immediate doubling his efforts as he pumps the fingers that were inside you faster. The thumb of his other hand circled your nipple before taking the bud between two fingers.

“Go on baby, make a mess on my fingers. I know you want to sunflower, make a mess for me.” He groans, rubbing his clothed erection against your ass, letting you feel just how riled up touching you was getting him. His words send you over the edge, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as you will your hips not to buck against his fingers as your walls spasm around your digits as you cum for him. Breathing heavily, turning back to look at him, only to catch him slipping the soaked digits in his mouth, humming as he gets a taste of you. “Sweetest nectar I’ve ever tasted, honeybee.” He chuckles, deep in your ear, before grabbing your wrist. “Hey Sugishita!” he calls loudly, causing you and the other males’ cheeks to warm with color. “Me and Sunflower need to grab some supplies from the shed real quick, gotta fill her up ya know?” All three of you knew in that moment Umemiya was not talking about the garden.

•⋅⊰ Hajime Umemiya is the CEO of pussy eating. This man eats your cunt like he is STARVING. He is not satisfied unless you're absolutely dripping down his face. He likes it mess he craves it. He gets drunk on your taste. It brings him so much pleasure to taste you against his lips and even more to hear the sounds that leave your lips as he does it.

Umemiya begins the long and tortuous process of trailing kisses down your frame, grinning against your skin as he feels your body arch into his touch, finally ending his slow descent by tugging the waistband of your panties back with his teeth, shivering in anticipation at the sound of the elastic snapping against your skin. Having enough of his own teasing already, he leans back, groaning upon seeing the drenched material of your panties. “Holy shit baby girl, look at you. You're fucking soaked. Can't wait to taste you, princess.” He impatiently grips the fabric tugging it off of your frame, placing the material next to him on the bed, before laying flat on his front, settling himself between your legs, hooking a thumb in a fold pulling the skin to the side to expose you fully to his prying eyes. “Sunflower, you're so fucking beautiful, I can't fucking stand it.” Accentuating his words with a playful nip at the inside of your thigh, kissing upwards slowly, tongue dragging along your soft skin until he reaches where you need him most.

Leaning in, he swipes the wet muscle upwards to collect the wetness that was dripping from your center. Groaning, deep in his throat, at your taste. He pulls away just enough so that you could feel his breath against your cunt as he spoke. “Fuck you’re so delicious princess, and so nice and wet, tell me. Is this all for me, baby?”  Your head was thrown back already from such a simple touch, fingers already tangling in his styled hair as you affirmed his words with a hum. “Yes, Haji it's all for you. Only get this wet for you baby.” He lets out a deep chuckle at how cute you were being right now, allowing you to feel the vibrations of his laughter in your core. He lets a hand come up, finger prodding your entrance, collecting the wetness gathered there before sliding into the knuckle, curling the appendage upwards. His lips detach from your clit, tongue lolling out to flatten against the sensitive bundle of nerves. He was quick to add another finger, pumping the digits in and out of your heat slowly. His tongue lapped at your clit, occasionally tracing meaningless shapes along your clit adding to the sensations his tongue was providing. His other hand comes up to grab a handful of your ass, effectively pushing your hips down on his tongue.

Umemiya moaned into your cunt, his mouth quickly becoming insatiable. Fingers pumping relentlessly in and out of your tight heat, a mixture of your wetness and his saliva dripping down his chin and onto the mattress below. Umemiya was overtaken by your taste, tongue lapping at your clit desperately. Unable to will himself to stop he rolls his hips against the plush of the mattress. Needing some form of friction to alleviate the throbbing of his cock. Groaning against your cunt, your taste coupled with his rolling hips sent a shudder up his spine. The softness of the mattress through the tight material of his pants does nothing in comparison to having your tight cunt wrapped around him. But he needed this, needed to feel your hips buck desperately against his face as you chased your high. He knew it would be worth it when you came against his face with a scream of his name, fingers pulling roughly against his hair to ground yourself as he drank everything you had to offer. And it would definitely be worth the pair of underwear he just ruined.

Dividers by saradika-graphics. Writing & character banners by me. If you enjoyed it, consider taking a look at my masterlist: here. Special thanks to @eevees-hobbies for putting free use Ume in my head so bad that I needed to write it.

[cryptfile]

☆ Loveseat, [ Carmen Berzatto AU ]

SUMMARY — After being in a relationship with Carmen, you cannot help but being extra judgemental when it comes to food.

WARNINGS — i’m currently rotting in hell, meaning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, +18 content, there’s a lot of, cursing, choking, praising, dirty talking, mentions of food and eating, hair pulling, fingering.

SIDE NOTES — This is my first post here, so hope you guys like it. English’s not my first language so if there's any mistakes in advance, i’m sorry. Please interact if you like this, reblogs, comments, likes, all means a lot to me! I’ll leave my inbox open so you can suggest more characters! This takes place in an alternative timeline for own my liking, enjoy! x

Lately, Carmen Berzatto was not sure how he managed to get you.

To be completely honest, most of his friends seemed to wonder how he managed to pull the tattooer that adorned his hands with cool designs being that shy, however, when you started texting him photos of your daily food stating it was complete bullshit — He knew he had you in for a long time.

He would explain himself it was something casual at first. A few texts every now and then, swimming between a wave of bad jokes and tension he was sure he was imaging as he read through the texts you send at least twice, then, he would know he’d win you over with food.

Maybe that’s when you became so judgemental at first, after trying the lasagna he made for you after being so tired from working all day long, something else just snapped, even when he was done being near the fire, not even wanting to look at a plate ever again: He managed to spoil you with something good to eat anyways, making you moan in pure pleasure after craving some good food all day.

Of course it was important, can you even blame him?

He was not very vocal about it, hell, it was hard for him to even admit it even after being with you almost six months, but he loved the way you reacted to all his stuff. Even if it was something simple like scrambled eggs or regular pasta with plain butter, it was the way you groaned and grab the spoon licking the silverware clean, showering him with praises after when he was so used to be miserable in the kitchen.

“Open up,” he says before feeding you with the spoon. It was one of those nights where he was trying new stuff at your place, keeping you up till late seated on the kitchen counter close to him as he cooked, opening your mouth just to give an allegedly meaningful critique. “Any thoughts? Feedback?”

It was a wild ride for sure. A turbulent one as you closed your eyes all suddenly, the image burnt on the back of his head when you groaned savoring the taste like it was something else.

“Dunno,” you admit later on, trying to think on anything bad to say — “Need to have another bite before giving an honest answer.”

He smirks in response, repeating the same action just to hear you speak again. Being with you was something similar as his cigarette breaks, escaping from all the stress he usually gets in his life.

Silence again.

“Well fuck, you have me here. Maybe needs some more salt,” you think out loud. Almost trying to say something bad out of force as you knew he wouldn’t stop until he got an brutally honest answer. “The combinations of flavors though is really breathtaking, you outdone yourself this time. Could tattoo this risotto on me, no questions asked.”

Salt? He takes a bite himself almost immediately.

“It doesn’t need any more salt” he replies furrowing his brows in response. “We’ve talked about this sweetheart…”

“You wanted me to be a critique,” you admit almost offended, letting out a light chuckle before stealing the spoon from his hand in one swift movement. “I'm, being indeed, sincere here."

God. It was those moments that made him catch his breath, how the minutes passed slower and everything else seemed to blurry around the two of you. He cannot deny it, cause he loves the snarky responses, the way your mouth wraps around the spoon in a way that made him so devastated at the sight, head spinin’ with the thought of the things he already did to you, the memories that he seems to cherish so deeply.

He cannot stop either when his fingers toy with your hair, the strains sliding smoothly through his fingers. You seemed to enjoy it too, cause it's all it takes to make you forget about the food, leaning into his touch.

"Since when you became my main critique, hm?” he asks, placing himself between your tights as he invaded your space with nothing but pure confidence in his cooking skills. He knew for a fact, it didn't need any more salt. "Made you so spoiled you are a new expert here, baby?"

“Well, it’s your fault anyway" you defend yourself, narrowing your eyes at his words. "You're the one who spoils me rotten, always feeding me nice tasty stuff, keeping me up till’ late trying new things. I’m what you taught me to be, cannot blame for being a good critique. It is what it is."

"So you're blaming me for being a caring partner?" he cannot hold the laugh back, pulling on your hair almost enough to make you look at him. “S’that what you’re implying here?” 

“Would never even dare to” you admit all innocence bitting the inside of your cheek, and Carmen swears you’re doing it just to get in his brain, to control every action in that twisted brain of yours, and he cannot stop himself to fall every time, pulling on your hair slightly rougher this time as he towers over you. “Just implying that you’ll ruin food for me forever if we keep this up.” 

“Not seeing what’s the problem with that” he simply replies as he stared at your expression, how the simple act of your head tilted backwards made his blood boil, the exposed skin of your neck pulling him like the polar opposite of a magnet as he looks down at you — “Don’t really care.”

He’s clearly enjoying that. The sudden proximity as his left hand travels through your side, gripping onto your tight as he gives a light squeeze, tracing invisible patterns against your warm skin that contrasts so much to the chef’s usual cold hands. 

He cannot possibly have enough of you as you melt into his touch, in the very edge of turning into a mad man as he grabs a fistful of your hair to pull you in a demanding kiss, tongue-tracing over your lower lip, almost asking for a formal invitation to finally invade you, his breathing colliding against your skin, holding you in place as he suffers from a burst of pure adrenaline. 

His hands betray him in no time, drawn by the sounds you make when he’s nibbling on that nice curve on your neck, allowing his hand to glide over your soft skin just to end up in your inner tights, fingertips just barely touching as he just watches over you, the sight of you being just enough, that nice smell on your skin when he kisses your neck, your perfume being all around him… it’s getting to him.

He quickly becomes all so vocal, when he’s finally reaching the fabric of your shorts and his touch leaves a burnt sensation behind, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears.

“Gonna’ ruin it f’ya, baby” he says in a low voice — “Looking s’hot all bothered already just for a few kisses, cannot help but spoil m’girl.” 

Of course he fucking loves it. He loves how he knows exactly how to make a mess out of you, touching just the right places, concentrated in your pleasure as he drags the velvety fabric of your shorts to the side, making you crave the touch of his fingertips before finally slide them beneath the fabric of your underwear, lips parted as he finally touches your entrance, taking his time with you.

“God, you’re so wet f’me already, so damn warm” he says in a low whisper, making you talk in between your erratic breathing words that don’t seem to mean anything.

It’s so good. The frantic feeling washing over him as his fingers move in circles over your clit, the almost unnoticible wet sounds filling the air of the kitchen as he places soft kisses in that very spot where your shoulder meet the curvature of your neck. He just knows exactly what he’s doing. How to get under your skin, how to make you run out of breath, and he simply grew attached to it, to the way your skin feels so smooth against his fingers and you act up minutes before beggin’ for more.

And when he finally buries two digits in your cunt — God fucking damn.

He cannot keep the facade, blue eyes drinking the sight of you in as you moan, hips moving against his palm watching how his fingers dissapeared in you, pumping slowly at first, enjoying the way your walls wraps around his fingers, the words that came out of your opened mouth in pure desperation.

“Bear,” you would say in an unsteady breathing “O-oh fuck yes, yes baby, please don’t stop, please-”

The hand who pulled your hair before now tightens around your throat, and he can see you smiling like you’re in fucking paradise before he presses against that nice spot in the side of her neck, cutting the suministration of air to your lungs slightly. Always so eager, making him try new things together even when he was used to an relatively calm, almost non-existant sex life when all his focus was on the restaurant, insisting on trying new things that he end up loving.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me, taking me so s’good” he praises you for a moment, obliging you to look at him when he talks “Lettin’ my fingers fill you up like this, a mess already.”

“That’s it baby, move those pretty hips, need you to keep fuckin’ y’self.”

Lewd sounds, his tight grip on your neck, your hips arching to find that perfect place for him to hit and it’s all it takes for the chef to bring you closer and closer to the edge, fingers curling inside your soaked cunt, moaned sentences that in his ear are only adding up fuel to keep flexing his muscles for you, to keep on stimulating you.

“Gonna cum,” you let him know, but he’s quickly shaking his head in disapproval — “Carm, please, need to-”

“You can hold a little longer, princess” he coos, his grip on your throat almost making you stop breathing completely. Fuck. Your vision becomes dizzy, and for Carmen, the view is nothing but pure delight in front of him. Your shirt raised over your stomach, you pretty little face all disorted thanks to the thrill, parted legs just to give him more space to work with, fighting for some air. He’s so damn greedy about it, knowing he’s the only person who can get you like that. “Hm, stop squeezing me like that baby.”

He chuckles lightly, your hands gripping into the edge of the counter, raising one leg over the table as you try to do what you’re told, to please him every single time. He’s torturing you, and you cannot blame him cause you made him like that, just like he spoiled you with food. All those times whimpering in his bedsheets, asking all shy if he can choke you while pounding into your cunt, cheeks red while riding him, whispering things about how thick he feels inside, how he’s stretching you out so nicely, made him confident enough to know exactly what you like.

Carmen Berzatto is a caring boyfriend after all.

“S’okay, sweetheart” he says moments after, placing soft kisses on your face, your skin glimmering against the lights of your kitchen, a light layer of sweat as you closed your eyes tightly — “Cum baby, let me feel you” he talks you through it, words coming to his mouth so easily now, the sound of his tone so raspy it makes you arch your back as you finally let yourself go, riding the orgasm and making it last as long as you can, your own pleasure being your only priority as his digits bury themselves in your cunt, pressing against your neck to make it more difficult for you, to fill your eyes with tears as you loudly moan his name.

He holds you place, the mess he made out of you in such short time, eyes following the way your body shakes in the glimpse of ecstasy, fingers still pumping inside you but at a much slower pace, knowing you’d be sensitive now, lips swollen, messy hair and ruined mascara.

“Willing to admit now i’m right?” he ask in a low voice, letting you breathe as he was still afected by you — “That it doesn’t need any more salt, smartass?”

You hum in response, chuckling at his stubborn remark, your hands gripping into his arm just to dig your nails in his tattooed skin, almost begging him to let you breathe a second.

“Get up,” he says, not harshly enough to be a command, but instead, a plea. “Bend over the counter baby. M’not done with you yet.”

And even being so sensitive, you cannot help but comply, looking at your boyfriend through half-lidded eyes cause yeah, he made you a spoiled brat in terms of food, but you have definitely broke something else when it came to the intimacy he was now into.

Or maybe you just loved being his main critique.

[ellieslittlewh0re]

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐞)

* ೃ⁀➷ part 1 - part 2 - part 3

pairing - farmers daughter! reader x farmhand! ellie

summary - ellie gives in

additional tags - breeding kink, oral (reader receiving), strap on usage (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), use of words cock/dick, pet names (baby, doll, sweet/pretty girl, miss/ma’am), praise/humiliation, dom/munch ellie, sub reader

───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─────

It had been almost 2 weeks since that last interaction with Ellie. Your dad came home earlier than you expected and almost caught Ellie's lips so close to yours.

Luckily, he didn't and your secret is safe- at least for now.

Ellie, on the other hand, has been avoiding you since. She comes, she works, and won't even step foot inside the house if she could avoid it.

You tried your best to coax her in small ways- wearing the littlest articles of linen you owned, brushing against her body when you went out and offered her a drink, but she wouldn't bite.

You were growing frustrated to say the least, and you tried to relieve the ache every night, but your fingers weren't enough.

You needed her.

Ellie had just came inside the house to grab a hammer that your dad had left on the dinning table, glancing around to make sure the coast was clear. She thought she was safe, but she would be wrong.

"Hi Ellie." You sing your siren song, making your presence known to her from around the corner.

"Shit- I-." She stutters, almost dropping the heavy tool from her hands that were slipping from her fingers because she was so fucking nervous.

You made her nervous.

"Why are you avoidin' me? Did I do something wrong?" Your fingers interlock behind your back as you walk towards her, making Ellie sweat more with each step you took.

"N-no, not avoiding- I just-"

"Just what, Ellie? Hm? You're hurtin' my feelings." You play hurt, batting your eyelashes as you take one last step to close the space between you two, your fingers playing with the buttons on her top.

"M' not doing it to hurt your feelings, doll-"

Your hand comes up, ghosting her cheek as you tuck a stray hair behind her ear which makes Ellie freeze up- short circuiting her brain.

"I just-" she moves her head away from your touch, grabbing your hand in hers.

"I meant what I said.. I don't want you to regret it."

You couldn't help but chuckle- finding it amusing that Ellie had no idea how you touched yourself every night to thoughts of her.

You shake your head, your pointer finger looping around the hoop of her waistband, pulling her that much closer to you.

"Won't regret it- I need you, Els.. need you bad." You almost whisper, luring her closer with just your words alone.

Ellie's jaw opened slightly, feeling the quickened breath of her aroused state against your lips, and her eyes darkening, looking at your face and then narrowing in on your lips, repeating until she finally gave in.

She tossed the hammer aside, letting hit the table with a loud thud, grabbing your face with her hands as she chased your lips- tasting you like it was her fucking job.

Ellie wanted to be be gentle with you- give it to you how you deserved- soft and sweet, but she wasn't thinking about that right now.

She wanted to fucking ruin you- leave you shaking and crying. She wanted to hear your begs and pleads for her to stop, but she wouldn't.

She wanted to fuck you, over and over again, and punish you for how fucking hard you teased her.

You whimper into her mouth, letting her take control since you were already weak in the knees, feeling her tongue assert dominance against the muscle.

She pulls away, slightly out of breath as she looked at your pathetic state- bracing yourself against the table, lips reddened and puffy- your expression full of need.

"You're fucking killing me, doll." She wipes the corner of her bottom lip with her thumb, her chest heaving with adrenaline, ready to pounce at any second, but she doesn't.

"Stay the night." You asked, but it didn't come off as a question- more of a demand.

"You know I can't do that-"

"I'll come to you then."

Ellie furrows her brows slightly, mentally weighing out the consequences of her actions.

"What about your dad?"

"I'll wait till' he's asleep- take his truck, he won't know I'm gone."

A chuckle echoed in her throat- in a way that felt like she was mocking you- possibly because you were not this sweet angel that you portrayed yourself to be, and she was getting to know the real you. 

Her arm reaches around you on the table, grabbing the hammer with her chest bumping against yours.

"See you tonight, doll."

-

You tried your best to act normal all day, and so did Ellie. Both you minimized the conversations around your dad, not even daring to look each other for too long because of the plans you two made for tonight.

You were nervous, excited, but mostly nervous- even though this was your own damn fault. You were all tough and big when it was you calling the shots, but you had a feeling that was going to change as soon as you are standing outside her doorstep.

The sun was setting, and Ellie was saying her goodbyes as she walked down the driveway to her truck. You pretend to shrug off her departure, but not before slipping the little piece of paper with her address scribbled on it into your pocket that she had left wedged between the slates of the porch swing.

-

"Goodnight, hon." Your father places a kiss to the top of your head before walking down the hall into the master bedroom , shutting the door behind him.

You waited a good hour- making sure your father was in a deep sleep before taking his keys from the glass bowl on the table next to the entrance and slowly opening the front door, suppressing any noise to the best of your abilities as you stepped out into the moonlit night.

The drive there felt short- too short. It didn't feel like it was enough time to realize what you were doing, but it was too late- currently standing outside of Ellie's house- a small, classic cottage style one-story home- modest, but it had its appeal. The landscaping was bare- unkempt at best, but at least the lawn was mowed.

"Okay-" With one hand at your side- the other knocked softly against the wooden door, tapping your knuckle twice. You straighten your posture, pushing out your chest in your best attempt to make it seem you weren't as nervous as you were. It's not like it was your first time sneaking out, but it was your first time sneaking out to see someone like Ellie and to do the things you had planned to do.

The door creaked upon opening, revealing a slightly surprised Ellie, towel drying her damp hair.

"I didn't think you'd come." She smirked, her cheeks already bright pink as soon as she saw you standing there in your short- borderline lingerie nightgown.

"Why wouldn't I?" You asked rhetorically, tone dripping with suggest as you stepped past her and into the home.

You kick off your shoes by the front door, walking around and looking at all the details. You're were genuinely curious about how Ellie lived.

Even though you see her everyday- she was still quite the mystery to you.

The home was simple and cozy- the same way your grandparents' house would feel; worn leather couches and wooden furniture. A vase with withered flowers sat in the middle of the dining table. Ellie had picked them from a field on her way to your house- thinking she would give them to you, but she never mustered up the courage- so instead- here they were; peddles of faded purples and yellows, dried and crunchy by now, but Ellie couldn't get herself to throw them away yet.

"Can I get you anythin', water?" She asked, sounding obviously nervous. You just had to get that Ellie back- the one who's presence demanded to be obeyed.

You direct your attention away from the flowers, your nail grazing against the grain of the oak table as you turn away from it and step towards her.

"No, I'm okay-" you shake your head, declining the offer gently as your hands held one of hers between you two.

"I've never done this before, miss- m'sorry if I'm not any good."

God, you cranked the notch up on your southern accent- making your words definitely sound like it's straight out of a porno, but it was working on her.

Ellie breath hitched, her body freezing up as your fingers played with the hem of her black wifebeater tank top.

"I'll go easy on you- promise." Ellie said with the best intentions in mind, but it's a promise she doesn't know she could keep.

Your stomach tightened, feeling her warmth radiating into you, and her scent filling your senses- not feeling her touch was starting to physically hurt.

You stood on your tippy toes, your lips lining up to her ear, "take me to the bedroom."

You didn't have to ask twice either- Ellie quickly taking your hand in hers, dragging you down the hall to the last door on the left.

Ellie practically pushed you into the room, kicking some clothes under the bed that she had lazily left on the floor all the while shutting the door- just in case someone would interrupt even though she lived alone.

You take a seat at the end of her bed, propping your legs up on your toes as you let your knees drift apart, and it doesn't take Ellie's eyes long to land on your pink cotton panties- hugging the shape of your puffy lips.

"Fuck-" She huffed- almost to herself like she was in complete denial that such a beautiful girl was in her house, or even her room for that matter- wearing such little and with all the intent to get fucked by her... it was a scenario straight out Ellie's wet dreams.

Ellie fell to her knees before you, her hands resting on yours, and her lips tempting the skin of your thighs.

"Are you sure bout' this, doll?" She breathed heavily. Just from her proximity from your pretty pussy alone- she felt like she was losing control, staying further and further away from her promise to go easy on you, but you didn't care.

"Y-yes ma'am, m'sure." You mew, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as your cunt drips, feeling her breath through the thin fabric.

"Lay back fr' me, darlin'." She demands gently, sense of urgency in her tone that she was failing to mask.

You do as your told like the good girl you are- laying back on the bed, propping your legs up, and bending then at the knee.

Ellie almost whimpers as your knees fall to the side- practically salivating just from the thought of your taste.

"M' gonna touch you now, okay?"

"Mm-hm." You nod from your horizontal position, giving her full permission and allowing yourself to be completely at her mercy.

She simply stands, using her thumb to rub over the cotton clothed bud- her eyes paying close attention to how you squirm from so little.

She was teasing you, testing you, wanting to see how badly you needed her.

Soft, high pitched whines slip off your tongue as her thumb rubs tight circles over your clit. It was cruel honestly, how little she was giving you, but if you kept making those fucking noises- it wouldn't take long for Ellie to break.

You pushed your hips up against her touch.

"E-ellie, please.. it's not enough- need more."

Ellie sucks the air through her teeth before biting down on her bottom lip, her thumb lightly grazing the now soaked patch of your panties.

She lowered herself at the end of the bed, her hands wrapping around to the under side of your ass, tugging you closer to the edge.

She kissed the skin between your thighs, suckling at it to the point it stung, but it felt good- almost too good knowing it was Ellie that was doing it.

"I'm gonna take these off now." Her fingers gently tug at the hem of your panties, watching your face closely to ensure you were okay with her actions.

You nodded eagerly, lifting your ass from the mattress to help.

Shivers were sent down your limbs as your wet lips were exposed to the cool air of the room. Ellie huffed guttural curses, her eyes practically rolling into the back of her head like she was on some sort of high. She kissed closer and closer to your heat- hunger taking over at this point, and eager for a taste.

"Fuck- so pretty.. knew it would be pretty." She talked to herself, sounding slightly deranged and out of it before she flat lined her tongue over your folds.

A high pitched squeal echoed through the room, not expecting the sensation nor have you ever felt anything like this. It was warm, slippery and you felt instantly addicted.

She took her time, licking slow before speeding up the pace on your clit. You twisted and contorted under her touch, but Ellie was quick to hold you down- trapping you with her firm grip.

She lapped up your juices, not letting any of it go to waste if she could help it. She alternated between flicking your clit, sucking on swollen bud and letting plop back into place, and just simply tasting you.

Her tongue stiffened- sinking into the depths of your gummy walls before replacing her tongue with a finger.

You cry/breath out a sign of relief as her long finger sank into you, reaching a spot her tongue couldn't- pulling it out and pushing it back in, repeating the motion before adding a second finger.

"You're so tight, baby- need you to relax." She coaxes, trying her best to sound calm, knowing she was everything but calm.

She couldn't wait to pound into you- leave you breathless and fully screaming her name.

Your walls relax around her fingers, your dress bunching around your hips, and the straps falling off your shoulders- you looked like a painting to her- meticulously and carefully designed, perfectly imperfect- every flaw coming together in the most beautiful symphony.

"Thats it- atta girl, you're doing so good for me." She praised although her tone was rough- coarse like dirt as she was slowly falling apart from the sounds of you- soft, breathy moans- sweet and angelic mixed with the wet, sloppy sounds of her fingers picking up pace inside your cunt.

Your fists clutch the sheets beside your head, squeezing the fabric between your fingers to remind yourself that this was real- not a dream or fantasy.

"F-feels- weird... mm-fhm- feels weird, Ellie." You babbled, a tear threatening to spill from the corner of your eye as you pressed a hand on your lower stomach.

She lowers herself over you to be face to face, her fingers never faltering in pace against your cervix. She soothes, "shh- it's okay, pretty girl. I got you." She kissed the saltwater mixture away from your eye before ghosting her lips over yours, pulling away slightly when you tried to connect them.

Her lips upturn into a sinister smirk, watching you get so fucking needy for her touch, not giving in right away to your pleas of "p-please, miss- mmhm, wanna kiss- I wanna kiss you." Just then, she quickened the pace, her wrist slamming against your clit as she pistoned into you- slamming her lips against yours to soften your cries.

She breaks away, heavy panting fanning over your chaffed, swollen lips, "fuck- baby, I can feel you pulling me in- be a good girl and cum on my fingers, yeah?"

That pushed you over the edge- the corners of your vision turning white, your stomach tightening and flexing as you squeeze around her fingers. You come undone, her pace remained steady as she fucked you through your orgasm, with you clasping into her with your nails digging into the exposed skin of her shoulders. You sing her name, over and over, head dizzy and limbs feeling weak as she slowly removes her fingers.

You laid there- weak and still coming down from your high, but this was just a warm up- she was simply prepping you for what's next.

You closed your eyes, forearm thrown over your face, blissfully unaware what Ellie was doing- she was digging through the drawer of her nightstand, taking off her sweat pants and replacing them with a black harness- a silicone cock standing between her thighs.

She sits on the bed, her back resting against at the headboard as she signals for you- tapping her thigh twice, "c'mere, we're not done yet." Her tone has shifted- the once gentle, loving pitch now felt demanding- almost like it was threat and not a suggestion.

You turn over into your stomach, weakly crawling over to her on the bed and straddled her hips, the length of her strap resting against your stomach.

"Ellie, I don't know how-"

"It's alright,- " her hands held you by your hips with her thumbs soothing over the skin, "I'll teach you."

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, a worried furrow in your brow that Ellie picked up on, "jus' sit on it, doll. I'll help with the rest."

You prop yourself up, using her shoulders for balance as you line the tip with your entrance, Ellie mumbled a breathy "that's it- there you go, pretty girl, just like that."

A whimper vibrated your throat as you sunk yourself onto her cock- just the tip at first as she coaxes you to keep going. It burned, and for a second you thought she was tearing you open, but the more she praised- mixed with the feeling of her hands over your breasts and neck- the pain started to lessen, and was replaced with pleasure.

Her hands gripped the fat of your ass, squeezing it between her fingers as you let yourself get accustomed to the pressure.

"Such a good girl, taking it all in- are you sure it's your first time?"

You nod, your eyes shooting open to meet hers- dark and transfixed on your face.

She chucked lowly, her hands slipping under your nightgown- cupping your breasts. You moaned- feeling her calloused fingers playing with your hardened peaks, twirling the bud and pulling it back- making you wince.

"I wanna see you- can I?" She asked, already pulling the dress over your shoulders- leaving you completely bare.

"Fuuck- such a pretty little thing." She leaned forward, sucking the delicate skin around your nipples- kissing and licking, leaving a trail of her spit wherever she went.

She sucked your nipple, letting it plop back from her pretty pink lips.

"El-ellie- please.." you pleaded- desperate for ache to go away that was quickly building inside your tummy.

"So needy- you want to be fucked that badly, huh? Move your hips then, baby." She spoke condescendingly, sitting back against the bed frame like she was as relaxed as ever, but that couldn't be more wrong.

She was losing it quite frankly- she was growing impatient and wanted nothing more to have her way with you, but she was letting you get use to it for your own sake.

Her hands guided you by your hips, gently directing you back and forth, up and down and so on- no rhythm in mind- no, she wanted you to be close, but never getting there.

She wanted to hear you cry out for her help, and it didn't take long.

Your legs were shaking, hips were starting to ache from the compromising position. You were weak on top of her, resting your head on her shoulder and you needed her help- being too fucking dumb to do it yourself- so, you give in.

"Mm-pl-please, ellie.. can't do it."

Her hand wrapped around your head and interlocks your hair between her fingers before yanking your head back, forcing you to look at her.

"Need my help, huh? Can't do it yourself, doll?"

You shake your head, indicating a 'no' to the best of your abilities, but her grip was tight.

"Poor thing-" She spoke coldly, a smirk on her lips and a killer look in her eyes. She was preying on you- waiting 2 painfully long weeks for this exact moment, and it was finally here.

Her hands gripped the underside of your ass as she leaned forward, pushing you on your back and with her on top.

"Been waitin' for this, you know? Always wondered what you'd look like on your back all ready fr' me, fuck- you're unbelievable." Her chest heaved as she spoke, her voice deepening into an almost growl.

"M-me too- been wanting this since I've met you."

"Yeah?"

"Yea-" your voice cuts into a yelp as she thrusted into you, the length of her cock fully disappearing inside your pussy.

She kissed the inside of your knee that was draped over her shoulder like it was the last gentle gesture she would give you for the night.

Tears quickly gathered at the corners of your eyes, trialing down your cheeks and neck as she snapped her hips forward, pounding against your sweet spot every fucking time.

After the first few minutes, you were already gone- head dumb and toes curling, nails digging crescent shapes into her forearms and biceps.

Ellie was becoming more vocal- not as much as you, but she moaned and grunted- the base of the strap hitting against her clit just right. She was chasing her own high- fully getting off to your sounds, and how your slick coated the length of her cock.

Her hand came down, pressing and hand over the bulge in your tummy, "you feel that? - mhm, fuck.. I'm so deep inside you- gonna get you pregnant.. make you my little wife."

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[dre6ming]

Kiss it better

Part of “The delicate beginning rush” (click for the whole series) can be read in it’s own

Pairing: Austin Butler x fem reader

Warning: hard language, curses, aggression, mentions of blood, assault

Plot: while visiting Austin on set of the bike rides something not so great happens, that has Austin pull out his protective side

Word count: 1.8k

Masterlist

Tag list

A/n: this was a request so if you have some more feel free to send them to me

"Do you know how much I love you?" Austin asks, kissing my cheek, the facial hair he had to grow for the role making me giggle with the way it tickles my soft skin. "I think in might have and idea about it." I say, turning my head slightly and catching his lips in a warm kiss, tasting his breath on my tongue. My heart beats so fast I can almost hear it in my ears, as he adjusts his hand, to hold my lower back better making sure I don't fall off the bike. He's filming for the movie Bike riders and I'm just passing through, visiting for the month, which has been great since we often get to fool around the set in between filming.

 "I think I might go to your trailer and get some sleep, I'm kinda tired." I tell him, brushing my hands through his hair, pulling slightly at the root, making him groan. "Ok, want me to walk you?" Austin helps me get off the bike safely. "You think they'll let you keep it after you're done?" I ask referring to his bike, praying for a 'yes' "Probably not." He shakes his head and I pout, truly disappointed. "That's too bad, maybe I'll buy you one for your birthday!" I say absentmindedly, walking my hand over the handle of the bike. Austin chuckles, pulling me in a tight hug. "Ok sugar mama, if that's what you want to waste your pension on." He jokes shrugging his shoulders, making me laugh with my head thrown back. "Well baby, if you behave." His lips catch mine and I sigh into the kiss, biting his bottom lip, smiling when I hear him groan. 

"Ok I'm going now, you need to get back to work." I say, patting his chest. Austin opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't get to as he gets called back to set and I giggle at his frustration, going past him. I wink at him and get to walking to his trailer, already dreaming of the soft bed enveloping me whole. On my way, a dude I've never seen before, waves my way, nodding his head at me, a strange grin on. I can't lie, but I usually don't pay mind to such behavior, but somehow this interaction makes shivers climb up my spine and the hair to on the back of my neck to rise.

 "Hi gorgeous!" He approaches me and I try to act like I don't see him, taking a few steps to my right hoping he'd get the note and leave me alone. "Hey!" He whistles at me trying to get my attention. "You deaf or somethin girl?" He asks lifer coming my way. "I'm just not interested, ok can you leave me be?" I ask hoping he'll give up. "So what maybe I can change your mind, huh?" He says, coming my way aggressively. I feel my bones shake with fear and I try to move away from him, while trying to remember everything I learned in self defense class, but all that seems to be useless now. "I don't know you ok?" I say, picking up my pace, not running just yet, thinking if I should turn back where I came from. 

While I'm in my head sweating my decision, the guy catches my wrist in his hand and pulls me towards him. I wince at the way his grip on my wrist twists my joint and shoots pain up my arm. "Let me go!" I try to rip my arm out of his hold but, he's to strong. "Oh come on baby, just a kiss, maybe I'll grab a boob or two, they look gorgeous" my free hand goes to cover my chest and I look frantically around to see if there's anyone that can help me, but there isn't. Panic is high in me and the smirk the guy has on his face, makes my blood turn to ice in my veins. "Help, someone help me!" I shout as loud as I can, before he slaps me across the face. The hit takes me off balance and in doing so, he brings me flush to him, putting his hand over my mouth and the other around my waist. With my hands free I start to hit him anywhere I can, but he's big so he doesn't even budge. "You cunt! Stop fucking hitting me!" He growls at me, his spit hitting my cheek. 

I can't see anything, tears are flowing down my face and I'm struggling to breathe with his hand on my mouth. I can see all the ways this might go and I'm terrified. Suddenly I'm roughly shaken and he lets go of me, so I fall to the ground, my legs numb. "Shh , hey it's fine!" I hear a muffled voice say and I feel hands on my arms trying to grab at me, I scream and push away, closing my eyes, bringing my knees to my chest and crying. I hear a bunch of commotion around me, but I'm scared to move, so I just sit there, formed into a ball. 

I feel a set of arms wrap around me and I flinch away. "Shh baby, Y/n it's me, it's Austin." I hear softly and I lunch at him, throwing my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his neck. "I swear to you I want to kill that motherfucker, I hope my fist fucking stays on his face for the rest of his scum bag life." He sounds so angry, but his touch is so warm and comforting. "I I I'm sssorry" I stammer from crying, nuzzling my face in his chest. "Don't you dare apologize. Come on baby, I'll lift you up." Austin says, hooking one arm under my legs and the other on my back. He lifts me up like I weigh nothing, kissing the top of my head. 

I hear the door to his trailer open and soon enough I feel the fluffy bed under me. His hands push the hair out of my face and he uses his thumbs to wipe my tears away. "I knew I should've walked with you." He says more, to himself p, giving me a good look over, anger intensifying on his face as he notices my red wrist and probably swollen cheek. "I should go back there and give that guy more punches to take home." I shake my head and take his hands off my face, rubbing his knuckles, frowning when I see the cuts and bruises on his hands. "Aus what did you do?" I ask my voice barely a whisper. 

"Some guy from sound said he heard some girl scream for help, my mind when directly to you, I hate that I was right. I ran and when I saw him grabbing at you, I ripped him off of you, got him to the ground and punched as hard as I could, I hope I broke something, maybe his nose" he takes his hands back and goes to the sink to wet a small wash cloth, bringing it over and wiping my face. "I'll change and then we can go back to the apartment ok? They gave me two days off." He says, placing another kiss on my forehead, then quickly undressing, putting the clothes in a bag and getting into his own. It only takes him a minute or two, but it feels like an eternity and I'm so happy, when he gets on the bed and pull me on top of him, arms tight around me. "I'm so sorry honey, are you ok?" Austin asks again 

"Yes, I'm fine, just a little shaken up." I say, grimacing when I speak since it hurts from all the screaming. "I think we should go by the medic, your cheek is pretty red and your wrist is bruising" he speaks softly, massaging my back. "I'm fine." I push hoping he'd drop if. "How's your hand, does it hurt?" I ask and push myself off of him, getting up from the bed and going to my bag to pick my balm for cuts and bruises. I take the wet towel and motion him to come sit at the edge of the bed with me. "Give me your hand." But he's stubborn. "I should be taking care of you, I'm fine." He argues, making me roll my eyes. "Aus, your knuckles are bleeding, please!" I plead with him and he finally gives in. While I work on his hands his lips kiss my face over and over again, making my skin feel warm and tingly.

 "I think if there's anyone that can kiss it better it's you." I admit, smiling, while I carefully apply cream to his bruised knuckles. He doesn't even flinch but I know they must be hurting. "Are you really ok? Please Y/n tell me, I promise not to go break his neck." Austin's nostrils flare up as his anger flashes back to him, and I sigh. "I'm not fine, I was so scared, I took all those self defense classes and I couldn't do anything." I feel tears in my eyes again and he places a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Come here, my darling love, I'm sorry you had to go through this, I'm here!" He assures me, pulling me into a breath taking hug. 

I breathe in his scent, feeling my muscles relax, the warmth his body provides being exactly what I needed. "Let's go home and get you a warm bath, hm? And then we'll stuff ourselves full of chocolate and ice cream, while watching Twilight!" I giggle at the plans he has made for the night. "I would love that!" I reply truthfully, leaning my head back and pulling him in for a kiss. Austin's lips are warm and soft and sweet, almost too familiar in taste. "Did you use my lip balm?" I ask licking my lips and looking at him, chuckling when he blushes. "Just a bit, maybe, no.." he defends himself, bringing me back for another kiss, one of his hands holding my chin. "Liar!" I say, before his lips crash onto mine. He giggles into the kiss, and his tongue, licks my bottom lip asking for permission, which I give delighted. Austin's tongue explores my mouth and his hands keep me close to his chest, so close I can feel his heart pounding. "I love you!" I say between shallow breaths. "You're my everything!" He admits looking into my eyes and I melt into the blue of his irises.

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[pin-k-ink]

Gojo Satoru X Reader (pt. 2/final part)

CW: teacher-student relationship, cunnilingus, creampie, unprotected sex, begging, age gap, character death, angst, angst, angst

pt. 1

a/n: yup

In the days that followed, their interactions took on a new intensity.

The air between them crackled with unspoken desire, a palpable tension that threatened to ignite at the slightest touch. During their training sessions, Gojo's gaze lingered on her form, his eyes burning with a hunger that mirrored the one she had glimpsed that fateful night.

Despite the unacknowledged shift in their dynamic, they fell into a new rhythm, a sensual dance that blurred the lines between mentor and student, between restraint and abandon.

She'd never experienced such an overwhelming sensory assault. Even during her most intense training sessions with Gojo, when the very ground beneath her feet would rupture and quake, the earth threatening to swallow her whole, there was always some measure of control.

Now, as he stalked toward her like a panther closing in on its prey, his eyes devoured every inch of her exposed flesh. His hands, rough from years of wielding cursed energy, skimmed along her curves, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. His mouth, hot and demanding, claimed hers with a fervor that stole the breath from her lungs.

Gojo Satoru was an unparalleled prodigy. And he would have his way with her.

She could not deny him, nor herself.

And so, the cycle would continue.

Each night, she would emerge from the shower, a vision of damp hair and milky skin, wearing nothing but his stolen shirts. The fabric, still warm from his body, would cling to her curves, the hem barely grazing her thighs. He would gather her into his lap, strong arms encircling her waist, as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck. His breath, hot against her skin, would send shivers down her spine as he inhaled the intoxicating scent of her shampoo, a heady mix of vanilla and jasmine.

His fingertips, calloused yet gentle, would tease her inner thighs, tracing patterns on the sensitive skin, inching ever closer to where she craved his touch the most. She would squirm in his embrace, a silent plea for more, as the heat between them built to a fever pitch.

Then, the nightly ritual would begin - a sensual dance that would end the same, regardless of whose bed they were in.

They were well past the point of no return.

Each night, the clothes would come off, and the lessons would begin.

She'd always been an adept student, and Gojo a relentless teacher, demanding complete mastery of her technique. And he would not stop until she had met his exacting standards.

Her training was intense, even brutal at times. He would push her to the brink, testing her limits, both physically and emotionally. But the rewards were more than worth the risk.

For each flawless execution, she would earn a tender kiss, his lips brushing against hers with a gentleness that belied the passion simmering beneath the surface. For each mistake, a playful smack, his hand connecting with her skin, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through her body.

And for her best performances, he'd reward her with a delicious lick, his tongue tracing the contours of her body, tasting the salt on her skin, leaving her trembling and aching for more.

"Good girl," he'd purr, his hot breath ghosting across her bare pussy, his large hands holding her thighs apart. "Such a perfect little cunt."

His fingers would slide inside her, teasing, coaxing her to the precipice. "Tell me what you want, sweetheart," he'd murmur. "Tell me how much you want my cock."

"I need it," she'd plead, grinding against his hand. "Please, Gojo-sensei..."

And then he would stop, leaving her panting and unsatisfied.

"Not good enough, little one," he'd whisper, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Beg for me. Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you."

And the words would tumble from her lips. "Please, Gojo-sensei. Please fuck me. I need your cock. I need you to make me come."

And then, she'd get exactly what she wanted.

"That's it, baby girl," he'd coo as he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down. He’d waste no time before he sank into her tight heat with a low, guttural moan. "That's my good girl. You feel so fucking good. Such a perfect little cunt. You were made for me, weren't you, baby?"

He'd fuck her with slow, deliberate strokes, drawing out her pleasure until she was screaming his name. He’d take his time to explore which parts of her made her tighten around him and which parts of her made her squeal.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let me hear you. Let me hear how good my cock makes you feel." She'd lose count of her orgasms, her body trembling from the exertion. But he'd never stop. He'd keep going until she was a quivering mess, her voice hoarse from screaming his name. She was practically folded in half, the bed creaking beneath them as Gojo held her thighs in a bruising grip, fucking her into the mattress.

Then, when she was utterly spent, he'd finally allow himself release, filling her with his seed. She’d berated him the first time he didn’t pull out, and he was only able to console her with the promise of fulfilling her wish next time. It was during the second time that she realized that it was practically impossible to make this man cum anywhere else other than in her pussy.

"That's my good girl," he'd murmur as he held her close, peppering her face with kisses. "My perfect little slut."

In the afterglow, they would lie tangled together, limbs intertwined, hearts racing in unison. His fingers would card through her hair, soothing her as she drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that tomorrow would bring new challenges and new rewards.

She would never forget the nights they shared, moments stolen away from the world where she belonged to him completely. In the sanctuary of his embrace, she found a love that consumed her, a connection so profound that it seemed to transcend the very fabric of reality.

Their nights together were a symphony of passion, a dance of tender touches and whispered promises. He worshipped her body with a reverence that left her breathless, his fingertips tracing every curve and contour as if committing her to memory. In those moments, she felt cherished, adored, and utterly alive.

He had a way of looking at her that made her feel like the most beautiful creature in the world, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that took her breath away. When he held her close, his strong arms wrapped around her, she felt safe, protected, and utterly content.

They would lay together for hours, talking about everything and nothing, sharing their hopes, dreams, and fears. He listened to her with rapt attention, his gaze never wavering, making her feel like the center of his universe. In those quiet moments, she found a connection that went beyond the physical, a meeting of minds and hearts that left her feeling understood and valued in a way she had never experienced before.

Sometimes, they would simply bask in each other's presence, their bodies intertwined as they drifted off to sleep. She loved the way he would pull her closer in his slumber, his breath warm against her neck, a subconscious reminder of his need for her even in his dreams.

In the mornings, he would wake her with soft kisses, his lips trailing along her skin in a gentle caress. They would make love languidly, savoring every touch and sensation, losing themselves in the pleasure of their union. Afterward, they would lay tangled together, his fingers idly playing with her hair as they talked and laughed, relishing the simple joy of being in each other's company.

Those nights were a precious gift, a time when the world outside ceased to exist, and they could simply be two people in love. She cherished every moment, every touch, every whispered endearment. In his arms, she found a happiness she had never known, a sense of belonging that filled her heart to bursting.

She knew that what they had was special, a once-in-a-lifetime connection that defied explanation. With him, she felt complete, whole in a way she had never thought possible. He was her soulmate, her other half, the missing piece that made her feel like she could conquer the world.

Those nights, filled with love, passion, and tender moments, were the ones she would always hold closest to her heart. They were a testament to the depth of their bond, a love that burned bright and fierce, a love that she knew would last a lifetime.

As she lay in his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart, she knew that no matter what the future held, those nights would always be theirs. A secret world, a cherished memory, a love that would endure, even in the face of the challenges that lay ahead.

On the night before her graduation, she found herself consumed by anxiety. The impending trials weighed heavily on her mind, the culmination of weeks spent pushing herself to the limit. Failure was not an option; her future as a sorcerer depended on her success.

Gojo's absence throughout the day had been a constant distraction, his presence sorely missed as she struggled to focus on her own preparations. When she finally returned to her room that evening, she found him waiting for her.

"You look like hell," he remarked, pulling her into a tight embrace.

She leaned into him, finding solace in his warmth. "You're one to talk. I thought you'd forgotten about me."

"Never," he assured her, his hand gently stroking her back. "How are you feeling about tomorrow?"

"Nervous, but determined," she replied, her voice muffled against his chest. "I've worked too hard to let it all go to waste."

Gojo tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You're a force to be reckoned with. Your power, your dedication—it's unmatched. You've got this, and I'll be right there, waiting to celebrate your victory."

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Gojo-sensei. I won't let you down."

Their lips met in a searing kiss, a wordless exchange of passion and reassurance. As they tumbled onto the bed, hands roaming and breath mingling, she allowed herself to be lost in the moment, pushing aside all thoughts of the challenges that lay ahead.

She never got to graduate.

In the dead of night, a call shattered the stillness, summoning Gojo to the school with urgent haste. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him upon his arrival. There, on a cold metal stretcher, lay the lifeless body of his beloved student and lover. The only way he could identify her was by the single white and blue acrylic nail that remained intact, a cruel reminder of the design he had encouraged her to get, so that she would carry a piece of him with her during her trials.

Questions swirled in his mind, tormenting him with possibilities. Did she think of him in her final moments? Did she wait for him to come to her rescue, only to be met with the crushing realization that he would never arrive? Or did she accept her fate, resigned to the knowledge that even he, with all his power, could not save her?

Time seemed to lose all meaning as he stood there, frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from her lifeless form. Emotions eluded him, leaving him hollow and numb. He couldn't even muster the strength to cry, his voice reduced to a feeble whisper of her name.

Yaga's condolences fell on deaf ears as he led Gojo out of the blood-scented room. The weight of his loss consumed him, draining him of any desire to linger. He made his way home, seeking solace in the familiarity of his bed, desperate to escape the suffocating reality that threatened to shatter his already fragile heart.

Sleep evaded him, and in the depths of his despair, he longed to reach out to her, knowing that her voice, her touch, could have soothed his aching soul. But she was gone, forever beyond his reach, leaving him with nothing but the agonizing realization that he had failed to protect the one person who mattered most.

In the silence of his room, his gaze fell upon the nightstand drawer, where a velvet box lay hidden, cradling a silver ring that would never find its intended recipient. A symbol of a future stolen, a love left unfulfilled.

And so, he sat there, alone in the darkness, the emptiness consuming him, as the weight of his loss threatened to crush his very existence.

[its-avalon-08]

hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) pt4

chapter 4: lines were crossed

warnings - none at all

series so far - pt1 pt2 pt3

The Bahrain post-race celebrations were in full swing at the swanky F1 club. Y/N, still riding the high of her P2 finish, sipped on a non-alcoholic drink, surrounded by the jubilant Red Bull team. Max, ever the party animal, was already on the dance floor, his gangly limbs flailing to the thumping music.

Across the room, Lewis nursed a beer, a dark cloud hanging over him. Y/N's talent was undeniable, and her audacious overtake had left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn't help but steal glances at her, her laughter echoing amidst the chatter.

Suddenly, Y/N spotted Nico weaving through the crowd. A smile lit up her face. "Hey, Nico! Come meet Lando," she waved him over.

Lewis watched their interaction, tension coiling in his gut. Nico, ever the protective brother, ruffled Y/N's hair. "So, the wonder rookie," he chuckled, turning to Lando. "Looks like you've got some competition on your hands."

Lando grinned. "Always up for a challenge, Mr. Rosberg. But seriously, P2 in your first race? That's legendary!"

Y/N snorted. "Calm down, Lando. It was just luck."

"Luck, talent, and a whole lot of Rosberg grit," Nico winked. A strong whiff of vanilla overwhelmed the air when Lewis walked past. Then, leaning closer to Y/N, Nico added, "Is the motherfucker wearing vanilla cologne? You remember when you said you loved vanilla on men?"

Y/N's eyes widened in amusement. "Oh my god! He really is. He used to smell like vanilla cupcakes all the time. Too bad he's an asshole now."

A jolt of electricity shot through Lewis. The memory slammed into him with the force of a high-speed collision. 2014, pre-championship battles, a time when he and Nico were still friends. A time when he'd harbored a secret crush on Y/N. He'd doused himself in that damn vanilla cologne, hoping to catch her attention.

The image of Y/N snuggling into his chest, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she inhaled the scent, flooded his mind. He'd been so close, so naively hopeful. But then 2015 came, shattering their friendship and burying his feelings under an avalanche of competitive fury.

The past dissolved as he saw Y/N and Lando laughing, their bodies swaying close as they danced. A bitter pang of jealousy twisted in his gut. He couldn't help but notice the way Lando's arm brushed against Y/N's back, sending a fresh wave of irritation through him.

Just then, Lewis's gaze collided with Nico's. Nico's expression was a chilling mix of anger and concern. He strode across the room, his movements purposeful. Stopping in front of Lewis, he lowered his voice, a dangerous edge to it. "You can hate me," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "You can fight me, Lewis, that's old news. But raise a hand on my sister ever again… and I will make your life hell," he trailed off, his eyes blazing.

Lewis's breath hitched. Only then did he truly see the bruise on Y/N's hand, a dark purple blotch against her pale skin. Shame washed over him, hot and unwelcome. His eyes darted between the bruise and Nico's furious face. He knew, with a sickening certainty, that he'd crossed a line.

credits for gif - @lewishamiltongifs

leave a like! leave a comment! reblogs are appreciated!

[moonydustx]

Lighting up

Sanji x F! Reader

Warnings: pure and explicit smut, kind of soft (and I mean super soft) Sanji dom, use of candles in sex. Sort of a pre-established relationship. Porn with no plot.

A/N: just a dirty idea that popped into my head, this is it.

Minors do not interact!

requests open | masterlist and rules

Voices echoed outside Sunny, some singing and others just talking. The archipelago where you had docked was going through a huge winter festival week. Crowded bars, markets until late at night, children playing in the street.

The thin heels you wore didn't hinder you from climbing back onto the ship. Your footsteps could be heard from outside, to the delight of a certain cook.

"What was your excuse this time?" his voice reached you as soon as you crossed the kitchen door.

The environment was almost completely dark, except for the lights coming from outside. That night, everyone had decided to go out, explore the island and Sanji would stay at the Sunny. Except once again, you had other plans in mind.

"I said I had a bad headache, I needed to sleep." you approached him, leaning against the counter and watching him strike a match. "I didn't want to be disturbed."

"That's a shame, mon couer."

Instead of lighting the cigarette stuck in his lips, Sanji brought the flame of the match to a small candle that caught your attention. It was different and much better smelling than anything else there. Only after that did he bend down and pick up the candle to light the cigarette.

"I believe I have other plans for both of us." your body was trapped between him and the counter, Sanji delicately left the smoke just above your face.

Already knowing your tastes, he took the cigarette from his lips and offered it to you. The smoke that invaded your lungs couldn't compare to the intoxicating feeling of having his body so close to yours after long days. As soon as the smoke left your lips, Sanji slipped his fingers covered by the black glove he was wearing under them. The same hand went down to your waist, turning your back towards him.

"You look so beautiful in that." He lifted the hem of your dress allowing him to feel the flesh of your ass that was showing. "That idiot mosshead couldn't take his eyes off." the grumble came out almost as a growl. "I hate that you keep paying attention to him."

"He is a friend." the sentence disappeared from your lips when you felt him press two fingers on top of the fabric of your panties.

Instead of answering you, he just leaned over and blew out the candle next to you, leaving a small puddle of wax accumulated. When you resumed your original posture, the cook took advantage and unzipped the dress you were wearing.

"He doesn't look at you as a friend." he grumbled, letting the fabric pool around your feet.

"And what's the problem? I don't see myself complaining about your flirting with Nami."

"You know they're different things." he saw you facing him. "Besides, she's not the one here now, my dear."

"I could say the same about Zoro." the provocative tone in your voice did not go unnoticed by him. "He's just a great friend."

"I should put that mouth of yours to good use." he grunted, placing you on the counter and fitting himself between your legs. "But like I said, I have other plans."

His lips fused with yours in a single movement. His tongue explored every corner of your mouth, just as the cook's agile hands pulled you closer to him. You couldn't describe exactly what you felt longing, horny, love.

The taste of the cigarette and the small dose of whiskey you had taken before tangled in the small space they occupied and you could feel your intimacy wet the counter below you.

"I missed you." Sanji murmured between kisses. "I want to feel you."

"Please." you asked and grumbled as soon as you saw him walk away.

His hands, still covered in gloves, slid down your torso and stopped at your breasts. They slid smoothly over the soft skin that was extremely contrary to his gloves. His fingers wrapped around both nipples, pinching them, making you gasp. He knew the right buttons to push. Sanji repeated the gesture a few times, leaving the skin sensitive and the nipples hardened.

"Do not be so mean." You asked, feeling his hands slide around your waist. He tied one of the gloves on his hand and threw it away, while the other hand he brought to your mouth, watching you bite and tag finger by finger.

"Today I want to try something new." he warned, taking the small pot with the candle.

First he dropped a few drops on your shoulders. The first drop that touched your skin made you twitch and only then did you realize that the wax wasn't that hot and that in fact it didn't even seem like any wax.

"It's just oil and some aphrodisiacs." As if reading your thoughts, he answered you.

As soon as his hands touched your shoulders you understood what he meant by an aphrodisiac. With each tighter squeeze he gave, the oil seemed to heat up under your body, making you grunt. He picked up the candle jar again and as soon as he did, you rested your arms behind your body, offering him your breasts.

"Good girl." He dropped a few drops near each nipple and watched them run down to the most hardened point of your breast.

Only the heat of the wax itself made you moan and seek some contact against the flat counter, earning a frustrated groan from you. You threatened to take your hand to where your body was begging, but Sanji immediately captured it and placed it back behind your body.

"Let me have my time with you, love." his fingers slid over one of your nipples, pressing and tracing circles and soon his lips found the other neglected part of attention.

Suddenly the weight of your body seemed too much for you. Your head fell back while your body seemed to offer your breasts even more to Sanji. He knew the value of a good dish and would never waste what was being offered to him. His lips tugged on your nipple while the other was trapped between two fingers, making you beg for some more action or you would cum just from that.

The sound his lips made as they released your skin was almost sinful. His lips were red and yours were almost purple from trying to contain the noises. His hands slid down your thigh and lifted one at a time, leaving you open on the counter in front of him.

"Sanji I know what you intend to do." you warned him, seeing him smile at the realization. "Babe, it's going to be a lot."

"Don't worry. If it's too much, just say our code" he started kissing the inside of your thighs, separating them even further and catching a glimpse of your wet pussy. A small damp line connecting you to the table. "Fuck love, so beautiful."

Ignoring the first idea that crossed his mind, Sanji just dived towards your pussy. Without hesitation, his tongue began to collect all the honey accumulated there while two of his fingers made a point of opening your lips, leaving you even more exposed to him.

"You're so delicious, I could taste it for hours." He walked away even if he didn't want to. He took the candle again and approached your intimacy. "Ready?"

"Please."

The first drops hit your mound, causing chills. As you felt the drops dripping down your body involuntarily sought more contact. Just like he had done when he sucked you, Sanji used two fingers to leave you even more exposed to him.

The first drop that hit your clit elicited a scream that had probably been heard from outside the ship. Placing the pot aside, Sanji's fingers soon found your pearl. Slowly he slid circles around your clit while he watched your every reaction carefully.

When your body started to roll, trying to intensify the turns even more, it was when Sanji found a limit. The fingers went down to the entrance, penetrating just one while the other hand, which was previously resting on your thigh, took its place on your spot, moving even faster.

"Love Please." you asked desperately for something you didn't even know how to put into words.

"You have to be specific, amour. What do you want?" the provocative tone in his voice was clear and at that moment Sanji could already feel his pants painfully tight against his dick. "Let me help you. Do you want one more?" He penetrated the second finger and began to thrust quickly as his fingers began to circle your clitoris, leaving you just enough room to moan even louder.

Heat was starting to pool in your belly when his hands moved away, leaving you contracting against nothing.

"Sanji!" a sob escaped your lips. "Why did you stop?"

"I have a better place for you to cum." he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. His dick pressed against the fabric of his underwear.

Still feeling your legs shaking, you got down from the counter and let your hands slide over Sanji, ripping off his jacket and throwing it somewhere in the corner of the kitchen. You finished unzipping his pants and removed the cloth from there along with his underwear, freeing his cock and reached for the candle and you dripped two small drops onto the length of it. Your hands ran down the entire length and went up, caressing the reddened tip.

"Is this your revenge my love?" before you even answered him, you felt Sanji take your hands away and turn your back to him.

His hands, which were usually delicate, roughly placed one of your legs and pushed your chest against the flat environment. The contrast between the hotness of your nipples and the ice-cold surface made you even wetter, as if that were possible.

"You look so hot like this. This beautiful pussy..." his fingers entered again in a much slower and faster way.

I need you inside Ji, please, I'll do whatever you want."

"No need sweetheart. You'll never have to beg for it." Without hesitation, he thrust into you at once, moaning in unison with you and placing his hands on your waist.

There was no slowness this time, nor patience either. The heat of your pussy next to the used candle made your intimacy burn even more. Sanji moved his hands away from your waist just so he could hold both of your hands behind your back while you asked for more.

Feeling that you could take even more, his hands let go of you and one of them separated your buttocks. Peripherally, you saw him dip two fingers into the candle jar and you only understood what was happening when a brutal moan escaped your lips. The wax - which had completely converted to oil - slid down your other hole. With his smeared fingers Sanji allowed himself to tease the entrance to your asshole.

"Oh God, Sanji please, just please."

"Do you really need this so much?" he only put one of his fingers halfway in. A back and forth movement that tried in vain to follow the thrusts into your pussy. "You're squeezing me so good. Just cum for me baby, I know you want it, let me feel you."

His words combined with the feeling of being filled and the heat caused by the oil on your body took you to a peak you had never reached, you could feel some liquid gushing out of you. Your vision blurred as you felt Sanji squeeze you even tighter and fill you with his cum.

His lips began to trace wet kisses on your back while his hand reached your intimacy again.

"Pepper." you said in a breathy voice, barely audible but Sanji managed to get the message. He immediately came out of you and moved away a little, just taking his hand to your hair and brushing it out of your eyes.

"Are you okay my love? Did I hurt you?" His worried voice almost broke your heart and the best response you found was to open a wide smile. "Was that a bit much?"

"Yes. And a little too hot." you mumbled.

With the delicacy you only knew from Sanji, he took your leg off the counter and placed you on your feet, turning towards him. Already suspicious that your strength was gone, he kept his arms around your body, supporting you.

"My goddess, my princess, you did so well." He placed a small kiss on your lips, almost imperceptible. "How about a shower and then I can prepare something for us?"

"Sounds perfect to me. I just don't know how far I can walk to the bathroom."

Without answering you with words, Sanji just picked you up and walked leisurely to the bathroom. Some bath salts, ice cold water and he knew you would be comfortable while he got you water to drink.

Taking advantage of the trip to the kitchen, he recognized the discarded clothes and the used candle, hiding them in his things. When he returned to the kitchen and finally got his water, he found the tuft of green hair that provoked him so much.

"Where's dagger?" He called you by your nickname, arousing some jealousy in Sanji. "I heard she wasn't feeling well."

"Don't worry mosshead, I took care of dear Dagger." Sanji took the water and turned away. The image of you waiting for him in the bathtub was more than he needed to avoid that possible argument.

Zoro's fingers slid across the wet patch on the counter and the smell in the air couldn't be denied. Maybe the cook had taken too much care of Dagger.

[eoieopda]

FORCE QUIT // EPISODE I: SCRAPS

you didn't have "anti-capitalist revolution" on this year's bingo card, but you never turn down a good time.

pairing: lee felix x reader | series masterlist (1/4) | next episode series summary: it's 2077, and life's a fucking nightmare. corporate titans ate the state and shat it back out, leaving citizens of the new republic to fall in line, or fall to their knees. a reckoning is coming — where will you fall? au: series — dystopian, cyberpunk; episode — childhood friends to strangers to something ➢insp. by: cyberpunk 2077 + the true lives of the fabulous killjoys genre: smut + angst + some fluff word count: 15.4k rating: 18+— minors do not have my consent to interact. series warnings: violence (hand-to-hand, firearms, explosives), depictions of injuries (blood/bruising/burns), some characters have cybernetic modifications, class conflict + poverty, surprise - corporations are bad!, unethical medical/tech experimentation, self-indulgent references to non-skz idols, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns. episode warnings: above + trainer!felix, edgerunner!reader, pov switches, time skips, reference to food insecurity + reader living check to check, reader experiences temporary vision loss after being knocked out, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v penetration. reader notes: afab & uses she/her pronouns; has cybernetic retinal mods + one in her hand; grew up in (what is fka) korea and speaks korean — however, it’s not stated that she is asian and/or that her family is; does not speak fluent english; has tattoos; has long enough hair to put in a ponytail & use bobby pins (hair not otherwise described). ➢ notes added/expanded upon during 8/6/24 inclusivity review. a/n: each episode features a different member x reader pairing, but the plot is linear, so you'd need to read them (in order) to get the full picture! you can sign up for the taglist to be notified of the next uploads. thank you to my beloved @sailoryooons for beta'ing this and @jihopesjoint for being my emotional support internet wife even though she doesn't stan skz. ily both endlessly!

You don’t deal in absolutes, but you know two things for sure: vending-machine burritos are a crime against humanity; and Han Jisung is a dirty, rotten bastard.

The firm stance you’ve taken on the latter may or may not have something to do with the former, but you can’t draw that conclusion now — not with the abuse your taste buds are currently suffering, anyway.

“Who the fuck —” 

You cut yourself off to spit a mouthful at the ground. Notably, the remnants of that half-chewed abomination look just as awful on the way out as they did on the way in.

 “— Replaced this queso with battery acid?”

Chipmunk cheeks stuffed to bursting, Jisung blinks back at you. He says nothing — suddenly too polite to speak with his mouth full — and shrugs, unbothered. That’s when the realization hits you like a boot to the skull. Drenched in disbelief, your muttering comes out in slow-motion: 

“You spent the last of our cash on these.”

He swallows, though you don’t know how he could bring himself to do it. That act alone makes the rage you’re simmering in bubble over. 

You repeat yourself through gritted teeth, pausing emphatically between every word, “The — last — of — our — cash!”

“My bad?” He eventually offers. Tongue flicking out, he tries to gather the unidentified sauce that clings to the corner of his mouth. He fails. “Not sure what else I was supposed to find with that little money in this part of town, but go off, I guess.”

You bite your lips together to hold back the guttural yell you’re seconds from releasing. At your sides, your empty hands clench tightly. Instead of snapping — with your words or your fists — you close your eyes, inhaling slowly through your nose. Deep breaths won’t do you any fucking good in this smog, but your brain tends to work a little bit better without visual interference.

I can go another twenty-four hours, you think. Maybe.

It’s been a while since you’ve last eaten and even longer since your last job. This isn’t out of the ordinary; gaps are to be expected when you live on the fringe, jumping from thread to thread. Still, it isn’t like Changbin to leave you hanging the way he has been lately. It sure as shit isn’t like him to dodge your calls, either.

So, you figure, if you make an unsolicited visit to his office — the stock room of a bar you know better than to frequent — he won’t have a choice. He’ll have to look you in the eye and explain the dry spell, personally. He owes you at least that much.

With your plan finalized, you hold out your left hand to Jisung. In the few moments you’d taken your eyes off him, he’d apparently gone from sitting on the hood of your car to reclining fully with his own eyes closed. Basking like a little lizard in the sunlight, it’s a miracle the hot metal hasn’t burned a hole in his shirt.

“Come on.” You nudge his bent knee with your knuckles to no avail.

As Jisung is wont to do, he pouts. “But it’s so nice out — and your car still reeks, by the way.”

The absolute, rakish audacity.

If you didn’t love him, you’d probably kill him. 

Strike that. 

Love is irrelevant. You wouldn’t kill him unless and until there was a price on his head. After all, your mother taught you better than to do the things you’re good at for free.

“Do we want to talk about whose fault that is?” You ask with a roll of your eyes. The affection’s still there; you know he sees it. “If I recall correctly — and I think I do, having been the only sober person present — you were the one who got blasted and barfed on everything I love in this world.”

“I got blasted and barfed exclusively on the floor of your car.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “Exactly. End of list.”

Groaning, Jisung rolls his eyes as far back as they’ll go, but he still takes your hand. He always does, always has. With your help, he scoots his ass down the hood and lands with both boots — precisely where your ejected burrito bite did, not five minutes earlier. You can’t stop the satisfied grin from spreading when he whines again, this time louder and with twice as much despair.

After playfully shoving your passenger towards his door, you unlock your own. You don’t dump yourself into the seat, however; not yet. A wall of horrible heat is waiting for you the second the door opens, and you know better than to run into it, headlong.

Jisung is less patient. He’s also more regretful, face twisting in self-imposed anguish when he drops down onto the sun-scorched leather seat. And, to your delight, the hits keep coming. You watch with a smile when the consequences of last weekend’s actions hit his nostrils. The look he gives you falls somewhere between humbled, apologetic, and absolutely dead inside.

“Not one of my finer moments, I’ll admit it.” He acknowledges with a wave of his hand. Resigned, he sighs, “I’ll scrub the shit out of the floor mats the next time we can afford a wash.”

Satisfied, you finally climb behind the wheel. Pushing through the slightly-muted sting of the seat against the backs of your bare thighs, you put your foot on the brake and lift your right hand to press your thumb to the ignition port. The roar of the engine covers the way your breath hitches, but Jisung doesn’t have to hear it to notice the grimace that accompanies it.

“Still sore?” He asks. 

To his credit, he looks genuinely concerned as he reaches across the center console and takes your hand in his. It’s gentle, the way he tilts your palm up, but the movement burns in every single one of your tendons. This time, you know you have a captive audience, so you don’t flinch. 

Despite the trouble it’s giving you, you have to admit that the new enhancement looks beautiful in the sunlight. In the center of your palm, two rectangular, silver brackets refract iridescence. Their shine contrasts sharply with the matte, midnight black cybernetic plating that now covers the majority of your palm, spreading to the first knuckle of your fingers but coating the length of your thumb in its entirety. 

More than beautiful, it’s deadly — and it aches like a motherfucker.

“I read a study about these ballistic co-processors last night while you were knocked out,” he hums. 

Classic Jisung. 

He has no medical or academic background whatsoever but wastes his time reading crank doctors’ research for fun. And, of course, he makes sure to mention it — casually and apropos of mostly nothing — in order to impress.

Gingerly, he runs his finger along the edge of the cyberware, mumbling, “It usually takes five days from installation for the musculoskeletal inflammation to chill.”

Your fingers twitch of their own volition, which prompts him to look up at you curiously. 

“Yeah, well…” You grunt.

Less carefully than you should, you pull your hand from his, tap the gear shift, and throw the car into reverse. Peeling out of the lot, you scoff without even bothering to look his way:

“It’s been ten.”

When the War came and went, it took the old way of life with it on its way out. You might’ve been late to the party by fifty or so years, but you’ve got the gist now. It goes something like this:

Korea, as it was once known, crumpled like a beer can in the face of a corporate uprising and was quickly kicked curbside with the trash. In its place came the New Republic — in all its stolen, neon glory — promising technological revolution, profit in excess. Although the world’s eyes were trained on the peninsula then, not everyone stuck around to watch democracy die in real time. 

Not up close, anyway.

Some people had enough cash to run but not enough to make staying worthwhile. With their tails between their legs and their life savings in hand, they left before the capitalist rot could set in fully; chose willful blindness and headed for countries where corporations rule from the shadows rather than broad daylight.

Most people, however, didn’t leave. People like your grandparents, who hadn’t looked up long enough to notice things going to hell in a hurry. And if they did — well, maybe they saw things for what they were: shitty, same as anywhere else. 

Five decades later, that fact hasn’t changed much.

Regardless of why a person opts to stay in the New Republic, their options for survival are effectively limited to two. Simply put, a person can sell their soul to the very corporations that strangled the state, or they can starve.

Nobody ever chooses the latter.

You can safely assume everything you need to know about a person based on where their next steps take them.

For example, those who crave both chic, penthouse apartments and blood-soaked streets are most likely to fall in line with WraithCo.. The name suggests that it’s a criminal enterprise run by fucking ghouls because that’s essentially what it is. More than that, it’s the arms manufacturer monopoly that out-manned and out-gunned the national military without breaking a sweat. 

The high-powered, highly-paid WraithCo. executives find joy in three things and three things only: designer suits; missiles that explode into clouds of fiberglass upon impact; and testing said missiles out on non-violent nomad encampments outside city limits.

Fucking ghouls.

Despite being the most openly violent of the major players, you find WraithCo. to be the most boring. They lack nuance, don’t bother with a false front or a positive PR spin — it’s all a little too predictable. Thanotech, on the other hand, is subtle; the perfect  cover for those who like to convince themselves they’re doing more good than harm.

In furtherance of that delusion, Thanotech replaced all public hospitals with state-of-the-art, for-profit rejuvenation centers. Worse, their lobbyists ensured that medical licensure was limited to employees of those centers, outlawing the provision and receipt of medical care outside of authorized Thanotech facilities. 

In short, those who can’t afford Thanotech’s astronomical rates — specifically, poor fucks like you — are left to fend for themselves in back alley clinics; to pray that they don’t wind up worse-off than they started, that the police don’t sniff them out, and that their new modifications aren’t just garbage-tier knock-offs.

Of course, some people give more of a shit about these designer mods than the patients who may or may not wind up with them. In that case, the last of the three titans has them covered.

It’s no fucking surprise that the Ulsan Corporation is the crown-jewel of the New Republic — it’s primarily responsible for killing the old one. As the world’s premier technology and cybernetics conglomerate, Ulsan is also primarily responsible for the research, development, and distribution of cybernetic enhancements.

Like the one your body is currently acclimating to.

No such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism, right?

Ulsan may be less obvious with its bastardry than its counterparts, but as far as you can tell, it’s not good guy behavior to eat an established state and shit it back out. Even if you can’t tie any specific, ongoing atrocities back to them, you have no qualms about adding the desperate state of the union to their indictment.

You can blame them for the desperate measures they’ve necessitated, although you won’t give them an ounce of credit for the spark of resistance they so recklessly lit.

Despite it all, there are still people out there who refuse to accept things for what they are. They find an alternative to the comply or die ultimatum — run along the razor’s edge, taking what they can get, whenever they can get it.

Like Changbin, one of Seoul’s best-connected fixers.

Like you, a gun for hire. 

Like Jisung, sitting in your passenger seat as you drive across town, who’s just happy to be included.

Generally speaking, piss and vinegar don’t mix well with club security.

If you were anyone else, rolling up to The Crypt like you own the place would be ill-advised. More than that, it would be asking to get your teeth kicked in faster than you could say, “I’m on the list.”

Thankfully, as it often does, your reputation precedes you. Nobody in the block-long line bats an eye when you cut right to the front, a fact that has Jisung smirking in a way that might otherwise get him killed. Still, the bouncer shoots you a look that says you’re more trouble than you’re worth; and you agree.

Before your friend can change the muscle’s mind, you grab Jisung by the wrist and tug him through the front entrance. You don’t let go when the door shuts behind you, although it’s more for convenience than concern for his safety. He has a tendency to wander, and you don’t have the patience.

“Haven’t been here in a while,” he muses as you drag him towards the main bar, head turning to look in every direction except the one you’re moving in.

You don’t slow down.

Winding your way through the drunks at the counter, you inch closer to the large booths along the far wall. Inside, draped nonchalantly over the plush benches, sit the big guns — mercenaries with far more sway than you, far fatter wallets. They’re living the high life you’ve always dreamed of, and they don’t even notice you staring as you pass.

“Oh, shit!” Jisung waves overhead to one of them, reminding you without trying that he — unlike you — has other friends.“S.Coups, where have the fuck have you been, man?”

You still don’t slow down.

Not when you reach the stairwell at the far side of the main floor. Not when you shuffle down the steps to the employees only section. Not even when the security camera overhead silently demands that you do.

There’s only one locked door amongst the few; you fly to it like a homing pigeon and beat against the metal with your free hand. It isn’t until the burning ache sets in that you realize you chose your right.

“Goddamn it.” You growl down at it, as if your hand will apologize for hurting. Turning your vitriol towards the door, you kick it hard, steel-toed boot forcing out a thud. “Changbin, open this shit up!”

Jisung glares as he scolds you, “Manners, maybe?”

You roll your eyes, but his expectant expression doesn’t budge.

“Fucking — fine, okay? Fine.” Hands thrown up in defeat, you take a deep breath. Your next words come out saccharine, accompanied by fluttering lashes that can’t even be seen. “Changbin, darling, could you please open this shit up?”

The two of you wait in dead silence for several seconds before Jisung’s hands fly up to your hair, unprompted. Your surprised yelp doesn’t faze him. He grabs the bobby-pin from where you’ve stashed it under your ponytail, drops to his knees, and starts to work.

You snort, “Well, damn. Look at you!”

Truly, you’re impressed. Jisung normally leaves the dirty work to you, yet here he is — breaking and entering.

They grow up so fast.

He tries not to look proud of himself, but his cheeks blush a shade of sakura and rat him right out. Though you’re sure he’d love to, he can’t even lift a hand to wave you off before the lock clicks. With a quick twist of the knob, he pushes the door open.

Changbin’s office looks close to normal, with a few notable exceptions. For starters, he’s not in it. The man you’re dealing with never sees the light of day if he can help it.

Jisung pipes up first: “Okay, what the fuck?”

The office chair Changbin normally occupies is spun to the side, as if his ass left it in a hurry. Even odder than that is the small, green light which indicates that he didn’t shut off his computer before leaving it unattended. It’s not a decision someone like Changbin — neurotic and paranoid to a borderline clinical degree — makes on his own.

That, you know outright, is a problem.

Cautiously, you slip past Jisung and walk on eggshells towards Changbin’s desk. You know it’s stupid, that no one would bother rigging the floor tiles to blow under the weight of your boots, but you can’t ignore the way your gut twists with every step. That dread only gets worse, the closer you get.

To the right of his primary screen, there’s a half-eaten vending-machine burrito that’s so covered with ants, you almost mistake them for pepper flakes. That sight makes bile rise in your throat, in and of itself, but it’s the untouched cup of coffee that sends a tingle of panic down your spine. Around the base of the glass, hardly visible on the sheet of paper underneath, is a water ring. 

That coffee — at one point, however long ago — was iced.

Changbin would kill you for it if he were here, but he isn’t, so you drop down into his chair. You pause as soon as your ass settles onto the leather, still not convinced that one wrong move won’t set off some sort of trap. The breath you’ve been holding leaks out slowly when your actions go without consequences.

A quick glance up at Jisung confirms that he looks exactly as spooked as you feel. You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard. 

He knows the answer before he asks, but that doesn’t stop him. It comes out scratchy, riddled with hesitation that says he doesn’t really want to hear the response. “He hasn’t been here in days, has he?”

You shake your head, just barely, then turn to the desk. Bottom lip pinched between worried teeth, you scan the surface for anything you missed on your first pass.

Give me a hint, you motherfucker. All I need is a breadcrumb.

It’s the absence of something that grabs your attention. Eyes narrowing, you lean forward in your seat to get as close as possible to his monitors.

“Does that…?” You start to ask but your voice trails off before you finish; thoughts moving too quickly to inventory before the next one arrives.

Though black, the screens in front of you aren’t lifeless. If anything, they’re still backlit, glitching subtly in a way they shouldn’t — not if the system had been locked, powered off, or otherwise put to sleep. You don’t have to be a netrunner to know that someone is running an opp, fucking up the computer’s processing and leaving it brain dead.

It’s so small that you almost miss the minimized window at the bottom left-hand corner of his secondary monitor, screen otherwise barren. Hesitantly, you reach out your hand and press a trembling finger to it.

Jisung is hovering so closely over your shoulder that you can practically taste that burrito on his breath. You elbow him once in the chest, hard.

He coughs, pointing to the screen as he sputters, “What the hell are those?”

“Numbers, Jisung.” You deadpan. “They’re called numbers.”

Ignoring the way he grumbles in response, you grab your mobile from your pocket. It springs to life at your sudden touch and broadcasts a holographic home screen in the air just centimeters above the glass. Just as fast, it tracks the movement of your eyes flicking through the list of applications. With the faintest shudder, the GPS navigation consumes the screen.

You repeat what you hope are coordinates:

35.2029, 128.6001.

As the map loads, you and Jisung exchange glances that are underscored by tense swallows. He knows it, and so do you: 

No matter where that pin ends up dropping, you have no choice but to go.

It takes three hours to drive from Seoul to Changwon. Although it’s not a route you’ve taken in years, or one you ever expected to take again, you still know it like the back of your hand. You can still navigate every turn — every crater and curve — with your eyes closed, even now. 

Despite that fact, your decision to race to the southeast this time has nothing to do with sentimentality for the hometown you left five years ago. 

This is just for Changbin, you repeat like a mantra, pressing harder on the accelerator. 

With every stoplight and thought you race through, the background grows blurrier but the big picture gets clearer. Changbin himself has nothing to do with it; and you’re not as selfless as your inner monologue keeps claiming. You correct yourself:

This is for me and my empty bank account.

Really — who could blame you?

You need steady contracts in order to eat. Without Changbin, those get fewer and farther between. It’s the transitive property, or whatever; basic math. You might starve without him, and that is the one thing in this life that you’re unwilling to do.

In the passenger seat, Jisung stirs. When he speaks, his voice isn’t weighted down with exhaustion in the way it usually is, halfway through a car trip. For some reason, it makes your stomach turn to consider that — for what is probably the first time ever — he isn’t sleeping through a drive.

“He left in a hurry,” he quietly notes.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at him and confirm the presence of that worried crease between his eyebrows. It’s not accompanied by the usual, furiously-bouncing knee. That makes your stomach turn, too. Clearly, he’s vaulted over mere anxiety and landed somewhere close to shutting down.

You nod. “He did.”

It spooks him when you take your right hand off the steering wheel and give his elbow a brief squeeze. You’re not the affectionate type; you both know this. It always makes your rare touches more ominous than comforting.

“Do you think he was running to something, or running away from something?”

Leave it to Jisung to say the quiet part out loud. 

Normally, you have an answer for his constant questions; and if you don’t, you resort to lying or guessing. This time, however, you don’t bother with either of those tactics because it doesn’t matter. Whatever the correct answer is, it’ll still feel wrong because Changbin doesn’t run.

Period.

Full stop.

So, the conclusion your brain keeps trying to come to is that he didn’t — he wouldn’t — if it came down to choice. The only reason Changbin would’ve disappeared like this, suddenly and wordlessly, is if he was taken.

Pulse hammering loudly in your ears, you don’t hear Jisung announce that your destination is only a few hundred meters down the road. Without his emphatic pointing out the windshield ahead, you simply would’ve continued racing forward, taking the speed limit as a suggestion to be ignored. Thankfully, your lead foot switches to the brake with enough time to make your turn. Tires hit dirt; your car fishtails as it transitions from the road to the worn-out path to your right.

“The fuck is this place?” You mutter, more to yourself than to Jisung.

It’s obsolete, you know that much. 

Something akin to an industrial park, but one that clearly hasn’t been used since before the War. There are electrical towers dotting a perimeter around the space, none of which are operational; the grid system was replaced by wind power, then by solar energy no fewer than fifty years ago. The driveway below is so cracked that patches of weeds have overtaken most of what remained of the pavement. All the rest is weathered, reduced to broken bits of cement and dirt.

Your car slows to a stop halfway down the parkway, surrounded on both sides by empty storage units with doors either broken or missing entirely. Hair raising on the back of your neck, you park but don’t kill the engine. Slowly, you rest your right hand over top of the holster strapped to your thigh and open your car door with your left.

The sun set a few hours into your drive. Its absence hasn’t done a damn thing to break the thick heat waiting for you outside. Humid air settles on your skin and leaves a sheen of sweat behind like a handprint, sticky.

“These were the coordinates,” Jisung affirms with a sigh. He stays seated inside the vehicle, leaving you to wonder why. He’s either too panicked to move, or correct in assuming you’d tell him to sit his unarmed ass back down before you made him.

You don’t respond. 

Instead, your eyes continue to scan the property for signs of — well, anything. Movement, a heat signature, whatever might register on your optical mods. There’s nothing, save for the stray tumbleweed somersaulting across the empty lot. You narrow your eyes to zoom in, heart pounding with anticipation.

You almost scream when you see it, but you swallow the urge. Fear won’t do you any good, but the semi-automatic strapped to your thigh might. It’s in your palm before you can blink, cocked and aimed at the figure ahead. At the bottom of your field of vision, your ammo count glows in translucent, block letters.

So, the ballistic co-processor is worth the pain.

Their posture is casual, legs dangling from the metal catwalk they sit on. Their elbows rest against the railing in front of them, as if they’re leaning on a counter in a bar and not spying on you from a scaffold four meters overhead. The way they’re watching in silence is unsettling enough; the wooden tal obscuring their face is fucking nightmare fuel, if you’ve ever seen it.

Head tilted curiously to the side, the stranger stares down at you through small eye holes, wooden mouth frozen in a hand-carved smile. Whoever they are, they’re immersed in the bit. They exaggerate every slow movement for their audience of two.

Good for them, you scoff to yourself.

Gloved hands come up to pantomime “don’t shoot” mere seconds before they grab hold of the railing in front of them. Just as quickly, they swing themselves underneath with a kick of their legs until they’re falling, falling, falling towards the ground below. They land easily on their feet without so much as a grunt. All the while, dust swirls in pirouettes around their ankles, spot-lit by your car’s headlamps.

“What — what the fuck?” Jisung squeaks. 

You don’t answer, but that doesn’t stop him from repeating his question, over and over.

Hands still raised, the stranger slowly closes the distance between you. Their fingers wiggle slightly in some demented version of a wave; they’re taunting you. The unhealed part of you wants to shoot those fingers off, one by one. 

You’ve never been fond of clowns.

“If you like having kneecaps without bullets in them, I suggest you stay still, chingu,” you scoff, now more annoyed than alarmed.

To your surprise, they listen. Their feet still, side by side; and their hands stay where you can see them. That is, until they curl all of their fingers into their palm, except for their right index finger. With it, they point silently over your shoulder.

As soon as you can whip your neck around, a gloved fist collides with your temple. The last thing you see before your vision goes black is a second, wooden smile looming over you.

A hushed tone manages to nudge you awake.

“You really can’t keep doing this. Seriously, your people skills are awful.”

The whole world’s blurry, and you can’t make out the source of the sound, but you’re coherent enough to know it when a second voice chimes in. It’s much less gentle than the first, higher in pitch and twice as exasperated. It snaps, “She was armed.”

“I had it under control,” the first voice huffs. 

The two seem to be too lost in their argument to notice your eyelids fluttering or your fingers twitching. Your wrists aren’t bound, you realize, but that fact doesn’t help you much in your current state. Back resting heavily against the thin nylon cloth of a cot, it’d take more energy than you have to spare in order to get to your feet. Worse, your eyes don’t seem interested in cooperating.

They should be by now. 

They’re open, you’re conscious, and —

Motherfucker.

The more awake you become, the more the ache in your temple reverberates down your jaw. You know without looking that the right side of your face is bruised to hell and back. Scraped up, too, if you had to guess; you hit the gravel like a bag of bricks.

They must’ve done it on purpose, hitting you exactly where they needed to in order to scramble your visual input. The most you get is shapes, black and white static. It wasn’t the hardest knock you’d ever taken to the head — not by a long shot — but it was perfectly targeted and timed. 

Clearly, they’re no amateurs.

One such shadow kneels down next to you. Gentle fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear while their other hand tilts your drooping head to the side. 

They tut, “Just look at what you did to her face.”

“From what I’ve heard, she’s been through worse,” the second voice scoffs. You watch the shadow’s shoulders as they shrug, wishing you could focus on their face well enough to bash it in.

The retort comes quickly, but it doesn’t come in Korean. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t do better.”

The hands that gently cradle your face pull away, leaving you cold. The action itself isn’t as jarring as the sudden use of English, though — especially the accent it’s spoken with. You may not be fluent, but you can sense what’s missing: the consonant on the end of that last word.

You sense something else, too, but you’re still too disoriented to follow that thought from start to finish. It’s on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

Who — ?

The bastard that broke your brain must notice your face scrunching in confusion because their next words seem to be aimed at you. Clipped and unapologetic, they mutter, “Should be fine within the hour. Already been out for —” 

They suck in a breath through their teeth. You can’t tell if they’re stalling in order to toy with you, or if they’re genuinely doing the math. 

“— Seven hours or so, now.”

Fuck!

One of the two snorts out a laugh; it’s the only reason you piece it together that you spoke out loud. Emboldened by the confirmed functionality of your voice, you speak again without thinking it through first. 

You don’t care where you are or who you’re with. You only have one question:

“Is Changbin still alive? Because if he is, I’ll kill him myself.”

The man kneeling next to your cot chuckles, soft and low, but he doesn’t acknowledge your question beyond that. Instead, he addresses his hamfisted friend. “Can you please get her some water?”

“Am I a waiter now, Yongbok-ah?” The other snips, though his tone is devoid of any real heat. If his face wasn’t blurred out of existence, you’d likely find a sneer on it. “Should I roll some gimbap for her, too?”

“Actually, you should,” counters this Yongbok. His response is buried so deeply under his breath that his back talk may as well be a secret for your ears only. “Punched her clean into the next weekday — so, yeah. It’s the least you could do.”

It grows silent enough that you can hear every incredulous footstep as the waiter storms off.

The remainder says, “Sorry about him,” and for whatever little it’s worth, he sounds like he means it. You say nothing, simply marinating in your resentment. 

Meanwhile, he shifts from his knees in order to sit fully on the ground next to your cot. Elbows extended, he leans back onto his palms and sighs gently, “Minho’s not as bad as the first impressions he makes.”

You scoff so forcefully that you feel it in your sinuses. “This is the second. His first is the reason I can’t see who’s holding me hostage.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The shape beside you sits up suddenly. He sputters, “You’re not a hostage, and this isn’t a kidnapping —”

“Then what the fuck is it?” You snap, “Huh, Yongbok?”

Blindly, you throw out a half-balled fist in a half-baked attempt to even the score. It misses by a mile, nearly knocking you off balance in the process. Your wrist is encircled by the same warm fingers you felt before, doubling over but exerting no force.

“We were scouting you. You know, like, soccer?” He chuckles sheepishly. “Changbin mentioned that you were a free agent, so to speak, and we thought you might wanna join the team.”

What the fuck?

“And — it wasn’t supposed to wind up like this.” His shadow’s hands gesture vaguely at the room you can’t see. “I did try to warn you. You just didn’t turn around in time.”

There are too many questions swirling around in your skull to choose from. One of them must break free and nudge your retinal chip back into place because something turns the lights back on. Glitching wildly, your vision flickers from low contrast to high definition. It doesn’t hurt, but the surprised gasp you choke out could easily be interpreted that way.

The man next to you is back on his knees in a second, both hands finding your shoulders to either comfort you or immobilize you — and you aren’t sure which. Against your better judgment, you ignore the reflex that tells you to fight or flee. Instead, you reach out and touch his cheekbone to confirm that the faint spots you see are freckles and not lingering sensory damage on your part.

He doesn’t even blink, much less say a word. There’s no jerk to get away, and there’s not a single question asked about what the fuck you’re doing — just tolerance. Far more than you’d be extending if the roles were reversed.

Freckles.

You aren’t embarrassed, but you drop your hand quickly and scowl at him until he does the same. Once again, he raises them as he leans back. Notably, he doesn’t wiggle his fingers like the first time you crossed paths.

That reminds me —

Abruptly, you draw your arm back to deck him in earnest. 

Just like the last time, he catches you before you can strike him; however, instead of capturing your wrist, it’s the entirety of your fist. His palm absorbs the shock, fingers closing around your hand. It’s the gentlest trap you’ve ever been ensnared in, which you hate.

Smart of you to prevent another attempt.

“Can I finish explaining myself?” He asks, voice soft. 

Bright doe eyes scan over your face cautiously as he contemplates letting your hand go. It’s disarming, sure, but you’d rather die than admit it. 

You give him absolutely nothing to work with, so he adds, “You can hit me when I’m done, if you still want to.”

All you give him in return is a glare, which he somehow correctly interprets as permission to keep going. The grip on your fist loosens, although it wasn’t constricting to begin with. Like nothing happened, you pull it away and cross your arms.

As if nonchalance has ever been your strong suit.

He stares at you, deep in thought, for longer than you know what to do with. Eyes sweeping over your features like he’ll be quizzed later, taking in every detail. It’s unsettling — what about you is even worth gawking at?

When he frowns, that spark of light in his eyes stays put. “You don’t remember me.” 

It’s not a question because he isn’t asking; he’s telling. And you have no goddamn clue what he means, no matter how loudly the voice in your head screams that you should. The familiarity buzzing through your brain can’t place him — not the button of his nose, not even those fucking freckles.

“I don’t know anyone named Yongbok,” you counter, frustration evident.

You wouldn’t be this harsh if you know how not to be. Part of you feels guilty when you see the hurt flicker across his face, but both emotions — his and yours — are gone as quickly as they appear. Consequently, the walls stay up, refusing to give. Despite you, the corner of his mouth hitches up in a lopsided version of a smile. 

That’s familiar, too.

“Never really went by it,” he chuckles. As he does, he tilts his head quizzically. 

Another bell rings, yet you can’t name the note.

Shyly, he takes his half-smile with him and looks anywhere else. The anticipation is spinning cartwheels in your stomach, tingling down the back of your neck, and you’re seconds away from trying to smack the trapped words right out of him. 

Who are you to me?

After a deep breath in and out, he glances back at you from the corner of his eye. His hesitation does nothing to prepare you for his response, which isn’t his name at all. It’s yours — a nickname, more specifically. One no one has used in damn near a decade.

“Been a while, Scraps. Hasn’t it?”

Felix has never seen anyone freeze the way you do when the realization finally hits. For a minute, he worries that Minho did more damage to your poor brain than either of them initially diagnosed; it wouldn’t be the first time. Minho’s never been known to be careful or tactful.

Your silence — and your total lack of physical response — doesn’t last, though. He nudges your kneecap with his knuckles just to make sure you can feel it. You blink rapidly, as if you’re just now remembering how.

He starts to ask, “Are you ok—?”, but your fist flies out, pops him right in the jaw, and he chokes on the rest of that question. Hands flying up to cover his face, he collapses back onto the floor with a groan. When the initial shock wears off, it dissolves into laughter that shakes his shoulders.

Honestly, what did he expect?

In a flash, you shove yourself off your cot. You’re on top of him before he can blink, pinning him down. You grip his shirt in one fist and raise the other. He braces himself for impact but doesn’t flinch, too taken aback by the fury you’re capable of communicating without a single word.

“You’re fucking with me,” you spit, breaking the silence.

Your glare is borderline feral — burning — and that makes him laugh even harder. 

“You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?”

To both of your surprise, you don’t hit him again; you don’t even try. You freeze, but unlike the last time, your eyes are shaking. Your raised arm is, too, like it’s taking all you have to keep whatever you’re feeling to yourself.

Classic Scraps.

You mutter, “You’re dead,” and it’s not a threat. 

Not even close, really. It’s a declaration, one accompanied by an expression that’s as close to vulnerable as he’s ever seen from you. All at once, you lower your arm; the rest of you slumps, too. Whispering, you repeat, “You’re dead.”

Something about your tone hurts worse than the burgeoning bruise near his mouth. It aches, even more so when he frowns. You deserve an explanation — an apology, too — but Felix doesn’t know where the fuck to start.

Maybe he should cash that reality check first.

“Is that what people are saying?” He asks.

He’s not sure what about that trips him up. It makes perfect sense that this is the conclusion people wound up jumping to. After all, he left without a word and never came back — didn’t leave a trace, either. 

Felix wasn’t the first teenager to slip through the cracks, so he’d figured that his would be another run-of-the-mill disappearance. Sure, people tend to notice when kids go missing; but that doesn’t stop the world from turning. Sooner or later, people stop looking, either too busy or too hopeless to keep holding a torch.

Eventually, they forget.

At least, that was the reality Felix had subscribed to — that, after a while, he’d slipped through the cracks of collective consciousness. It was easier to tell himself that he wasn’t missed. His guilt couldn’t keep him up at night if nobody remembered that he existed in the first place; especially when a decade slipped past in his absence.

But you did remember. 

You missed him.

You lift your knee so that you’re no longer straddling him and drop onto your back at his side.

It’s funny, he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling. The two of you spent years just like this, albeit on the hood of some junkyard sedan. Two pairs of wide eyes were always fixed on constellations, dreaming of something bigger than both of you. Of some future where you weren’t still stuck in the gutter.

“There was no trace of you anywhere.” You speak so softly that Felix is left to wonder whether you’re talking to him or yourself. “No records that you fled, no word from you, no hits on CCTV — nothing. The cops said there’d be a trail if…”

Your voice fades out before you can finish that thought, so Felix picks up where you left off: “If I was alive to leave one.”

There’s a long pause before you speak again. 

“This is where you disappeared to?”

He feels a shift beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way you’ve tilted your head to gaze at him. By the time he does the same, the moment is gone, and you’re taking in the room around you. 

It’s not much, but it’s all he has: A small room in a decommissioned factory, smelling faintly of sawdust despite not containing any. The cot you just sprang from is where he’s spent most nights since he was fifteen. 

The floor underneath it — underneath you — is more dirt than concrete now, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed it; and the few iron shelves that hang along each wall are just as gross. So are the knickknacks he’s set on them, but he doesn’t mind.

The site itself is long forgotten. It’d be an eyesore if anyone ever looked, but no one bothers.

Even satellites have stopped paying it any attention, leaving it to fade into dirt and obscurity, not even a shadow of what it used to be. Once plush and inviting, the surrounding forest was leveled in a firefight that ended with ninety-percent of the nearby buildings getting blown to shit. 

The New Republic could’ve easily organized a relief team to dig through the shattered city. At any point in the last fifty years, they could’ve rebuilt what burned in that failed uprising, but they didn’t; and Felix knows they never will because that rubble has a function. Apart from burying one of the country’s most impoverished districts, it serves as a cautionary tale. A threat left behind to the masses: this is what happens when people pose risk to profits.

Still, flowers can grow within cracks in concrete. After all, his life with you started just a few kilometers away.

“Are we still in Changwon, or did you and that asshole drag me out of the province?” 

That edge of yours is ever present, and Felix is glad. It’s one of the million things he’s missed about you; a feature on the long list of reasons he wishes he could’ve called — messaged, sent a smoke signal, anything — to keep you around in whatever capacity he could.

But he didn’t. 

He couldn’t.

Felix feels the weight of a lost decade sitting heavy on his chest, so he does what he always does: he chooses light. Smiling brightly, he asks, “D’you remember that junkyard we used to run away to after curfew?”

You roll your eyes. You don’t have to say it out loud; he knows you do. The two of you spent more time there than you did in your own homes, lining glass bottles along the wooden fence posts and firing stones at them with a homemade slingshot.

“We’re a few kilometers up the road, actually.”

At this, you sit up so that no part of your body stays pressed against his. Dead silence settles in the space between you like a brick wall. You bristle, then you snap, “All that time you were dead, you were still within spitting distance?”

Felix opens his mouth to respond, but your rigid posture makes it clear that you have no desire to listen. He closes it again without saying a word. It’s what he deserves, isn’t it?

“Traded in your family, your home, your — Me.” You clear your throat to hide the fact that your voice breaks. It’s too late. “And for what, Felix? To haunt some abandoned building like a ghost?”

You clench your fists, like a grip tight enough might keep you together. That part of you hasn’t changed either, it seems. Neither has the extremely unsettling way you get quieter, the more upset you are. Just like that, he’s reminded of what you used to say: the more it hurts, the less it shows.

“I couldn’t pick you out of a fucking lineup despite all of that history,” you whisper, deflated. “And you were here the whole time.”

Talking won’t do him much good, so Felix opts to show you. Palms pressed to the ground, he pushes himself to his feet, and he doesn’t bother dusting off the back of his pants once he stands. It won’t make a difference, anyway, when the whole damn city is covered in it.

Once he steadies himself, he extends his hand to you, half-expecting you to slap it away. You don’t budge. You never do, he recalls fondly.

“One chance?” His eyes are pleading, even though you don’t look up to meet them. “It’s hard to explain, but it’ll make more sense if you see it.”

Without looking, you lift your arm and slap your hand into his. A small concession, but it’s enough to make his smile reappear. He’s practically beaming when he hauls you to your feet, and you grip his forearms to keep steady.

“Fine,” you concede with a huff. 

Then, you round on him with one pointed finger, jabbing him in the center of his chest with force. It’ll bruise, but he supposes that’s the whole point. 

“This better be worth all the fucking theatrics, or I swear to god —”

“You’ll make me swallow my own teeth?” He rolls his eyes with a low chuckle and tugs you along after him on his way to the door. “Yeah, yeah, yeah — Heard that threat a thousand times, Scraps, and you’ve never once made good on it.”

Just to emphasize his point, he looks over his shoulder at you and grins with all thirty-two of them.

All things considered, you take everything in stride. You don’t react much at all when you discover that the abandoned building is anything but; refuse to bat an eye when the two people you woke up to are revealed to be a tiny fraction of the whole.

You even keep your hand in his as he ushers you from room to room — through the clinic, the makeshift and woefully under-equipped armory, the Hub — and introduces you to whoever you come across. He might even go so far as to call you friendly, which is a first. Receiving any kind of warmth from you typically requires high-level security clearance. 

Or, at least, it used to. Felix has to remind himself more than once that, small echoes aside, there are parts of you he doesn’t know anymore. This could very well be one of them.

Halfway through the tour, you finally offer up more than a lukewarm greeting and your name. It’s just the two of you now; you don’t have to make yourself palatable anymore. Blunt as ever, you throw out, “This is a cult, right? You ran away from home to join a cult?”

There she is, he thinks.

Felix pulls a face in disapproval, which you either don’t catch or don’t care about. Instead, you turn your head in the opposite direction and let your gaze sweep over the loading dock you currently stand upon.

It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a sitting room, filled with the only comfortable furniture they could get their hands on — half-busted arm chairs, ratty old couches, tables held together with duct tape and a prayer. You drop suddenly onto one such couch, jerking him back until his ass winds up next to yours on a tattered cushion. 

Felix can’t tell if you pulled him down on purpose, or if you simply forgot that you were holding onto him. Either way, he doesn’t mind, but part of him hopes it was the former.

“It’s a collective,” he corrects you, lips flattening into a firm, straight line.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it. If it’s a sex cult, just say so.”

He tries not to laugh — really, he does — because the last thing you need is an enabler, but your deadpan delivery has always hit him where he’s weakest. He tries again while swallowing a chuckle: “It’s the Black Screen, home to the most talented and ungovernable motherfuckers on the peninsula.”

You don’t look impressed. Felix doesn’t take it to heart.

“We’ve got a reconnaissance team, netrunners —” 

As if he’s doing a roll call, he points to nearby stragglers with every position he names. 

“— corporate defectors, combat vets, medics, ex-fixers —”

He nudges you with his elbow, wiggles his eyebrows and murmurs, “— Edge runners —” 

If that look in your eye is any indication, you still hate it when he does that.

“And a couple of wayward drunks who — well…” Felix pauses for a moment to think. It doesn’t help, so he shrugs, snickering, “I dunno how they got here, and they don’t contribute much, but they’re fun to have around!”

The corner of your mouth twitches, ever so slightly. He grins down at you, as if to say gotcha. 

“So, it is a sex cult,” you repeat flatly after a beat.

Felix can’t beat your bit, so he may as well join you in it. Bested, he sighs, “Yeah, pretty much.”

You hum in acceptance of his defeat, clearly amused by how easily he still gives in to you. 

With pursed lips, you continue to take in your surroundings. Your brow furrows while you process the information you’ve been bombarded with so far, but you don’t offer up any further questions or snide comments. Thankfully, the silence that falls over you both feels a lot less like lead than the previous one.

Felix’s gaze stays fixed on you, though you’re too busy looking elsewhere to notice. Maybe you couldn’t recognize him, but shit — he’d know you anywhere, anytime. You’ve gotten older, of course, finally grew into those features of yours. Still, there are hints of the kid he used to know hidden all over your face.

Original traits aside, the new additions — the tattoos, for starters — all read like you. In fact, Felix is fairly confident that he’d know who they belonged to, even if the other context was removed. After all, the cyberware installed into your hand can’t undermine the familiarity of it resting against his palm. 

And it sure as shit still hits like it used to.

He considers it a blessing, really, that so much of you survived the years that flew by without him. That the scrawny girl next door — ready and willing to fight God over a single slight — still rolls her eyes the same way, still speaks in that satoori his non-native tongue could never mimic.

“Maybe I’m missing something,” you announce suddenly. The unexpected sound of your voice startles Felix so much that he jumps, knocking his shoulder into yours in the process. You ignore his reaction and continue, “This just looks like someone is collecting people as a hobby. What are you all doing here?”

Oh.

Yeah, that’s a fair question.

“We’re… starting a fire,” Felix muses. 

You arch an eyebrow expectantly, although the rest of your face remains impassive. It’s less of a demand for him to continue than it is permission for him not to stop.

“And we’re going to burn it all down.” He hits you with a devilish grin, drops his voice low in a way that makes you shiver involuntarily. “The corpo-rats, the lies they sell — all of it.”

“Sounds like anarchy,” you say, tilting your head to the side. There’s a beat, then you grin to match his. “Sign me up.”

Felix stands at the far side of the dining area with his arms crossed and his head leaning back against the cinder blocks behind him. His legs are crossed at the ankles, knees aching from the sheer amount of time he’s been holding the wall up. 

As much as his body wants to sit, the rest of him is out of options. The only table that isn’t full is the one you’re occupying with Changbin and Jisung. After the day you’ve had, you deserve time alone with something familiar. He recognizes that he isn’t that. 

Not anymore — and not yet, either. 

He finds it hard to stray too far, though. You’ve always been able to fend for yourself — that black-and-blue jaw of his is proof enough — but it’s a role he can’t help falling into, looking out for you. Muscle memory.

Although Felix can’t quite make out anything that the three of you are saying, it’s clear as a damn bell when you slam your palms down on the table. Just as obvious is the split second in which your anger gives way — when the pain in your right hand finally registers in your brain.

“That one going to be a problem?”

Hyunjin, as usual, seems to appear out of thin air. He sidles up to Felix and takes up the spot next to him along the wall. All it takes is one quick glance to confirm it — he’s exhausted. Dark half-moons sit in the wells beneath his eyes like ink, silently informing Felix of yet another all-nighter; still keeping secrets as to where he goes at night when everyone else is sleeping.

But Hyunjin isn’t a mystery Felix will ever be able to solve, so he looks back in your direction and asks, “Who, Scraps?” Then, with a shake of his head, he sighs, “No. She’s a cherry bomb, but she’s reliable. Far more than most, actually.”

It’s odd, Felix thinks, that Hyunjin didn’t already know the answer to that question. As the reconnaissance leader of the Black Screen, there isn’t much Hyunjin isn’t aware of. Felix doesn’t comment on that piece, however. Instead, he does his best to interpret your reaction.

“If I had to guess, Changbin just told her about the fake kidnapping.”

And Hyunjin doesn’t do a damn thing to conceal his smirk. That was his plan, after all. 

Two weeks ago, Seo Changbin stumbled upon a lead by accident. While Felix isn’t privy to the details of what Changbin dug up, he knows it must’ve been significant. That’s the only explanation Felix can come up with as to how Changbin wound up at the rendezvous point. Nobody — not the corporate ghouls, their war dogs, or any other sorry soul  — finds the Black Screen unless they want to be found. 

Felix is privy to what happened next because it’s the only reason he wound up involved in this at all:

Whatever intel Changbin had was groundbreaking enough to score an invitation to the revolution, but he had more to offer the higher-ups than that. He dropped the name of someone who could be an asset, under the right circumstances. Someone who wouldn’t follow a breadcrumb trail for free but would tear the peninsula apart to find whoever owed them.

For what it’s worth, Felix disagreed with that characterization the second he heard it. Despite the mask you like to wear, you’re incapable of being self-centered. You’ve never been profit-driven, heartless, or attachment-avoidant. Just hellbent on survival for you and the people you feel responsible for, even as a kid. 

The only reason Felix hasn’t asked you about your motive outright is because he knows you’d lie. The truth is simple: Unless it was for someone you care deeply about, you wouldn’t waste gasoline on speeding back to a place you hate.

Hyunjin clears his throat, pulling Felix out of the daze he’d fallen into. Given the pointed look on his face, Hyunjin must be repeating himself when he says, “She got you bad, huh?”

Confusion forces Felix’s brow to furrow. 

“This?” He takes a wild guess and gestures to the bruise on his jaw before waving dismissively. “Nah, her form is terrible. Truly garbage-tier follow-through. I can teach her, though.”

Hyunjin pushes himself off the wall and moves to exit the dining area. As he passes by, he gives Felix a patronizing pat on his shoulder. “Not what I meant, Yongbokie.”

Felix frowns, unsure how to take what he’s being given. 

The fuck?

“Not even close,” Hyunjin calls over his shoulder. 

He shoots Felix a wink, and then he’s gone, disappearing out the door the same way he entered it — like a goddamn apparition.

“Wow. Recruited? That’s — wow.”

Jisung is doing a terrible job of pretending he isn’t blushing. He clears his throat to keep his voice even, but it’s useless. He’s not fooling anyone. 

“I didn’t realize we were so sought after.”

“You’re not,” Changbin responds bluntly. He gestures across the table to you but maintains his eyes on Jisung. “She is. You just happened to be present, and they couldn’t leave a witness behind.”

Jisung doesn’t bother to hide the way his face falls. When he opens his mouth to whine, you raise your hand and silently demand that he spare you the earache. It seems to work; he slumps dejectedly and leans with his elbows against the tabletop. You proceed to ignore him.

Affect flat, you stare straight ahead at the source of all your fucking problems. The half of you that wants to hug Changbin for being alive and well is significantly quieter than the half of you that wants to grab him by the nape of his neck and shove his face into his yukgaejang.

Bastard.

“I no longer give a shit how I ended up here,” you state coolly. Liar. “That ship has sailed, and to keep it a buck with you, Binnie —” 

He cringes at the nickname, which is exactly the reaction you sought. 

“— I’m not interested in stroking your ego for getting one over on me. It won’t happen again. What I’m still waiting on —” 

The only reason you leave that clause hanging in mid-air is to see the anticipation stir in his eyes. From where you’re sitting, it’s what he deserves: a little bit of unnecessary suspense. Really, it’s a form of reparations for the giant fucking inconvenience he’s been lately. His balance is way past due. 

Jisung, perpetually along for the ride, shovels shrimp chips into his mouth while his eyes dart back and forth between your face and Changbin’s.

You shoot Changbin a sly smile and grab his beer, tilting the can his way in lieu of a bow. His eyes narrow, visibly annoyed with your stalling, but he doesn’t audibly complain when you down the rest of his drink. Resigned, he accepts the empty can that you hand it back to him

At long last, you clear your throat.

“— is an explanation for why you’re here,” you finally sigh.

Changbin rolls his eyes so hard that they go all-white for a moment. Then, to your surprise, he glares across the table at Jisung. 

“You know, my life was way more pleasant before you dragged this one,” he huffs, gesturing to you with his chopsticks, “Into my bar.”

Just for a moment, Changbin sits with his annoyance. He’s entitled to some of it, you’ll concede. You’re not easy to love — you never have been — and you’re occasionally even harder to like. Despite that, he’s been known to look out for you in his own, mostly useless way; even in moments like this, when you’re being a fucking gash simply because you can. 

But the fact remains that you dragged your ass across a peninsula for him. He knows damn well that you accept payment in the form of secrets when cash is too hard to come by, so…. 

“Spill,” you demand.

That tough exterior of his collapses like wet cardboard, just like you knew it would. He glances around the room quickly to confirm that no one is listening in, then he pushes his empty bowl out of the way. With the threat of staining his white t-shirt neutralized, Changbin leans in and asks, “Do either of you know Jung Wooyoung?” 

Simultaneously, you and Jisung respond:

“The boxer?”

“The biter.”

Just the same, your friends turn to you with identical looks of bewilderment. You shrug, declining to elaborate because Changbin asked if you knew him, not how or how intimately. Truth be told, you’re not sure that he’s prepared for that answer.

“Anyways,” Changbin segues after clearing his throat. “He’s not up to either of those tasks these days.”

Genuinely curious, Jisung asks with a frown, “Did someone finally kill him?”

Fair question, you think.

With the way Wooyoung runs his mouth, it’s a wonder he’s lived as long as he has — assuming, of course, that he’s still alive. Beyond picking fights with people three times’ his size, his specialties include fixing matches and swiping other fighters’ significant others. If he’s not dead yet, you figure, it’s only a matter of time until the consequences of his antics come calling.

Changbin shakes his head, and the look on his face seems weirdly solemn, like the answer is even worse than that. It’s sobering; it knocks the smirk right off your face.

“He was short on cash, so he signed up for some clinical trial promising a million won for participants.”

Jisung, the resident non-doctor, sits up at this development. “Thanotech?”

You’re in the middle of rolling your eyes when Changbin intercepts, grimacing: “No, that’s the fucked up part. Well, one of the fucked up parts.”

Two pairs of expectant eyes lock on him.

“It’s Ulsan running the trial.”

You don’t pretend to be well-versed in any of the biomedical, cybernetic shit going on around you, but you do know that this particular corporation never leaks details of its research and development — not ever. Doing so would run the risk of a lesser titan swooping in to try and to dupe it. 

But that’s not the only revelation that smacks you upside the head.

“Ulsan pays for lab rats now?” You scoff, surprised by your own interest. “Here I was, thinking they used ex-employees for that shit.”

It sounds callous when you say it out loud, but it’s a universal assumption. Part of the New Republic’s mythology, so to speak.

In your lifetime, you’ve never come across a single person who used to work for the Ulsan Corporation — not one. Just the same, you’ve never heard about anyone leaving; no one you’ve ever met has. It’s beyond the realm of possibility that a corporation like that has no turnover, so where do people go when their turn is over?

The dumpster out back, some say. According to others, they wind up in a secret mass grave in the oil fields.

“When he came back, I didn’t know where he’d been or why; I just saw him wandering around like a fucking zombie.” Changbin shivers. “He’s empty now, all sucked dry.”

Jisung looks pointedly at you, shit-eatin grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that what happened when you —?”

An elbow to the center of his chest stops his question before he can finish asking it. He yelps instead, scooting his chair further down the table to get away from you, your sharp edges, and your even sharper glare.

“It freaked me the fuck out, and I didn’t have any answers, so I started poking around for something — anything — that might make sense of it.”

“So, that’s how you got pulled into the web.”

The voice from nowhere makes all three of you jump. You whip around to find yet another stranger. 

How many fucking people do I have to meet today? 

This particular wild card sits on top of the table directly behind yours with arms gently crossed over her chest; not closed off but cold, judging by the goosebumps making themselves known across her bare arms. Her boots rest on the chair in front of her, one chrome leg shining next to flesh-and-blood.

Whoever she is, she’s beaming. That fact confuses the shit out of you because you’re not often met with friendliness, especially from unknowns. Or maybe, you think, it’s a well-concealed effort to disarm you. Whatever it is, it’s working; the urge to snap at her for intruding is dead on arrival. 

You open your mouth to ask what she means, but you can’t get the words out before someone else interjects. 

Minho, that bastard, shouts from across the room, “Spider! Got a minute?”

Her eyes light up in a way that says she has several, so long as he’s the one asking. Without another word, she hops to her feet and pushes the chair that held them back under the table. As she heads his way, she sends you an apologetic smile, like she somehow owes you anything.

“I don’t know what they unraveled by pulling that thread,” Changbin sighs, nodding towards the pair exiting the room. “But this place has been buzzing since I got here.”

You need something to chew on that isn’t this, so you reach over and grab the bag of shrimp chips from Jisung’s unsuspecting hands. The frown he gives you is cartoonish, but as usual, he doesn’t put up a fight. Your version of an apology is holding a spare chip out to him, which he happily accepts.

After shoveling a handful into your mouth, you mumble, “So now what?”

“I don’t know about you, but if these guys —” Changbin gestures vaguely around the room with his index finger pointed. “— Give me a target to point at, I’ll pull the trigger.”

You snort, “That’s a lot of trust.” 

It doesn’t mean much, coming from you. Your metric is beyond fucked, and you know it. That word is foreign, though; so far out of your grasp that you can’t wrap your brain around it.

“Maybe it is,” Changbin mutters while he looks down at the empty can in his grip. 

For a moment, that’s all he says. All he does is stare into the black hole of its opening, as if there’s some answer lurking in the emptiness below it. He must not find it, though, because he crumples the aluminum like a piece of scrap paper. 

When he glances back up at you, you see the uncertainty in his eyes. It reads like fear, which manages to unsettle you.

“I just — I can’t see what I saw and do nothing.”

Your second month in the compound starts with a bang — no, a thud. 

With your body being forcibly ejected from your cot, crashing onto the ground, and your jaw clenching shut quickly with a click of gritted teeth.

“How many fucking times are we doing this?” You growl, less than half-awake. 

Already past today’s quota for rage, you form a fist and swing your arm back violently against the capsized cot; it scrapes along the cement floor and skitters further away from you. The sudden burst of movement doesn’t do anything to make you feel better, but it was worth a shot, you suppose.

Felix, whose sunshine smile is too goddamn bright for this hour, crouches down in front of you. He at least has the decency to look apologetic when he lilts, “Until you learn to wake up to an alarm, I fear.”

He pauses, eyes scanning for any genuine distress beyond your shitty mood.

“Does that hurt?” He frowns.

Bleary eyes follow his pointed finger to your elbow, now prickling with blood where you skinned it against the floor. It doesn’t; and you’re not even remotely concerned about it, so you swat his hand away without answering his question and shove yourself to your feet. Once standing, you wander over to your steamer trunk to grab something clean enough to wear. 

The shadowy one, Hyunjin, brought your shit to you a week ago —  thank god. He provided no explanation whatsoever for how he knew where you lived or how he managed to get inside your building, but you’re a beggar, not a chooser. You’d rather enable his burglary than keep wearing the same, re-washed clothes you came here with or borrowing from people you still don’t know well.

As you peel yesterday’s tank-top up and over your head, your gravelly voice flies out to Felix, who stands and moves to lean against the wall. “You at least going to feed me breakfast before you bore me with more target practice?”

That’s most of what your time together has been so far, anyway. The chain of command is sorting out details above your pay grade; and you condition yourself to jump as high as they may eventually ask you to.

Felix doesn’t answer you, which isn’t like him. You look at him out of the corner of your eye and find him staring up at the ceiling, like his life depends on it.

“What are you —?” 

Oh.

You glance down, cutting your question off midway through. He’s giving you and your semi-exposed body privacy, that’s what. 

Sensing blood in the water, you swim in to scoff, “You have no problem flipping my bed when I’m in it, but bras are where you draw the line? What kind of gentleman are you?”

Still averting his eyes, he rolls them. You do him the favor of tugging on a different, slightly wrinkled tank-top; but you don’t give him the courtesy of letting up.

“Where do you stand on ass, Felix?”

“Are you always this annoying, first thing in the morning?” 

Amusement slips through the cracks despite his efforts to conceal it. You slip out of the cotton shorts you slept in, dip your toes under the fabric pooled around your ankles, and flick them at him. He concedes his staring contest to the panels overhead in order to catch them.

Impressive reflexes.

“I’m this annoying at all hours of the day.” You grin impishly for just a second, then shrug. “You’re just less able to handle it, first thing in the morning.”

Bending back over your trunk, you dig through for something denim. You land on black, high-waisted shorts with a triumphant, “Aha!”, and make a big show of raising your trophy overhead. Once again, you glance at Felix to see if your attempt to get a rise out of him was successful. In a way, yes, it was — just not in the way you expected.

Based on the way his gaze lingers on your thighs and the curve of your ass, you don’t think Felix even noticed your theatrics. You don’t think he means to stare, either. As far as you can see, it’s the perfect opportunity to fuck with him further.

“Admiring the tattoos?” You arch an eyebrow and wait for him to blush out of panic at being caught. “I can recommend the artist, if you want to hit them up.”

To your surprise, you don’t rattle him. Dark eyes flick up from your body to your face, and they don’t seem ashamed of where they’ve been. Your plan backfires. More than that, it blows up right in your face, which is starting to heat up.

“The cantine closes in five minutes. Training starts in ten,” he states matter-of-factly, holding your gaze. “So, you can either eat, or you can keep pretending you’re not trying to flirt with me.”

Your mouth drops open, but you can’t even snap back at him before he chirps, “The choice is yours, Scraps,” with a playful smile.

With nothing more to say, Felix leans away from the wall. On his way out the door, he gives you a lazy, two-finger salute. Dumbstruck, you stand there, watching him leave; wondering where the hell your bumbling, sweetly shy friend from back home managed to disappear to. 

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Felix waggles his finger at you. A smug smile toys at his lips when you let out a frustrated grunt. “That’s the problem.”

He takes a step away from you, raises his fists to mimic your posture, and throws a right jab out into the air ahead of him. When he draws it back, he pauses with his shoulders even.

“D’you see the issue with this?” He asks, loosening one fist so that he can gesture from shoulder to shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Is it that nobody’s currently hitting you?”

Felix, to his credit, is completely unbothered by the attitude you keep giving him. He’s far more patient than he should be with you. You, however, do not take criticism well.

“You square yourself off instead of retriggering an attack,” he gently corrects you. “By not turning and leading with your shoulder —” He twists slightly backwards, so that his body is angled similarly to the way it was when he struck in the first place. “— you leave all this surface area open.”

Okay, fine. 

You’ll concede that this makes sense, but you will not admit to poor blocking. In fact, deflecting is what you’re best at, so that’s precisely what you do. 

“And how exactly am I supposed to block hits that aren’t coming?”

Felix relaxes his stance with confusion scribbled all over his face. You don’t wait for him to ask what you mean, plunging right into your notes for him:

“This sparring shit doesn’t feel real because you refuse to hit me. It’s been weeks, and there still aren’t any stakes. If you’re going to insist that I learn this — which, by the way, feels pointless when I’m already armed —”

You gesture down to your thigh, where your pistol is normally strapped. 

“— then you have to make me care.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, opting instead to quietly chew on the challenge you’ve raised. For a split second, you think you’ve finally grasped the straw that’ll break his back. He turns towards the door and walks away, seemingly giving up on trying to teach a rabid dog new tricks.

But Felix defies your expectations yet again, grabs your gear off the counter at the far side of the room, and heads back to you. As he walks, he pulls back the slide to fish out the round that waits in its chamber. Bullet still in hand, his focus shifts to the magazine, which he easily removes from the base of your pistol’s grip. After tucking your ammunition into the back pocket of his jeans for safekeeping, he holds your now-empty firearm and thigh strap out to you. 

“Gear up.”

Now, it’s your turn to be confused. You accept the items he pushes into your hands with both eyebrows raised.

“Are we giving up on hand-to-hand, then?”

“Absolutely not,” Felix snorts with a shake of his head. “I’m just going to prove the necessity.” When you don’t budge, he waves his hand to hurry you along. “C’mon, Scraps. Strap in.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, you slip the vertical strap over your belt loop and fasten it before doing the same to the horizontal piece around your thigh. Once it’s nestled snugly against your skin, you slide your weapon into its resting place. 

Holding your hands up, you fire off a saccharine smile like the brat you are. “All done,” you chirp.

The smirk that appears on his face makes your stomach flip for two reasons, the least of which is the anticipation of his next move.

“You want it to feel real, right?” His voice drops so low that you feel it deep in your abdomen. “Fine by me.”

Like before, Felix steps slightly backwards. With a nod of his head towards your firearm, he challenges you, “Draw.”

It’s unfamiliar, seeing him counter you like this. Growing up, he was content to go in whichever direction you nudged him in. The version of Felix you knew back then was passive, agreeable to fault. You may not know what the fuck he’s planning now, but he radiates newfound authority that you almost want to respect, so you listen.

“Fine,” you demur while your fingertips trail over the cool, metal grip. “Make your point and move onto something useful.”

The next sequence of events flashes by so quickly that your brain can hardly keep up. 

Just as soon as you pull the gun from its holster, Felix turns in his spot, channeling the momentum into a strong push off the ground. He’s in the air before you can even level the barrel; and in the blink of an eye, the side of his boot collides with your hand, forcefully ejecting the gun from your grip. The power behind his kick sends the weapon flying several meters away, where it clatters to the floor with a smack amidst the quiet.

Gasping more so out of surprise than pain, you recoil your stinging fist and clutch it to your chest. He reads your expression incorrectly, if his widened eyes are any indication. Immediately, Felix breaks his stance to step across the distance in between you.

Worried hands come to rest on your biceps, squeezing gently. He urgently asks, “You alright?”

You blink back at him, throughly stunned by how fucking fast his reflexes are, and he misinterprets that, too. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he sputters. His next words come out so frantically that they bleed together over the course of one breath. “I really didn’t want to hurt you; I just needed you to understand that your gun can’t always save you. Sometimes, you have to —”

“That was insane,” you blurt out.

Felix’s eyes widen, caught completely off-guard by your interruption. It’s understandable, you think. After all, it’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve given him over the past few weeks. 

He peeps, “Oh?”

You nod vigorously — and there’s that sweetly shy boy from down the block, blushing slightly under the weight of your attention. 

Somehow, seeing him this way feels like home; the one you knew before he disappeared, that you might actually admit to missing. Acting solely on instinct, you unfurl your right hand and seek out the warmth of his cheek, like it’ll flip a switch and turn the clock back.

It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t — but you can’t help feeling like this is fine, too.

Until you realize what the fuck you’re doing, and you see the starry-eyed look he’s giving you. Then, you do what you always do.

You dodge.

Patting his cheek patronizingly, you breeze, “I guess I’ll let you train me, then,” before turning to retrieve your gun.

“Oh, really now?” He laughs, like he’s already forgotten the way your mask just cracked. You can’t tell if you’re grateful for this, or disappointed. “Is violence all it takes to win you over?”

Disappointed. 

You wish he’d called your bluff again, like he did so long ago in that closet you’re currently calling a bedroom. Once wasn’t enough; you want to be caught out, to have someone refuse to let you get away with the bullshit you’re always trying to pull. For some proof that you’re not the bulldozer you pretend to be.

Felix raises an eyebrow as he tilts his head teasingly to the side. “Are you actually going to shut up and take instruction this time?”

Like that.

“Maybe.” You crouch down to grab your discarded pistol off the ground, lips pursed to keep the satisfied smile off your face. “Are you going to stop pulling punches?”

Three weeks of sparring tick by before you manage to clean his fucking clock.

It came as a surprise to both of you; not just that Felix slipped up in the first place, but that you were fast enough to capitalize on an opening he’s otherwise never created. You might’ve gasped even louder than he did when you managed to seize the opportunity — but that memory is fuzzy already. It doesn’t matter, anyway, not to him. Either way, the point stands: 

You actually learned from the shit he’s been trying to instill in you.

Having hobbled from the training room to his bedroom, Felix now sits on top of the old, metal counter that once served as a workbench. It’s not comfortable by any means, but he’d rather die than move from his current position. Between his knees, you stand close to him, holding a frozen sponge to his left eye with your right hand. 

Funnily enough, that particular hand is the reason he needs an ice pack in the first place.

For a while, the pair of you exist in comfortable quiet. It’s nice, he thinks, just being present. He would’ve been happy to carry on that way for as long as possible, but the shitty voice in the back of his brain keeps yelling that he’s letting more moments slip by than he has to spare. Wasting time that he should be making up.

He clears his throat to shake off the rust, prompting you to glance down from his forehead to his eyes. Your expression is hard to read, but there’s anxiety in there, somewhere. Felix worries that you’re worried; you’re searching for a sign that you’ve somehow injured him further.

“You’re a quick study — if and when you want to be.” His teasing sounds pathetic because his voice is barely more than a groan. Still, he smirks, “Those corporate mercenaries won’t stand a chance.”

With his good eye, Felix watches as your mask cracks a little further in the shape of a smile. 

For once, you simply nod in acknowledgement and let the compliment slip through your defenses without trying to deflect it. He wants to compliment you for that progress, too, but he’s hesitant to push his luck when he’s already flying half-blind by the seat of his pants. 

Then again, it might be worth the risk to push the envelope — even if you succeed in punching his goddamn lights out for good. He doubts that he’d complain, if that were the case. You’d be an incredible last sight to ever see, wouldn’t you?

His internal monologue pipes up again, demanding that he gamble.

Every single muscle he has aches after spending hours sparring with you, but that’s not at all what he’s talking about when he says, “You’re a knockout, Scraps.”

It’s a cop out, but it’s something. 

Just for a second, Felix wonders if you heard what he meant, and not just what he said. All his doubt disappears when that shy smile tugs even harder at the corners of your mouth.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, chuckling quietly. “If you want to get technical, you didn’t even lose consciousness —” 

Carefully, you bring your free hand up to his forehead and brush flyaway strands of hair out of the way of the makeshift ice pack. By contrast, your fingertips are warm enough to simmer on his skin.

“— so you’ll have to try that joke again when you actually do.”

Although you could, you don’t take your hand back after unsticking his hair from the condensation on his skin. You lower it gently, let it rest on his shoulder, and leave Felix to wonder if it’s a choice, a convenience, or a reflex. 

This eats at him.

A long time ago, this little gesture wouldn’t be something he’d have to guess at. He used to just understand, never once needed to be told. So far out of practice, he’s no longer fluent in your body language — and he hates it.

Unwilling to leave anything else up to interpretation, Felix looks up at you with one, unobstructed eye. “Wasn’t joking,” he murmurs.

You freeze without meeting his eyes. 

If he didn’t know better, he might think your retinal mods had been knocked loose again. You don’t seem to see him, and that’s all he wants. All he gets is quiet, so he tries again: “And I’m not bullshitting you, either.”

It’s his low voice speaking your real name that finally draws you out of hiding. Surprised for just a moment, your expression softens when you notice the way he’s studying your reactions. You don’t speak at first, but your bottom lip is pinched between your teeth; a telltale sign that you’re trying to.

“Since this is apparently honesty hour,” you start with an exhale.

Felix braces himself for whatever evasive maneuver you’re going to throw next. 

Shockingly, you don’t throw out a joke to change the subject. You take the ice pack off his eye so he can see you properly, set it down next to his thigh on the counter, and scrub your hands sheepishly over your face.

“You freak me the fuck out.”

You laugh despite yourself, and then you pause just like that; like you’re waiting on him to laugh at you, too. When he doesn’t, you take it as your cue to keep going: “Am I insane, or does this feel easy?

“I think both things can be true.” You shoot him a look that could — and might — kill him. He holds his hands up in surrender, but he keeps his eyes locked on you. “And I know you’re not used to easy.”

Felix doesn’t know what he expects you to do next, but your next move isn’t one he would’ve guessed. In the end, it’s your still-chilled palms reaching up to meet him, and your fingers filling the empty spaces between his. Brow furrowed, you study the way you fit together, like the words you’re searching for are hidden somewhere in the gaps of your chain-linked knuckles.

“I’m not used to it because I avoid it,” you correct him, frowning. “Easy scares the shit out of me. It just feels like a trap, you know? Like, the second you stop looking out for it, the other shoe will drop and knock your unsuspecting ass to the dirt.”

Keeping his fingers interlaced with yours, he lowers your joined hands until they rest against the tops of his thighs. You watch them go; he watches you, and he can’t help thinking that he’s the reason you armored up in the first place. That him leaving was the blow to the head that taught you to wear a helmet.

“I’ve got good reflexes,” Felix whispers, squeezing your hand.

At this, your eyes flick upwards. A microscopic crease forms between your eyebrows, and he knows exactly what’s coming next, so he says it first: “Excluding today, obviously.”

When you smile, it hits him even harder than your right hook did.

“What are you saying, exactly?” You ask, head tilting to the side as you narrow your eyes.

“Fuck the shoe.”

The look on your face suggests that he can’t possibly be serious, but he’s never been more so. Maybe he can’t promise you easy in a world like this one; and he can’t keep that fucking shoe from dropping, but he swears he’ll catch it when it does.

Felix has to let go of your hands to hold you properly. You lean into his touch when he snakes his arms around your waist; and you rest your forehead against his, careful not to press into the bruise that borders his eyebrow.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispers. You hum in reply, confirming your willingness to trade. “Kiss me now, and we’ll batten down the hatches later.”

Felix may have called you a quick learner, but you have to wonder what his basis for comparison is. From your vantage point, it’s him that catches on in a heartbeat, like nothing unexperienced is truly new to him. 

Coincidentally, it’s also him that’s kneeling between your thighs, bearing the weight of your hinged knees over his shoulders and making you shake with his tongue alone.

“Fuck, fuck — nngh — fuck!” 

It’s all you can say because it’s the best you can do. 

Over and over, too drunk on the sensation of his mouth, you let profanity spill out of yours. He has you dripping in more ways than one, pooling on that godforsaken counter, and you can’t spare a single thought about the mess you’re making.

Every neuron fixates on him, the cotton-candy blue strands gripped tight between your fingers, and the way he devours you, like he’s making up for skipped meals.

“F-Felix,” you beg, breathless.

Looking up at you from under his lashes, he feigns innocence. It’s bullshit — he knows you’re on the brink of death, knows your whole damn body is buzzing — and his sweet smile doesn’t match his actions. You jolt, wailing, when another kitten lick trails over your clit.

“Hmm?” That low timbre of his vibrates through you when he pulls back, panting.

God, you’re spent already, but you can’t collapse until you know what he feels like, buried to the hilt in you. Something about that need makes you shiver; has your bottom lip quivering when you manage to squeak, “Please.”

Absolutely boneless, you slump against the wall behind you. With far more grace than you, Felix maneuvers his way out from under the tangle of your legs. He ensures that they fall gently back into place on the countertop.

“Gotta work on that stamina if you’re gonna help wage a war,” he teases.

The half-powered glare you shoot at him doesn’t stop him from leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t keep his fingertips from tracing languid lines down the lengths of your bare thighs, either.

Your voice is fucked out and weightless, far softer than you’ve ever heard yourself sound. “Is that what this is? Conditioning?”

The hand not caressing your thigh comes up to cradle your jaw, like it’s something fragile. It’s the first time anyone’s touched you as if you’re breakable, worth protecting — and motherfucker, you’re one soft smile away from crying.

“No.” 

He states it much more firmly than he kisses you. So gentle that you can’t believe it’s real until you taste yourself on him, so warm that you dissolve like a sugar cube on his tongue. 

Fuck any other person that’s ever pressed their lips to yours and called it a kiss. They’re liars, all of them. One by one, their names disappear with every passing second in which you know better.

“Need you,” you moan into his mouth. 

Fistfuls of his shirt can’t bring him close enough. Even when his head dips down and his lips are at your throat, the ache wins out. You crave him anywhere — everywhere — all over you. 

“Going crazy —” You gasp when his teeth nip at your collarbone. “— waiting on you.”

Greedy hands drop to the button of his jeans, fumbling to no avail. Apparently, your dexterity flew out the window two orgasms ago. A frustrated whine jumps out after it, pushing your head back as it goes.

Felix’s low chuckle soothes you, but it’s nothing compared to the relief you feel when his hands nudge yours out of the way. That, too, is a drop in the bucket; bliss crashes in waves when there’s no denim left to separate you. His hands land on your hips, fingertips pressing into your flesh as he guides you further down his length. 

Never — not fucking ever — have you made a sound quite as pathetic as the one you bury into the crook of his neck. You can’t classify it, not as a moan or a whimper. It’s desperate — loud. It’s an air raid siren; every fucking barricade you’ve built over the years being blown to smithereens.

This is it, you think.

Fuck your bank account. 

Fuck staring at the sky and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Fuck your contracts, your shithole apartment, and the million different ways you were set up to lose in this life.

This isn’t about you at all. It’s about you and him; all the space and time you’re dead set on reclaiming.

This is for us.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i’ve been working on this since JUNE, and it’s a much bigger undertaking (creatively and….. mentally) than anything else i’ve done before, so i’m scared and also excited to start sharing it with y’all.

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

tagging: @saintriots, @mal-lunar-28, @dabiscrustyfeet

wanna be tagged for future uploads? sign up here.

[starbandit]

Heat Wave (K.S.J)

Requested- hi i was wondering if you could write any seokjin smut? um make it crazy if you want or don’t, i’m really bad at these sorry 😭

Contains- oral (m&f!receiving) 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

word count- 1.5k/unedited

You sighed as you walked into your bedroom from the hallway. A nice, cool, afternoon shower was all you had needed in the extreme heat. Your heart nearly stopped when you shut the door and noticed a figure lounging on your bed. “What the hell?” You gasped. 

“Well hello to you too,” Seokjin dropped his phone on the bed. “I used the key under the doormat to get in, you should probably pick a better hiding spot.” Your boyfriend stated. “You don’t want any weirdos coming in while you're in the shower.” 

“Like the one sitting on my bed right now?” You raised an eyebrow. 

He scoffed. “Exactly,” He scanned your body. You were still wrapped in the towel from your shower, holding it closed tightly with your hand. You watched as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, biting the supple flesh. “Can you… Can you drop the towel for me, baby?” He questioned softly. 

You smirked at him. “What’s in it for me, Jinnie?” 

“Hmm…” He rubbed his chin. “How about I give you the best orgasm of your life?” He asked. 

“Wow, setting some high expectations there, babe.” You teased. You let your hand fall off the towel and the fabric fell to the floor. Seokjin smiled at the sight of your naked body. He lightly scanned down, from your shoulders, to the way your breasts sat, over the soft curves of your tummy, the smooth, glistening skin of your legs. All his. 

“Eyes are up here, buddy.” You joked, crawling onto the bed to sit next to him. You sat back on your heels next to his hip, hand coming to rest on the fabric of his jeans. You lightly traced your fingers over his hips. You slowly leaned down, catching him in a steamy kiss. You lightly nipped at his lip before pulling away. 

“Sit on my face.” 

You nearly choked on your spit. “Excuse me?” 

He chuckled and reached a hand up, cupping your jaw. “You heard me.” He rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. “Sit on my face.” 

You hummed as he slipped his thumb into your mouth, running the pad of his finger over your tongue. You gently closed your lips around the finger and sucked before pulling off with a pop. “Lay down.” 

Seokjin let out an excited squeal and sunk down into the bed, leaving you enough space to straddle his head. “Hop on!” He reached over to grab your thigh. 

You giggled and prepared yourself. You scooted over and straddled his chest, looking down at him. “Are you sure about this?” You questioned softly. 

He rolled his eyes. “Are you asking me if I want my incredibly hot, sexy, girlfriend to sit on my face?” He reached up to grip your ass. “You better hop on and ride, baby.” His fingers kneaded at the soft flesh. 

You took a deep breath before scooting forward again, hovering over his face. Your hands reached up to grip the headboard as you lowered yourself onto his face, still leaving most of your body weight on your knees. 

Seokjin hummed against you, nuzzling his face into your heat. He started giving you gentle licks, gauging how you reacted to each of the motions of his tongue. You gasped as he sunk his tongue into you, licking all around. 

He continued for a few moments before pulling away with a deep breath. “Fuck, you taste so good.” He adjusted his body slightly. “Put your full weight on me.” He tugged at your hips. “Please, want you to sit on me.” 

“Seokjin, I’m gonna suffocate you.” You looked down at his face in between your legs. His lips and chin were shiny from you, cheeks tinged pink. 

“You won’t.” He insisted. “Please, I’ll pinch you if I can’t breathe.” 

You sighed and allowed him to pull you all the way down, fully resting your weight on his face. A loud moan left Seokjin's mouth. He began to eat you out more enthusiastically, small moans and grunts leaving his mouth. 

You bit your lip in an attempt to hide the moans you were letting out. You gently rocked your hips in an attempt to get a little more friction. Seokjin hummed at the movement and stuck his tongue out, allowing you to grind on him. You groaned and rocked forward, using his tongue to get the spots you needed him most. “S-shit.” You reached a hand down to pull on his hair. 

Seokjin dug his fingertips into your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer to his face. Loud pants left your mouth as you continued to use his tongue, pushing yourself closer to release. You began to lose your rhythm and sloppily rocked your hips over his mouth, trying to chase your orgasm. Your boyfriend noticed this and began to rock your hips for you. Shit, there was no way you would last much longer like this. 

The muscles in your legs tensed up and you squeezed Seokjin's head between your thighs as you released. He moaned against you, lapping up your wetness with long, lazy licks. You whimpered as you sat back, putting your weight on his chest. 

“Why’d you stop?” He questioned, face glistening with your release. 

“I need a second.” Your heart was racing in your ears. You took a few deep breaths as Seokjin rubbed your thighs. Goose bumps formed under the touch. “Fuck, where did that come from?” You questioned. 

He shrugged the best he could under your weight. “Been doing some reading online.” A smile formed on his face. “Thought I could try some stuff out.” 

You hummed. “Hmm… Wanna show me again?” You questioned. 

He nodded enthusiastically which made a giggle leave your mouth. “I also want to try something…” You shifted your body, flipping over so your face was over his crotch. You unbuttoned his jeans and slowly unzipped them, pulling the fabric down enough to access the bulge in his underwear. 

You leaned down, taking his clothed cock into your mouth, gently running your tongue over the length. He let out a shaky breath under you. “Shit,” He whispered. 

You wiggled your hips in his face and let out a soft gasp as he grabbed your hips and buried his face back into your pussy, licking feverishly. You tugged his boxers down, releasing his cock from the cloth. He was rock hard, the tip was deep red and leaking precum. You stared for a moment, admiring him, before taking him into your mouth. The salty precum hit the back of your tongue and you hummed around him. 

Seokjin let out a moan against your pussy which only made you want to do more. You propped yourself up some more and wrapped your hand around the base, jerking him off in time with your mouth. The weight of his cock in your mouth was heavenly, something you would never get sick of. You continued to suck, creating slight pressure in your mouth. 

Seokjin was struggling to keep it together. He was panting against you but still attempting messy licks. His breath was hot against your cunt as you wiggled back a little, trying to get some more friction from him. He began to focus his attention on your clit, giving short, fast licks to the sensitive bud. 

You groaned around his cock once more, pulling off with a ‘pop’. You buried your face in his hip for a second, still slowly jerking him off as he continued his assault on your clit. “Fuck, Jinnie.” You whimpered. 

His cock dripped onto the lower part of his stomach. You whimpered at the sight and forced yourself back up, taking him back into your mouth. You swallowed him all the way down, not stopping until your nose was pressed against his balls. Seokjin let out a loud moan, hands coming down to grip your hair. You gagged slightly before taking a deep breath, letting your eyes water as you swallowed around him. 

A string of curse words left his mouth as his hips twitched up. “S-shit,” He let out a gasp. “Fuck, babe, I’m not gonna last.” He moaned against your pussy. 

You hummed a confirmation back to him and bobbed your head, focusing your tongue on the tip of his cock. Jin continued his ministrations on your clit, caressing it with his tongue in the most intoxicating way. You were both chasing after an orgasm, and boy were you getting close. 

Seokjin gave a harsh thrust up, pushing his cock to the back of your throat. You gagged around him, tears welling up in your eyes. He let out a whine as his cock twitched against your tongue and thick, salty ropes painted your throat and the back of your tongue. You hummed around him, swallowing down the release. You followed close behind, soaking his chin and the neckline of his t-shirt. 

You rode out your orgasm on his face, while his cock began to soften in your mouth. You pulled off, not before giving him a few final licks to ‘clean up’. You rolled off him, settling into the sheets to catch your breath. Seokjin reached down to gently caress your shin. 

A comfortable silence fell over the room. Seokjin continued to run his fingers over your shin as the two of you caught your breath. The heat was finally sinking in and the sweat was making both of you sticky. 

“Babe?” 

You hummed in response. 

“Why is your apartment so fucking hot?”

[pseudophan]

Sure he can enjoy doing dapg and use it for promo. I'm not suggesting he secretly hates making gaming videos, but doesn't it seem a bit suspicious how he and Phil went from barely interacting to acting coupley on camera all the time right when Dan was preparing to start promoting a new project? Obviously, if he wants to use phan to bait us, he has the right to. We deserve it, frankly. But it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

idk i just don't think we have the right to spend over a decade being like hey you two are gay as fuck for each other and then get annoyed when they use their being gay for each other for views. i feel like we're all winning here ?? they get the money and engagement and we get the content we were begging for in 2013 i honestly can't complain

but also i don't think saying they went from barely interacting to acting coupley on camera is quite right because yes sure but it's more like they've acted coupley on camera for years it's just the videos were few and far between. except for some Wild acknowledgements and jokes they aren't really behaving any different to what they have been since coming out (and to an extent before that) it's just there's a lot of content now so we get that behaviour all of the time rather than twice a year

[alice1505]

I made the mistake of rewatching Sherlock because I never did finish it back in the day (I was -clenches fist- seething over the queerbaiting and rage quit after not fully watching episode 1 of s4) and I'm here to make my side hyperfixation (what year is this??? Who am I???) Tumblr's problem. The more I sit with s4, the less I like it 😂 There were pieces and elements I liked, but overall, it left a bad taste in my mouth. Forgive me if any or all if these points have been talked to death, I missed all the discourse and I'm hella late, but I need to flail and send my thoughts into the void because what even WAS that season? I can't believe I avoided it for years, got drawn in by a couple of tiktoks making fun (affectionately) of superwholock Era and That Scene about the fucking phone charger port, binged all of it, only to be left with..... that. Not nearly as disappointing or rage inducing as spn's ending but by God, did it leave a hole in me. So please ignore my rambling thoughts as I slap them down here for my own sanity.

• First and foremost, what - and I can't stress this enough - the fuck was UP with the assassination of John's entire character???? What was that??? Why????

• Related to that point - I can appreciate the angst point and potential it provides, as I'm reading many, many fics, but AYO WHY didn't anyone rip John an entire new one for that beat down he did on Sherlock????? Hello???? 911?????

• Tell me why everything felt so stilted and borderline icy. Like I get the high emotions and shit, but after a certain point... 😭 was there a falling out between Benedict and Martin that I'm not aware of? Did they just try to ungay everything so hard and were so pissed at the audience picking up everything THAT THEY PUT???? into this show and their interactions that they just hit the brakes hard enough to make everything feel weird???

• A lot of it felt weird. Off kilter a little. Forced in some places, toned down in others (and toned down where it shouldn't have been), a nod to ships but weirdly/hatefully??? Idk if that makes sense. Like the whole Sherlock and Molly phone call (I do not mean any hate to this ship, I really hope it doesn't come off this way. Not my cup of tea but you are valid). Why was Molly so upset BEFORE the call? Did I miss something? Also I don't personally think or feel she'd still have those feelings for him??? I??? I am bamboozled.

• to that whole point, Eurus was.... Hmm. Mmmm. She was. Something. (Confused derogatory)

• I like Mary as a character. I also hated her. (Definitely biased by my shipper trash ass self for johnlock, I'm sorry). Wtf were those messages, please. Edit: AND ANOTHER THING. John's reaction to Sherlock's death - awful, gut wrenching, beautiful, my heart breaks with and for him, utterly devasting. John's reaction to Mary's death - had me sitting there like🧍‍♀️(it was weird. so weird. awkward. w h y. (we know why, but also the acting choices were Something TM, in both cases! for different reasons!) i'm sorry i just can't get past my anger and put off-ness with mary, fun as she could be)

• why did mycroft and John switch roles 😭 pls. The last episode was just. So Much. The lackluster responses from John, to John, to Sherlock, between them, like.... hello???? Who are these people?? Help me. Moriarty saved me for a brief shining moment tho, God bless.

There's more I could spew, but that's what's sitting right at the top of my head. I guess all this just to say, if a show runner/writer really just fucking hates the audience they got (instead of the one they wanted), they probably shouldn't have fucking become a show runner/writer in the first place. Either hand it to someone who can actually handle it and listens, or fuck off. I will never understand when shows and plots and characters gets kamikaze'd because of a show runner being pissy and egotistical. Like ????? Grow up. Learn from Bryan Fuller and Hannibal or something.

Sorry for all the rambling, bless anyone who reads this and makes sense of it 😂

[biscuitblinkeu]

Something Peculiar [15]

Chaennie x Fem!reader

Word Count: 3733

A/n: I hope the ending was somewhat satisfying, and that you all enjoyed the last chapter of Something Peculiar! And I will see you guys in the Harry Potter AU… This was supposed to be posted yesterday but I had to babysit my bad cousin…

…………………………………………………………………………

The obvious clearing of Seulgi’s throat gained both of their attention. “Want to leave this for another time? You guys are making a scene.” There was truth to her words, because as everyone looked around they could see all the guest’s eyes on them. But Jennie hesitated, her scythe still firmly held to his neck. 

“Jennie,” Seulgi warned, holding eye contact with the reaper for a few seconds before Jennie scoffed and sat down, her scythe turning back into a necklace.

Areim gave Seulgi a weary smile, thankful for her stepping in. He knew he stepped across the line, and that if he attempted to argue more Jennie would actually kill him. He knows it was wrong to bring Jennie’s brother up— he knows. Yet he still did it. “I’m sorry.” He apologized stiffly, almost like he was forcing the words to come out of his mouth nicely. Like he was trying to make it sound sincere. 

Seven years ago, Jennie killed her brother. Jennie killed his best friend. He knows he should get over it— it’s been seven years, but the hate he has for her is still there. It stays and it lingers and that’s where his resentment comes from.

“I forgive you,” Jennie murmured, resting her head on your shoulder, to which you kissed her hair. She doesn’t forgive him at all, she knows he doesn’t mean the apology. That’s just how it was between them.

Seulgi smiled like a content mother, clapping her hands as to get rid of the remaining tension in the air. Jisoo pouted, resting her head on her fist in disappointment. She looked at you and Jennie, smiling at the interaction. That’s something that will keep her entertained, for now.

On the other hand, you were being fed by your angel who was now spooning deserts in your mouth, cooing at your face and puffy cheeks as you ate. Her parents watched and observed, truly noticing how much their daughter liked you, noticing that Jennie, too, adored you. The cute moment was adorable right until Chaeyoung kissed you. (To which Jennie whined at.)

They immediately looked away, anywhere but their daughter, feeling as if they were intruding somehow. Areim let out a huff at the sight and Minai laughed, patting him on the back. A silent sign that if it could talk would say, ‘lower your hopes,’ since he knew Areim liked Chaeyoung— well, up until now. His heart was probably crushed but not as much, because he looked partly happy for you. 

But you weren’t together officially. And that's what they were all waiting on.

“Chaeyoung…” You said, trying to talk between kisses. “Wait—” But Chaeyoung doesn’t. She continued to attack your lips with soft pecks, greedy for the sweet taste of them (because you were eating sweet desserts beforehand). Everyone at the table watched you, including her parents who looked shyly, giving you little glances every now and then. And That’s what’s making you more eager to break away from the angel.

As you tried to move back, she placed her hand on the back of your head, tangling her fingers in your hair holding you close. A small whimper escaped your lips when she did so. The sound was quiet, only Chaeyoung— and Jennie heard since they were the closest. Jennie pouted, her hand sliding up your thigh and giving it a squeeze. Chaeyoung was being greedy.

You gasped in response, and that’s when Chaeyoung pulled away. Her eyes drifted to Jennie’s hand on your thigh before she grinned back at you. Maybe she and Jennie would— 

“That's enough, wait till it’s over. You'll have much time for this later I'm sure.” Yeji interrupted with a wink. The angel’s lips tugged into frown at the words, but she was right. She might’ve gone a little too far as you’re still at the banquet. Sometimes with you, she forgets there are others around.

"Sorry." Chaeyoung apologized to you quietly, patting your head as if she really was sorry (, because you know she’s not by now).  You told her, “It’s okay.” You looked around, noticing some eyes still lingered— those eyes being Jennie and Lisa’s. Once you met the eyes adjacent to you, Jennie smirked, holding up one hand and making a finger heart. You made one back, and soon Lisa joins in, and then Jisoo, and soon all of you on your side of the table are making finger hearts at each other.

Two minutes of making finger hearts later, you went back to your drink, not wanting to leave any left. In doing so you zoned out, thinking about Ariem and Jennie. That situation earlier was strange— when he mentioned she had a brother, when the whole room had gasped. You never knew Jennie had family, rather, it felt like it was supposed to be something left unsaid. 

It was something you wanted to know.

You knew it was a little intruding to ask about it, but you were curious. You’re sure if you asked Jennie would give you an answer. (Sixty-seven percent sure, to be exact. It’s higher than fifty percent, but the way Jennie reacted to Ariem left you doubtful.) They say curiosity killed the cat, and in hindsight you hoped you would never be the cat in a situation such as this.

“Jennie, can you take me to the bathroom?” You asked, gaining the reaper’s attention from her rock-paper-scissors game with Lisa. Jennie nodded, getting up and taking your hand, leading you away to the bathrooms as she smirked at Chaeyoung. The angel wondered why you didn’t ask her, or why she couldn’t come too. 

You and Jennie stepped out of the side doors, which followed a path down to a long hall. You walked down, down, and down some more down the hallway, and you promptly heard Jennie complain about the walk. You passed large windows that showed a garden outside and you couldn’t help but stare through as you walked past, trying to take in the beauty of the garden. It didn’t take long to reach the bathrooms since they were just after the window you walked past.

You hoped that when you’re done you could take a look at that garden.

When you entered the bathroom, you noticed Jennie was actually waiting for you to go into a stall, but you didn’t. She watched you look around for a few seconds, eyeing the fancy interior before you turned your attention to her.

“I actually didn’t have to go… I wanted to talk to you in private?” Your words were a bit shaky, you hesitated to get straight to the point. 

Jennie smiled in reassurance, speaking softly as she hoped to ease your nerves. “That’s fine, I don’t mind. What is it?

You promptly reminded yourself that you brought this on yourself and that you had to go through with it. “I was wondering why you and Ariem fight so much and…” you trailed off, seeing Jennie’s smile falter for a moment, she brought her hands behind her back. Albeit hesitantly, you continued, watching for any signs of discomfort or anger from her— who just stares at you. “And about your brother.” 

Jennie moved her hands to the front of her body, and you could see she was holding an object in them. You wondered if it was a knife of some sort— and it was. You could see a shining glare reflecting from it. You backpedaled. “…I’m sorry for asking, I wasn’t thinking it could make you uncomfortable. You don’t need to answer,” you said quickly, seeing as Jennie took a step closer, the knife gleaming in the light threateningly. You know she wouldn’t kill you, but you’re still scared. She had a knife in her hands and her expression was unreadable.

“Who do you keep backing up?” Jennie questioned with a giggle, quieting down when she noticed the poorly-masked fear on your face. She paused, realizing her mistake. Her brows furrowed and she was quick to place the knife on the counter. “Shit. I’m sorry.” She whispered apologetically, hands held tightly together. She took a cautious step towards you, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when you didn’t back away. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I would never— unless it was a joke. So, um,” she stops to think. “I didn’t mean to not respond, either. I don’t mind if you ask about that, it’s just that my first thought was to show you that knife. It was my brother’s.” Jennie explained, arms at her sides uselessly. 

You felt stupid.

“I apologize too…for acting all weird. I know you wouldn’t,” you groaned, stepping closer to her. You squeezed her forearm and grazed your lips on her cheek before directing your attention to the knife. It was a rather large pocket knife in perfect condition with the initials, ‘MK” engraved on the metal, where marigold flowers decorated the handle.

“It’s pretty,” you said out loud and Jennie hummed.

 “It wasn’t so pretty before.” She said, confusing you.

“What do you mean?”

“It used to be covered in blood,” she told you and you gaped. She held a hand up. “Before you ask, it started when I turned out to be a fallen angel. My family couldn’t fathom their daughter being half good and half bad, so they started hating me once they found out. But my brother's reaction was the opposite. He didn’t care, he accepted what I was. My parents kept telling him to stay away.” Jennie frowned at the recollection. “But he didn’t care what they said, and he still came to visit me when I was banished to The Void. I was happy to see him, but worried.” 

“Why would you be worried?” You asked, staring at the knife.

“Once a soul is banished to the Void they end up taking in some of the energy there. Negative energy. I took in some of the energy, and after a few days spent there, I started losing my mind.” Jennie said, laughing as she remembered all the times she would cry and scream for help: something to save her from the frosty darkness. Nothing did, though, and she eventually got used to it.

“The longer I was in there, the more I felt detached. I turned the hate for my parents onto my brother. I wasn’t in the best state, so when he visited I’d reject him. He’d refuse to leave and try to comfort me— which I will admit helped me a bit. But then it got to a time when he wasn’t helping me get better anymore, and I became corrupted.” Jennie said bitterly. “He should’ve listened to our parents, he should’ve stayed away. Even his friends told him that. Areim told him that. Areim told him it wasn’t safe. Areim told him I was ‘poisoned.’ But he visited me again, and he kept coming back, again and again and again. And he would hug me as I thrashed in his hold, screaming, crying, hurting him… The eighth was the final time.” Jennie’s eyes were wet and tears were streaming down her cheeks, yet a smile remained on her face.

You noticed— of course you did, and you came closer, peppering kisses all over her face because you didn’t like seeing her like this. “You don’t have to continue,” you offered. 

Jennie didn’t reply.

"The eighth time he visited I killed him." She finally said, and she couldn't stop the laugh bubbling up from her throat. She knows it’s wrong, that it was wrong to laugh, but she can’t help it. Just the mention of death, or killing, really, just gets her riled up. It was an effect of being in The Void for so long. It was an effect of being The Grim Reaper. 

You winced as you heard her laugh, deciding not to say anything and keep your face composed. You held her close, practically forcing her into a hugging position because what could you do? Laughing may be Jennie’s way of coping with stress— with trauma. Jennie’s hand traveled up your back, the fabric of your dress held captive in her fingertips. You felt her tears wet your neck, but you didn’t care.

“I was crouched in a corner when Michael visited, covering my ears, trying to block out any noises because I’d react to them. I saw him come close and I tried to ignore the way his voice invaded my head, repeatedly saying, ‘it’s okay.’ I wondered what he meant till I saw the knife in his hand— and I hoped he was going to kill me, I really did. I hoped he was going to end my suffering, but my mind told me otherwise. The voices in my head told me he was going to kill me so he didn’t have to suffer, so he didn’t have to feel burdened, so he didn’t have to feel ashamed to have a fallen angel as his sister.” Jennie described harshly, her nails digging painfully into your back: which you ignored. “And because of those thoughts I took his knife and stabbed him. I kept going— and he was dead long before I stopped. Then it was my parents. I killed them too. Then I got the Grim Reaper rank a little before Chaeyoung found me. She…saved me. And Areim hates me for what I did, and I can understand.” Jennie shrugged, pulling back and looking at your shocked face and smiling. 

You felt like you had whiplash with how fast Jennie’s mode switched. It was all so much to process. Jennie gestured to the knife. “I keep this knife as my way of knowing, and to hold onto that past. And because this is the only thing I have left of him,” she finished, snatching the knife up and putting it back wherever she pulled it out from. She avoided your eyes, hands flailing around uselessly. "It’s sick, isn’t it? I understand if you’re disgusted, or frightened, or think I’m insane, or other things, and don’t want anything to do with me, and that’s fine. I understand—”

“Hey. I don’t feel or think any of those things about you, okay?” You reassured, and Jennie nodded reluctantly. “I love just the way you are, and wouldn’t ask you to change anything about yourself. You are amazing. And so—”  you cut off by kissing her forehead. “So beautiful.” Jennie smiled, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. 

“Thank you.” She whispered, and you leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss to her lips.

“Yeah, so..” You’re cut off by knocking outside and Jennie goes to the door knowing who it is already. She opened it and you were met with Chaeyoung. She stepped forward, eyes searching Jennie’s face. “You okay?” She asked her, who nodded with a smile. Jennie then turned around and gestured to you. “Now?” She asked, and the angel nodded. Wordlessly, Chaeyoung crossed the room to you and took your hand, leading you out of the bathrooms. She paused in the hallway when she noticed Jennie still leaning on the doorframe, watching you two. 

“Jen? Aren’t you coming?” Chaeyoung asked, frowning. Chaeyoung wanted her to come. Jennie was a part of this now. The angel nudged you in the rib lightly, and taking the message you wiggled your hand that was free. “Jennie? I have two hands for a reason, you know. Get over here and hold one, please?” 

She blinked twice and shook her head, a gummy smile spreading across her lips, quickly making her way towards you. Once she caught up she intertwined her fingers with yours, squeezing gently. She glanced at Chaeyoung behind your shoulder and they shared a smile.

Chaeyoung took you to the garden entrance. "I was planning on taking you here later, but now is a good time since the banquet is almost over." Chaeyoung said as she watched you look around. She tugged you and Jennie further in.

The garden was filled with fairy lights and bushes in the shape of the four French suits, being, hearts, spades, diamonds, and clubs— including stars. Chaeyoung brought you over to the middle of the garden, where a patio was. Fairy lights illuminated the area, where a couch and golden, white pillows rested. Snack trays were set up on a mini table right next to it and there was a pond behind it.

You all took a seat on the couch, you in the middle of Jennie and Chaeyoung.

…

Forget the rest of the banquet and the greetings. When Jennie didn’t come back to the table with you and Chaeyoung, everyone knew what was up.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom now," Jisoo said before Lisa or Yeji could, who would have opened their mouths to say the same thing. They scowled at her as she got up, and Seulgi laughed at their reactions.

First come first serve was how it goes. It was a rule that the last to leave the table was stuck with the parents.

Jisoo was willing to risk missing the greeting. This moment is more important than everything else going on right now. It was the moment they were all waiting for.

Chaeyoung’s Confession.

The spot she chose to spy at had the perfect view. It wasn’t too far or too close to the three of you, and she can see everything from the garden to the entrance. She had a perfect view.

Although, it wasn’t long before Jisoo heard shuffling beside her, making her head around quickly. She finds everyone crowded behind her. How did they find her spot so quickly? They all made themselves comfortable behind the bushes, whispering to one another.

"Damn, they really went to the garden." Jisoo heard Lisa whisper behind her. 

"Gosh stop pushing Areim!" Minai seethed, almost falling on Nayeon in front of him. "No, you stop! You’re ass—" Areim is cut off by Nayeon’s hand over his mouth. "God can you two shut up?! We can't hear!" The bunny-toothed groans before joining Jisoo, resting her chin on her shoulder. Seulgi squeezes in, laughing.

Minai and Areim stopped bickering, not wanting any more scolding. They all sat tightly together, with enough room to see between the star-trimmed bushes. Their eyes fall on you who's sitting next to the other two on a bench, talking about something. "We still can't hear," Nayeon said, noticing people were still talking, and everyone whips their head around, expecting to see Minal and Areim at it again again, but instead, they're met with Mr. Rose and Mrs. Park. 

"Ah. Sorry. We'll be quiet now. Don't mind us." Mr. Rose apologized, and everyone just nodded, turning around speechless. They never expected Chaeyoung’s parents to come out and look.  

…

“Pretty,” Chaeyoung said, and you let out an amused laugh. “You mean the pond right?” You questioned, seeing as you were looking at all the silvery fish. “They are pretty.” The fish had gold-colored scales, like a goldfish, but different in a way. There were white antennas on the fish's forehead-like hair. It was a type of fish you’ve never seen. You don't know if they exist on earth anymore.

Chaeyoung frowned. “You’re pretty,” Chaeyoung repeated, and Jennie let out a noise of agreement. You kept your eyes on the fish as you felt heat creep upon your face. “Thank you. You’re pretty too.” You complimented back. You didn’t want to look up at Chaeyoung, as you felt you’d be more embarrassed. You’re at a loss for words in this situation. It felt like a date. 

“Why won’t you look at me?” Chaeyoung asked, tilting her head to meet your eyes.  “I brought you out here so we could be alone— Jennie being the exception— and there’s a reason for that.” Jennie and Chaeyoung shared a look.

“Sorry,” you said, not giving further explanation as to why you can’t meet her eyes. Chaeyoung didn’t say anything in response, and instead just stared, observing you. You caught the angel staring at your lips, making you cock an eyebrow. “What?” You asked, not breaking eye contact. 

“I like you,” Chaeyoung said boldly, ignoring the nervous flop her stomach just did. 

“Yeah, I like you too?…” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, wondering which meaning of “like” you were talking about.

She shook her head. “No. I like you, as in love. I love you. Not as a human I guard but as an interest.” She explained, her voice wavering slightly. 

“Oh. I see..” You whispered, cupping your cheeks as you felt your face go hot. 

“Was that not enough?” Chaeyoung tilted her head in confusion. She didn’t know any other way to explain it. She thinks you still don't understand. “I love you…like this,” she said before leaning in and kissing you. 

All too soon she pulled back, and you saw the small smile on her face, like she was nervous, or scared. ‘Do you?..” Chaeyoung asked, leaning away as she began to get anxious and worried that you weren’t answering. 

You quickly shook your head, waving your hands around frantically, hoping to clear up your mistake. “No! I-I mean, yes, I do love you back! I love you, I really do. It’s just— is this even allowed? Aren’t we breaking some type of rules? You’re an angel, I’m just a human.” You then say to Jennie, “Same with you. You’re still an angel too, I'm just a human…” You sighed, leaning back on the couch. You didn’t expect this. But at the same time you're happy, very happy.

"We will figure it out, and if you die you'll just become an angel." Chaeyoung answered, feeling ecstatic that you felt the same. You weren’t too happy about the "dying" part, but at least you’ll still be "alive" technically. 

"That's nice as long as I'll still be here with you guys." You murmured shyly, and your angel and grim reaper smiled. After that, there was a comfortable silence. Just the sound of water flowing, wind blowing, and the light chatter from inside the building.

 “A human-angel relationship and a fallen angel-human relationship…it’s…it’s— what can I describe them as? What’s the word for it?” You asked for help, looking at the sky. Chaeyoung shrugged, putting a finger up to her chin. After several seconds she found the perfect words to describe it.

“It’s something peculiar.”