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yeyinde · 2 months ago

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bos taurus | dogmeat series pt., i

mafia butcher Simon Riley x Reader

You don't question your brother when he sends you to drop off packages to his friends, but when the enforcer for the 141 shows up to teach the small-time dealer selling on their turf a lesson, you realize there are different ways to pay someone back with pounds of flesh.

(OR: your brother owes them, and Ghost is content to let you settle the debt. after all, if you wanted freedom, then you shouldn't have caught the eye of the butcher of the 141, should you?)

18+ SMUT. noncon. objectification. marking. kidnapping. threats of violence. unsafe sex (manipulation into unprotected sex). rough sex. size difference. breathplay. 10k of foreplay. light pussy slapping. overstimulation. mafia au.

SERIES MASTERLIST | AO3

The goal is to be as quick and discreet as possible.

In and out, he says, looping the baggie around his index finger. Inside, a snowfall of white powder settles at the bottom.

Meth this time. Oxytocin the last.

He ties it tight before giving the bag a quick shake, breaking up the clumps. Satisfied with the way it looks, he turns toward you. Levels you with a sombre look, the picture of a concerned older brother.

You almost fall for it. Believe it. But the clouded, flat edge to his gaze undercuts his worry for what it really is. A farce.

“And if it seems sketchy—”

—run.

But your knees are locked, soles glued to the pavement. You can't move even though everything is screaming at you to flee.

The problem, maybe, is that there's nowhere to go. Escape cut off, filled by a body, a man—even though the idea, the mere notion, of thinking this behemoth as human, flesh and bone; blood and tissue, is laughable when he's so clearly a beast. A monster.

He fills up your field of vision. Your line of sight was eclipsed by the thickness of his waist, the broad expanse of his shoulders. Thighs that are as wide as the trunk of a tree. Arms boxing you in. A prison of obsidian. A black shadow.

In the panic that surfaces, surging to the top like an oil spill, you catch a pocket where he doesn't root. A small alcove between the bend of his elbow and the slot of his knee perched against the wall. Enough room for you to—

“Wouldn't do tha’ if I were you.”

His voice seems to shake the earth, rolling out of his broad chest like the low, brassy roar of a lion; a rumbling thunderclap.

You feel sick—

The leather covering his hand is cold when it closes around your arm, grip tight. Bruising. Trapping you with just the slightest effort.

“Go’ a problem, you and I,” he starts, and it's almost conversational. Might be, perhaps, if the clean, sleek outline of his gun inside the unclasped holster around his ungodly thick waist wasn't threatening you more than the grip he has on your arm. “How do you reckon we can fix it?”

You have a meagre twenty dollars in your pocket. Less money for them to take if things go awry. If they decide that the little girl standing in for her older brother was an easier target to rob—money and drugs—than to settle things fairly. Money, goods. Hand over hand.

Just like the movies, he'd said.

Just like the movies, you think when he leans in closer, bulk swallowing you whole.

There is a pockmark in the corner of his crooked, misshapen nose and the crease of his eye. A scar, maybe. It's circular—almost perfectly so; a silver-pink moon on the angular ridge of his nose. Uneven, craggy, like crumpled printer paper.

It looks almost like—

You think of the mark on your arm. Soot-stained. The smell of burning hair, tissue. The searing pain.

“I–I can pay you—” you stammer out, tearing your gaze away from the ugly mark on his skin. A cigarette burn. It makes you shudder.

He cocks his head slowly like a big, dumb dog, but there's something eerie in the ink spill of his eyes. The soft matte of a saltwater crocodile staring at you from beneath the murk. Calculative. Hungry.

“Pay me?” He echoes slowly, dragging the words out mockingly. “D’you know ‘ow much trouble your brother is in? For sellin’ ‘ere of all places?”

“No,” you swallow. It feels like your heart is stuck inside your throat. “I–I just—”

“Run ‘is errands,” he finishes cruelly but you can't deny it. “Ain't you a good little sister? Almost makes me wish I ‘ad somethin’ as sweet as you f’myself growin’ up.”

You don't answer. He doesn't seem to be looking for one, really; just empty words to fill space. To echo in your head, barbed wire around any sense of comfort you might have felt. Punishing cruelty.

He has the upper hand, it says. He's the one who makes derisive jokes while you tremble in his grasp, and try to make yourself as small, as unassuming, as possible. Hiding from the predator in plain sight. Hoping he passes you over for something bigger, more calorie-dense; the effort to catch and consume you expends more energy than the return. Hardly worth it in the long run. The comfort of a risk-reward ratio, right?

But he's opportunistic, it seems. A snacking scavenger.

Could eat, it says, like a basking tiger keeping a mouse trapped between his paws, letting it squirm and squeak as he slowly licks his lips. Not enough to fill its belly but enough to satisfy the gluttonous urge a predator has to eat. Sharpening its teeth on flimsy bones. Child’s play.

It's a fitting image, especially with the way he arches over you, looms; fingers looped around the thick of your arm, holding firm, but not—

Not as tight as he could.

It's a loose-fisted grasp. Lazy, almost. He knows you won't run—or, at the very least, knows you won't get far.

You peel your gaze away from his, dropping it to the curve of his shoulders—the width of them is just as dizzying as his height; broad, muscular. Pulling it further down the length of his arm, covered in a thick jacket. Black corduroy. Ashes stain the cuffs. A bulky watch juts out from his wrist. Gold. Glinting even in the grey-blue gloom of an overcast evenfall.

His muscles tense. Hand tightening around your arm, fingers digging hard. Rubbing muscle painfully against bone.

A warning, maybe. Stop looking—

But something else catches your eye. Blood red. The colour of meat. A fresh kill.

The back of his hand has a blooming rose. Petals spread out, unfurled. In the middle, a milky skull sits. Stencilled in boxy, yellow letters is ONE-FOUR-ONE—

You know what it means even as your mind whirs, gears turning, turning; plummeting into a tailspin, making excuses as it falls, dragging your heart down alongside it. An area code. Some special date. An inside joke.

But you've seen the marking around town before. Heard whispers about them from your brother, his friends. 141, they say, and then: mafia.

The real deal, he said, puffing around a joint his friend rolled. It's too tight. He scoffs, and rips it out from between his lips. Shitty roll, man, make another one—

Mob. Mafia. Gangsters. It seemed so extreme, Hollywood. Fiction, fantasy, all rolled into one. Tony Soprano. Ralph Cifaretto. Michael and Vito Corleone. Tony Montana. Larger-than-life men created on paper.

You think your brother thought so too. Child's play. Grown men selling weed to kids for two hundred an ounce. Buying themselves sleek, black cars—G Wagons, Escalades, Cullinans—on the Xanax they sell at clubs, parties. Cocaine. Heroin.

Nothing to worry about.

Then his friend went missing.

Sent out on a routine delivery to drop off cocaine to well-dressed men in suits outside of a local butcher shop. A normal, nondescript Tuesday.

But he wouldn't answer his phone. Texts were being delivered, read, but no chat bubble appeared. Nothing sent back. Calls went straight to voicemail. He wasn't at home. Wasn't at his mum's. No one saw him. Heard from him.

Your brother didn't call the police. Didn't report him as missing.

It's just not what they do, he said. You don't involve them. Ever.

The most shocking part of it was that no one saw anything. He just vanished. Disappeared—stock an’ all, your brother angrily spits—without a trace, picked up off the streets.

If it was the police, someone would have said something by now. They're hardly discreet. And a rival—

Well.

The biggest problem was that your brother was blindsided by his own small-time success. An accumulation of little wins bolstered his confidence. Overfed his ego. This fallout was tunnel vision. A refusal to see the bigger picture.

Or the storm clouds looming on the horizon.

You'd heard of the 141 in passing. Little quips, anecdotes from the passel of friends that congregated around your brother—often getting high on the couch and watching old cartoons; sharing a joint back and forth between gossip.

Through rheumy eyes, they'd talk about the real gangsters in town—much to the irritation of your brother—and swap tales of run-ins and feats they heard from a friend (of a friend, of a friend). Most of the guys were known already. Soap and Gaz are the biggest names that cropped up on the streets through reputation alone. Both fighters for a gym. MMA, mostly, but whispers of street fighting and extracurricular activities weren't uncommon.

Liked the thrill of it, they said. But the worst was a man simply known as the Ghost. An enforcer for the 141—a fucking butcher, more like, Liam cut in, jaundiced eyes widening—the guy who took care of problems.

“Can't be,” your brother scoffed, lifting off the couch to reach in his back pocket for his wallet. A small anthill of white powder poured into the glass table. “They don't get involved in our shit—”

And for the most part, you're sure that's true. Dealing to the same circle of people—outreach spread through word of mouth—seemed paltry in comparison to the scale of an operation that had a money laundering gym. But the problem was that your brother lacked common sense. His ego often got in the way of foresight. The shadow greed casts blocking out the bigger picture.

Like—

Territory is territory—regardless of what's being pushed.

You wish there was a modicum of surprise when his friend turned up. Barely recognizable. Sent right to the morgue as a John Doe.

Most would see the marks on the man's skin—the distinct lack of blood—as an indicator to abandon ship, find the boss, beg for forgiveness, and maybe even try to strike up a deal. But—

That picture is hidden under his anger. Greed. Selfishness.

He sends you instead.

You're somethin’ they ain't expectin’, he said. Won't mess with you.

Right.

He catches the realisation dripping down your brow—beads of sweat gathering at your hairline; anxiety, fear, churning your stomach—and hums. Cocks his head to the side.

“Was expectin’ ‘im t’show up, though—” he murmurs, hand tightening around your arm. The pressure, the sting, is eclipsed by the gnawing sense of dread biting viciously into you. “Told ‘im if I caught ‘im sellin’ on our streets again, there'd be trouble. Thought we ‘ad an agreement after ‘is friend. But—”

His eyes cut to yours. It feels like a knife to your guts, sinking into soft tissue. A pain you can't breathe around.

Won't mess with you, you think, and then viciously—sadly—he knew. Was warned by them and still sent you out. Let you take his place for whatever comeuppance they decided he deserved.

It should shock you. You almost wish it did. Desperately clinging to the threads of surprise that slip through your oily fingers, grasping onto the nothing but empty air. Numbed to the resignation that trickles in.

Of course he would leave you here to save himself. Letting you fend off whatever they threw at you alone. Leaving you trapped between a brick wall and a wall of a man.

The excuses are there. They pool on the tip of your tongue—it isn't me, don't do this, it's my (stupid, selfish) brother you want, not me—but you swallow them down and try not to wince at how quickly they dissipate when you do. It doesn't matter in the end because whatever you have to say won't negate the drugs in your backpack. The empty house you'll lead them to—your brother probably squirrelled away somewhere until this blows over. Half-hopeful you'd call him and say everything is fine, the deal went smoothly. You're on your way back. Or that the debt he racked up with them is settled by you.

It's half-hearted when it slips out again, caught between resignation and dread. A brittle whisper. A prayer—

“I can pay you. Whatever he owes, I can—”

He's already shaking his head.

“Too late for that, birdie. ‘sides, I don't want your money.”

He moves back, rocking on his heels to put a small measure of distance between your bodies. In that scant space, he drops his gaze, sweeping it over you. His eyes darken.

When he pivots them down, catching yours, you can't stop the shiver that crawls up your spine.

That calculative gleam is back.

“But I think we can work something else out.”

Something else turns out to be ushering you into the backseat of an old Ford pickup.

The door whines when he opens it. Rust flaking off, falling to the ground by your feet. Your mind reels. Spins comparisons to falling snow, dried blood.

He hauls you in with his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, thick thigh sliding between your own to boost you up. The protest—a mindless, reactionary squeal at being manhandled—only makes him chuff. A brief flex of his fingers around the skin of your neck is the only warning he gives before it pulls away, and wraps tight around your waist. His thigh flexes, muscle drawing taut as he shifts his foot up to the running board, lifting your feet off the ground and seating you fully on his leg like a child.

(In his hands, you feel like one, too.)

The motion makes you slip, back glueing along his broad chest with a shallow thump. You feel the rumble of his laugh trembling up your spine before you hear it.

“Careful,” he drawls, oiled with amusement. “Might slip.”

Anything you could say in response is choked back when he bumps the corded steel of his thigh into the seam of your legs, pushing tight to your clothed cunt. His intention is unmistakable this time. Unignorable. And with the rasp of filtered, balmy air against your crown; the pull of a groan when you rock back into his groin, the noise still slicked with mirth, you feel a knot of dread spool tight in your belly.

Something else is dragged back to the forefront, coiling like wisps of smoke around you.

And you knew. It's shocking, you think, but not necessarily a surprise. To call it a dichotomy would be lying to yourself, and so, you settle against it. This notion that what he wants—wanted—is flesh. Not money. Not retribution.

Not to talk things out like you'd hoped he’d try (grabbing onto the idealistic thread, holding it tight to your chest); bringing you in and forcing you to convince your—stupid selfish greedy—older brother that quitting was the only option. Dangling you—baby sister—over his head in an appeal to his emotions. Familial bonds. Love.

That thread is cut. Snipped.

Probably severed when they first came to him with an offer. No strikes against him and yet—

The idea of using you to make him bend was expunged from the drawing board. It's not even a plan b, or c, or z.

And—

You knew. Have known. Maybe that's why it's so easy to swallow around the panic when it lances through your chest, climbs up your throat. You can think and feel and breathe around this dagger in your back like it was there the whole time and you've only just noticed it now.

Nothing but a small, whispered oh in the roiling polyphony of your emotions.

It sits there as he manuevers you into the passenger seat of his truck, your head spinning around the indescribable sensation of being woefully cognisant despite the paralysing fugue pressing against the bubble of stark awareness that keeps it at bay. It manifests itself as a numbed sort of shock. Or more accurately—

Indifference.

Defeat.

His hand brushes your cheek, the snag of dry leather against humid skin tugs uncomfortably at your flesh, stinging as they dance down to your jaw, the delicate line of your vulnerable throat, skimming over the curve of your breast—

And it's too much. Too present. Too real.

Autopilot. Dissociation. Derealisation. All of these concepts slip past the bubble of hypervigilance, skidding the surface like a pebble thrown over a lake. Out of reach as he unashamedly gropes you, barely making an effort to mask his actions as just buckling you in.

You pretend, though. Curl your fists around the sides of the seat, fingers digging into the worn foam. Head lulling back on the headrest. Eyes fixed out the window as he walked around the front, head and shoulders still visible in the windshield despite the height of the truck. It makes your heart leap, stuttering in your chest as the absurdity of his size is brought back into focus. Too big, you think. Grossly so.

There's a moment when you think about running. Toying with the idea of sliding your hand over the lock, pulling the door open when he's too busy on his side to notice. It'll give you an advantage—a head start. Enough time to slink through the dense forest of concrete buildings lining the industrial zone, and into somewhere safe. Help, a behemoth is chasing me—

But the door clicks. Swings open with a squeal of rusted metal just as your fingers twitch toward the handle. Hope evaporates with each lurch of the cab as he climbs inside, metal creaking under his weight when he settles in the seat.

From the corner of your eye, you can see his head tip. Chin angling toward you. Staring. Assessing.

When he speaks, you feel the words like cold fingers dancing maliciously down your spine.

“‘pected you t’run.”

It's said idly enough. Nonchalant. Tone even, if a little cruel, and you wonder if this is some test. One that you passed—and failed—in equal measure.

He doesn't look away. It takes less effort than you wish it did to peel your lips apart, to breathe in the stale, mulch scent of the cab—something overgrown, rotting, and damp—and mumble:

Where would I go?

It seems to amuse him. He hums around a mouthful of mockery before turning away, pawing at the ignition. Gloved hand curling over the wheel.

“Smart girl.”

You don't feel very smart. In fact, you feel very small. Stupid. Maybe you should have taken a stab at it—running. Tried, at least, to save your own life before the jaws of the beast closed over you like an iron bear trap around your ankle. Fought like hell. Clawed and kicked and screamed.

When most kids read the back of a cereal box, you learned about secondary locations. You know better than this.

But the truck sputters to life in a belly-deep rumble, hacking up soot into the air as he pulls the lever into DRIVE. The fight inside of you—however ephemeral it might have been—dies inside the smoke spilling out of his exhaust. Gone so quickly that you begin to wonder if it was even there at all—

Must be, you think, eyes listing outward. Keen. Mapping the twists and turns—a futile effort in the end: he doesn't bother hiding where he's taking you, and you've been down these old, grim streets more times than you can count.

It doesn't surprise you much when he turns down the street leading to the butcher shop. An old relic that still carries the marks of a booming farming town before it fell victim to industrialisation. Concrete skyscrapers in place of lush cornfields. Warehouses over old barns, ranches. Cattle, meat, produce—it all used to be a mainstay here but now hides under layers of steel.

The dark windows of the small shop gleam with hazy smears of neon blue, red, when you pull up, catching on the array of rowdy bars across the street. All clubs that belong to the 141. A playground of drugs, sex. More money than you'd ever see in your lifetime.

It's an uncanny juxtaposition to the quiet, assuming street right across from it. Barber, butcher, accountant firm, antique store. All dark inside and bathed in the smeared stream of glimmering neon as lights flash in the fading glow of twilight.

He pulls up to the curb in front of the shop. A bold move if the streets weren't so empty. Lifeless. The clubs won't be open for four more hours. Everything else follows the same nine to five as the rest of the world. The shops closed an hour ago, and everyone in town seems to know not to linger here after dark.

The air seems to stagnate in your lungs when he cuts the ignition. Slips the key into his pocket.

“Don't get any funny ideas in tha' pretty little ‘ead o’yours.”

“Funny ideas,” you echo, toneless. Flat. It rolls out with your exhale. Words that might have been smarter to swallow down. “Like following a stranger to a butcher shop?”

“Lippy little thing, ain't you?” He scoffs. The truck creaks when he shifts. “Ain't go’ no one t’blame but yourself. Told you what would ‘appen if you kept sellin’ in our territory. You should ‘ave known better.”

“That was my brother.” The words slip out before you can stop them. “Not me—”

“‘ow am I suppose t’know that? You were sellin’ where I told ‘im not to—” he has the gall to shrug. Spit these careless words at you like it wasn't life or death. “That's all there is to it, birdie.”

“That's not fair—”

The truck groans under his weight, shaking from side to side as he leans over to push his door open before turning back to you, rolling his eyes.

“Life ain't very fair, is it?”

The acerbic words are flicked out from between his teeth; an apathetic, droning curl clinging to each syllable. He doesn't care. Won't. What happens to you next is your choice, and yours alone.

And he's just doing his job—

“When I get out of ‘ere, you ain't gonna do anythin’ funny—”

His hand lashes out. Gloved fingers close over the thick of your throat in a blink. Fear lags by a beat, giving him enough time to sink his fingers over your neck, and when it catches up—heart rabbiting in your chest, thudding in your ears; roaring as your pulse thunders beneath the press of his thumb—he’s already got you in his hold. The width forces your chin to lift, stretching up to accommodate the curl of his hand around you.

Trapped like a rabbit. Cattle to the slaughter.

He tilts his head down, keeping his eyes on yours as he forces your crown into the headrest, chin lifted up. It's uncomfortable. The curve of your neck cuts off your airways. Constricts your breathing to shallow gasps. An ache grows in your nape.

The swell of panic, fear, in your eyes makes him hum. But there's nothing echoing back. An absence of light in the deep, placid pits. It looks like still water. A stagnant lake.

It's unnerving how dispassionately expressive his eyes are. Wild, wild. Vats of ink. Pools of obsidian. Ringed in red-lined ivory. Long, ashen lashes dusting over the smears of charcoal under his eyes. Sleepless nights, maybe. Fatigue. The corners are tattooed with coal, leaving behind a thumbprint in the crease.

But empty. Barren. No light.

Like black holes. Eating everything around it. Devouring all that gets too close, but giving nothing in return except a bottomless crater in the bruised-plum nebulous of space around it.

You're not sure you like it. You can't look away.

But in staring back so hard (getting pulled in deeper and deeper), you catch the twitch in his left eye. A shallow spasm. It throws off the symmetry when he blinks, one eye a sliver of a second behind. Desynchronized in a way that seems so—

Unlike him.

Disjointed.

You blink in response. Perfectly synchronous.

His lid twitches again. Just once. Brief. Pale, pink eyelids drop, unveiling a nebula of indigo veins on the smooth, thin surface as they roll down to half-mast over his eyes, now narrowed slightly in contemplation. Thought.

Whatever is happening in his head can't be good. It causes a ripple over the lake. Little rings rebound outwards.

He looks away first. A quick slide of his eyes to the corners, glancing out of the passenger side window. Whatever catches his attention is unknown to you. The anchor on his hand around your throat keeps you still. Immovable.

(Every instinct in your body compels you not to look away from him because nothing outside could ever be scarier, more dangerous, than him.)

A second later, he breathes in through his nose. The fabric of his mask is pulled into his nostrils from the force, forming little black holes under the crooked arch.

You hadn't really given much thought to his appearance outside of big, massive. But there's a strange asymmetry to the slopes and valleys beneath the balaclava. Trying to map his face, fill in the blanks with just black cloth and vague, lopsided outlines, is impossible. There are too many gaps. Too many missing pieces. You can only wonder, then, what he looks like under it.

Monstrous, you hope.

It's just a coincidence that he looks at you the moment the thought passes, but you flinch like a naughty child getting caught doing something you shouldn't when the heavy, dour weight of his impenetrable stare is levelled at you once more. Your heart stutters. It's loud in your ears. In the truck.

You wonder if he can hear it just as loudly as you do—

Another blink, and his gaze flickers down, settling on the gap between your lips, watching the little tremble they make with each shallow hiccup of air you greedily suck in. His head tilts to the side, eyes never leaving your mouth even as he leans down, masked lips brushing over the beading sweat gathering on your hairline.

It's a brief touch. A taste. You tremble when he pulls back, fingers tightening around your flesh.

His eyes are lavascapes.

“Are you, birdie?”

You almost forget what he's asking. The conversation hidden between the scant beats it took for him to measure your worth with the blistering intensity of his stare, and the tumult of your feelings still looping around each other in your belly. Knotting up tight into a ball. There's fear, of course there is.

But the rest—

You'd rather not think about.

The grip on your throat eases just enough for you to shake your head no to whatever he is asking. Doing anything funny, you think, scrambling at the tangle of memories flipping past, trying to connect the pieces to a puzzle you've already forgotten.

It must be the right response. Or maybe it's another question like before, a test where there’s no right answer.

Run, stay.

Smart and stupid.

But it seems to appease him—marginally. His eyes crease. Tightening. His other hand folds over your throat, sliding until his palms kiss the sides of your neck in a near-perfect symmetry.

Something frissons across the blank, placid lake of his expression. Another ripple. A shudder. He leans in for a moment, nose touching the apple of your cheek, and when he breathes in, it’s sharp, reedy. Cold air ghosts over your skin. Long, pale lashes flutter when you swallow.

He hums quietly under his breath before peeling back. The flatness to his gaze is back; a cold, impenetrable distance widening like a chasm as he uncoils around you. You almost fall for this—this indifference. An icy nonchalance. But you've been eating the minuscule quirks of him just as ravenously as he's been devouring yours.

There is something there. A fracture, maybe. A splinter.

But what leaks through from the other side isn't anything close to warmth. It's—

Hunger.

The shift in your throat draws his molten gaze to your neck, still wrapped tight in his firm grip. Your reflection blooms in the vat of black; eyes wide, all white. Pupils narrowed to a pinprick. Mouth slack, corners tugging downward from the pressure of his hand. The tilt of your head. His thumbs press under your chin, pushing you back further until it feels like your neck might break—

He stops. Shifts. You puff out a shallow breath.

What looks back at you is unremarkable in the murk. A sliver of fear. A slip of unease.

Eye of the beholder, you think when his breath chuffs out shallowly through the mask. When that hunger is ground down to a raw, esoteric fissure hairlining the black of his eyes. The widening expanse of his pupil.

You wonder if it's your fear that itches under his skin, dredging up something predatory in his hindbrain. The urge to chase. To bite.

But the nearly indiscernible flicker of his gaze has you brushing that idea aside when it snags on the expanse of his hand coiled around your throat. Easily swallowing it whole with just his palms.

You're not a small thing, but the indomitable size of him makes you feel insignificant.

You think he feels it, too.

His fingers flex over your nape, stretching. Pulling. It pushes the flat of his palm into your throat, ridges crushed against your trachea. But you can still breathe. It's shallow. Hoarse. A touch painful. Dizzying in a way that makes you feel like you're on a rollercoaster. A teacup ride that just spins and spins and spins—

The gap closes. A sliver of air snakes down your throat. Muscles flexing, shifting. Struggling to swallow around the pinch of his hand. A harrowing task when you feel the gloved fingers link to the first, then the second knuckle, tying together in a too-tight, impossible, noose around your neck. Thumbs overlap. Fingers slide into place. It forms a chain of his hands with no gaps between them. Not a single sliver of skin shows from under the leather of his gloves.

He makes a sound when they meet—a nasal groan in the back of his throat, mouth clenched shut so the air has no choice but to tear through his nose. It's raw. Fractured. The devastating moan of a tiger nuzzling at its meal.

Your vision blurs. A black fog presses into the edges, seeping over the arch of your peripherals. Dripping down slowly over the hazy smear of the man. The way the ochre sun peeks over the angular roof of the accountant's office illuminates his back and casts swaths of shadows over his front. Drenching him in murk.

Despite the flickering darkness shuttering over your sight, you don't blink. Even as the tears prickle at your eyes, they stay open. Fixed on him. Black holes, you think, watching as the fever marbling those obsidian pools recedes. Cools.

He makes that noise again. Softer this time. A purr from deep in his chest. A breath. And then he peels back. His hands go slack. His shoulders slumping back into the lax, easy spread from before as you gasp hard, nearly choking on the flood of air that roars down your throat.

Your cheeks feel hot for a moment, and then cold. Icy. You don't have to touch them to know that you're crying. That the deluge clinging to your lashline spilt over, dripping messily to the collar of your shirt.

The placid lake is back. In the stillness, you heave. Mouth hanging open, chin quivering. His thumb lifts, slides over the curve of your chin. You don't feel it. Numbed, maybe, by the brief kiss of hypoxia. But you see it. Watch as he slides it up to the jut of your lower lip, the black, angular tip tickling over your skin. He follows the seam between skin and lip, tracing it to the corner of your mouth. It's slick. Drool pools in the crease, dribbles over the top of his finger. His eyes drop when he mops it up, catching it on the pad.

He makes another noise. An arid rasp bubbling between the soft tissue behind the roof of his mouth and the back of his tongue. It's ugly. The shiver you try to fight back slinks through.

His hand peels away from your neck, movements lax. Slow. The unwinding gait of an idling tiger in no real rush, no hurry, because there's nothing in the frigid Arctic that can touch him.

You watch him with flared eyes as he brings his thumb to his clothed mouth, and rubs your spit into the fabric of his mask.

His eyes don't break away from yours once.

Your spit doesn't stand out against the black of balaclava, but the idea of it burns through you. Throwing you headfirst into a dazed stupor. Dizzy. Confused.

Satisfied with whatever it was supposed to mean, he clambers out of the truck before coming around to your side. Distantly, you're sure this is what he meant by funny ideas when he passes the headlight, head straight and eyes gliding around the empty street. An opening to run. You know where you are. It would be easy to flee. Hide in the construction zone just ahead, tucking yourself into the tightest corner you can find until help arrives.

Help, though.

Officer, please. I got caught selling meth in the mob's territory and now they're going to skin me alive. Please hurry—

Right.

They'd rather help bury your body than get in the way of the mafia. Gangland violence isn't their concern unless it tumbles out into the street. Fat wallets keep even the most compassionate person quiet. Willing to turn a blind eye.

You'd be thrown in a cell. Or dropped off at their doorstep.

Either way—

You won't be coming back alive.

There's nothing to steel, harden, when he pulls the door open, your nerves long since ground down to fine powder. Nothing to fight against, either. He hauls you out of the truck, hands firm on your skin. Bursting blood vessels easily between his fingers. Barely any effort at all to crack your bones.

The moment in the car seems miles away when he pulls you in front of him, hand curling over your nape. Any flicker of humanity rendered out when he pinches you tight and shoves you forward. Dragging you back to the butcher shop by the scruff of your neck, leading you down a narrow set of stairs to the basement where pale white carcasses hang from hooks on the ceiling. He laughs when you tense. When your heels dig into the brown-stained linoleum.

Ain't gonna hang you, he mocks, fingers dipping punishingly into the sides of your neck. “Not yet, anyway—”

It brings little comfort when he drags you to a room in the back, kicking open the door with the toe of his boot before pushing you inside with a nudge against your nape.

It's dark. Walls covered in stains; mould, mildew. Something you hope is just rust. A single mattress is shoved into the corner; sheets stained with sweat and grime. Tinged a pale brown. Two pillows sit at the top, lopsided and matted with use. Threadbare. A twisted, black heap of fabric sits at the bottom. Wisps of cotton poke out from the cigarette burns.

A pair of muddy, black boots sit against the wall at the end of the bed. A basket of clothes—jeans, black shirts, black sweaters—is piled on the wall across from the door.

The room smells of stale sweat and old cigarettes.

You don't want to be here. The thought is abrupt. Immediate. Unease prickles along your nape, warmed and damp under his gloved palm. Between the look of the room—the floors stained the same suspicious brown, the rumpled bed in a corner—and the smell, you know this is not a place you want to stay. To be trapped inside with a man cut from Everest; whose hands are more dangerous than the sharp end of a knife.

He must feel the tension brimming beneath your skin; the spark of adrenaline surging through your veins. The clamp of his hand on your nape digs in tighter. Holding firm.

A breath tumbles out, thickening with mockery. “Like I said,” he leans down, pressing the mountainous width of his chest into your spine. The accentuation in your size difference, how big he is in comparison to you, makes you feel like prey. Small. Brittle, thin. He eats you whole. Spares nothing for later. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

Another nudge and you're pushed further into the room. He leans away, foot shoving back on the door until it snaps shut with a noise that cuts through the gossamer that spun around you, bifurcating reality from dream. The haze is wafted away, and all that remains is a barren room with a lumpy mattress, the smeared stain of rotten blood coagulating on the floor, and his body boxing you in. No escape.

The rumble of his chest shakes loose the cobwebs spooling across your thoughts. A brush of humid air ghosts along the line of your jaw, dampening the skin below your ear as he leans in close, too close, and purrs:

“Go on now. Strip for me.”

Each scrap of clothing you slowly roll off of your body is exchanged for a slip of information about him—who he is (Simon Riley, the name rumbled through the split between his teeth; a low, brassy purr as his eyes gleam in the dark, drilling into the expanse of skin unveiled to him)—and what he wants—

Nothing, he tells you, lifting one massive shoulder up in a half-hearted shrug. Jus’ what's owed to me, pet. For stickin’ my neck out f’you.

You don't think he did. Not really. But you're harshly reminded of the unsubtle threat. The gun balanced on his massive thigh. So wide, so big, it seems to make it look smaller in comparison. Tiny. A toy.

Child's play.

It's made worse, somehow, as he lounges. Sprawls out on the bed, legs spread, pulling taut on the jeans that stretch around the thickness of his upper thigh, bunching around his calves in a half-tuck inside his black boots. Arms flexing. Folded over his broad chest. He rolled the sleeves of his black shirt up to his elbow, showing off an impressive tapestry of harsh, faded black ink. Crisscrossing lines. All asymmetrical. Guns, barbed wire. A bullet with a wide, toothy grin—

All of it knits together; woven into a tangled mass of muscle. Of man, hidden under scar tissue. Rope burns on his wrists cut so deep that the skin is permanently dented in. More cigarette burns hidden inside the mess of ink. Jagged lines—from a knife, maybe; bullet wounds.

His skin tells stories of a terrible life. Ink spills over the worst of them, but they're visible under the fading charcoal. A series of burns—acid, fire, chemical—and raw, torn skin. He looks like he's been mauled. Pressed into the cold metal of a wood chipper until chunks of flesh were taken out. But even with these deep gouges, craters of missing tissue, he's big. Bulky. Soft��like a tiger. Predatory muscle tucked away under a thick layer of fatty tissue.

The pillowed pouch of his belly, the softness around his biceps—

It belies the danger underneath. The steel.

But as scary as it is, it has nothing on his eyes.

Glinting in the dim room. Dark pools of obsidian that follow each movement with an almost clinical keenness. Sharpened to a razor's edge.

They might be pretty, you think, if they weren't so intense. So liquid. His eyes gleam like wet ink, languidly rolling along his lashline as you clumsily shed your jacket, your blouse. Shoes, socks. Pants. Until you're in nothing but your panties.

Swallowing around the influx of panic that flutters like little birds beating their wings against the soft walls of your throat, you slip your fingers into the hem, now or never, and—

And you hesitate.

There's a difference between undressing willingly and doing so to save your life. It should spurn you on—survive, survive, survive—but you freeze at the apex. The summit is within reach.

You know what happens when you climb it. Cross over the invisible threshold.

What you've been trying to ignore this whole time, ever since he shoved you into the room with a huff, taking his perch on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, but in such a terrifying state of vulnerability, nearly nude, you can't any longer. Can't avert your gaze to the stained linoleum in a thinly veiled effort to keep from glancing at the thickening bulge lying prone against his thigh.

His—

Well.

You knew what he wanted when he grabbed your face in his hand, squeezing your cheeks until your lips pursed, puckered for him to run his finger along the inseam. Prying your teeth apart. Rubbing his finger over your tongue, eyes dark—full; black holes pulling, tugging you in, dragging you closer to the event horizon framed in a ring of arsenic—and locked on to the sight of his gloved knuckle disappearing into your mouth. Wanting. Hungry.

You knew. And now—

Committing to it is legions above what you’re mentally prepared for. Nausea brims, churns your stomach. Unease curdling inside of you like rotten milk.

You don’t want this. But you don’t have a choice, do you?

That notion, the idea, prickles along your nape, raising the fine, peach-fuzz there until it stands on end.

You freeze. Movements still as every muscle in your body tenses. Coils. You can't do it. Can't—

A huff is dragged out of his chest as he sits up, knocking the gun carelessly to the mattress. His eyes daggering, sharpening into needlepoints, as he stares at you.

“Gotta do everything f’myself, do I?”

A grunt and he’s up. Pulling himself to his feet with nothing but the flex of his abdominal muscles.

There's no reprieve. Not a moment graced to gather your bearings before he crosses the distance between you. Once a comfort, a chasm, now conquered in a single stride.

The tips of his gloves are cold when they brush over your skin, sliding down the slope of your waist until they meet the hem of your panties. The last piece of modesty you have—

But he doesn't wait.

You're aware that this isn't a non-consensual thriller where the lead looms over the hapless love interest, eyes blazing with passion and need. That each interaction is drenched in a thick, palpable tension tethering the two together. Urges coalescing. Threads pulling taut, magnetic, dragging them closer and closer to the brink until they tumble over.

This is reality. And he doesn't stare into your eyes with an all-consuming desire as he slowly removes that last scrap of fabric keeping him from devouring you. No.

His skin-warmed fingers push under the elastic band with a rough shove, curling into the fabric until it tightens across your pelvis and thighs, and then he huffs, annoyed, and pulls. Pulls—

Until something gives.

The lace yields to the tension in his flexing bicep, and scrapes over your skin as it rips apart in his hand, threads snapping. Popping.

It hurts. Stings. You hiss, but the noise is ignored when he peels the ruined scrap of fabric from your legs, shoving it into his back pocket with a grunt of satisfaction. He looks back to you, eyes rippling like the dark, ink-black surface of a lake during nightfall, and coos, mocking and mean—

“Not s’hard, was it?”

He leans closer to you, a hand skimming up your spine before his fingers curl around your nape, keeping you still for just a breath before he pulls you into him with too much force. Your hands lift, palms slapping against his thick stomach when the movement nearly topples you over and threatens to break your nose on his chest.

“Makin’ me do all the work when y’supposed t’be payin’ me back? Ain't very nice o’you, is it?”

He touches you like he's taking stock of your worth. Grabbing a heavy, rough palmful of your beast in his hand, squeezing. Testing the weight, the softness, how supple you were between his fingers like he might with a piece of fruit. Meat. Prodding into the flesh, feeling the ripeness there. Gauging whether or not it was a piece he wanted to keep.

It's demeaning. Humiliating. He treats you like cattle; presses into the elasticity of your muscle, examines every inch of your skin for blemishes. Scouring for imperfections. There's no softness in the way he grabs handfuls of your body—squeezing your breasts, pushing them together, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger; pinching your belly, your sides, your waist; curling his fingers under your thigh, lifting it until it hitches over his waist, cunt exposed and pressed tight to the bulge trapped in his jeans. Your ass is handled rougher than the rest. Each cheek sitting in a hand, squeezed and punched and spread embarrassingly wide.

He ruts into you as he does it. Pushes the thick, fat length of him into your belly, rolling his hips against you with a heavy, ragged puff of air.

He feels big.

Everywhere, of course—it’s not so much his height, but the absurd width of him that really digs into your hindbrain, crossing all those intricate wires until they're tangled up, knotted together. Seeing his thigh, the same scale as a tree truck, slotting between yours—a mere branch by comparison—makes your belly flop. Turn over itself.

The muddled wires spark. Heat pools between your hips.

He could crush your head between them like a bear pushing its paw down on a watermelon.

It's fear and heat.

The two work in tandem, forming a seamless cohesion, as they flit down your spine, brimming up the urge to sink to your knees, the need to roll over and show your belly. A paradoxical desire to both run and be chased.

You're not sure if he's tendering your meat to eat later or if this is the usual type of foreplay he engages in, but once satisfied you're softened up enough for him, he shoves his fingers between your thighs with an abrasive hum that reverberates through his belly, tickling your palms.

“Tired o’waitin’,” is what he says when your head jerks up, eyes widening in shock. Terror. Horror. “Don't look so surprised,” he huffs, dryly. Voice a rough scrap over your cheek. “What'd y’think was gonna ‘appen?”

“Wait—” but he doesn't.

His fingers twist, pushing through your folds to graze your clit. It isn't gentle. It's sudden, quick. You gasp more from shock than pleasure; the rough slide of leather feels strange on your flesh, and your head is too muddled to separate fear from bliss.

Despite that, your body heats. Reacts to his touch. Your lower lip wobbles. You bite back another sound that crawls up your throat when his knuckle catches on your clit again, the pressure just shy of too much.

The burn, the fever, melts the unease. Shallow gasps spill out. Your cunt clenches, fluttering around nothing—throbbing, growing sticky, slick; achy and empty—when he starts to glide his digit between your folds. Little sawing motions drag each groove and stitch of his gloves over your pebbled clit, each thrust of his hand between your thighs making heat pool between your hips. It's done so clinically, so detached, like his hand rubbing over your leaking pussy was nothing to him. An action to get done, a task to complete.

It's the shame of that, the embarrassment, that makes you want to weep. Your fingers dig into his chest, nails pulling uncomfortably on the pleated bumps of his jacket as you grip the fabric right between your fists, clinging to him like a newborn fawn—all wet-nosed, teary-eyed; knobbly knees threatening to buck.

“S–stop—” you mewl when the monotonous rhythm melts into something harder, more intense. Heart thudding in your chest, heat burning you up as he turns his hand, palm up, between your sticky, shaking thighs. He rubs his hand back and forth, curling his middle finger up when he passes your hole, tip pushing against your leaking rim.

The friction aches. The stretch stings. The leather feels strange, foreign when it pries your folds apart and dips inside of you.

You don't like it. It's too much—

He makes a sound—a tut—when you pull away from him, standing on the tips of your toes until the blunt curve of his finger slides out of you. He sucks his teeth in a mockery of disappointment before digging his fingers, hard, into the sides of your neck. A warning. You whine. Whimper—

It goes unheeded. And when you press your thighs tight together, shivering at the slip-slide of your skin rubbing against each other, he growls. The noise is inhuman. Animalistic.

Your act of deviance comes with a swift, bruising punishment.

His fingers tighten on your neck once again. A warning squeeze as he reaches down with his other hand, grabbing your hip. It keeps you still, immobile, as he bullies his boot between your feet, kicking your legs apart. You're not expecting it. When you stumble, he huffs in amusement. Can't hold yourself up? Want me that bad, huh? Needy fuckin' thing, ain't you?

You don't get a chance to respond. His palm splays wide over your hip, leather creaking as he flexes, stretching his fingers out, tapping some soundless beat out against your skin. Touching you like he's owed the privilege. The right. And in many ways—

Go’ a problem, you an’ I

—he does.

Brute strength, and an unmatched, almost laughable, dearth in your physicality ensures that he has the upper hand—even without the gun he left on the mattress; darker and flat, a full matte compared to what you were expecting.

(They're always so shiny in movies, aren't they?)

The threat of it—dull as it might be—roots you to the spot as he slides his hand down, thumb brushing over your belly button, dipping in; pressing until your stomach starts to ache—

It peels away when the whine wells up, sloping down, down. Teases your mound with the tips of his fingers, gentle swipes along the sensitive seam of your belly and pelvis, the sensation is an odd tickle that pulls at your navel, pulses at the apex of your thighs. You mewl—a slow, soft thing that barely makes it out from between your teeth—and he lets his hand drop. Palm flat against the soft flesh of your mons, fingers reaching, spreading, until they curl over your folds. Index and ring finger tucked tight into the hollow bend of your pelvis and thigh. The tip of his middle rubs gentle strokes over the skin above your clit. It's a whisper of pleasure. The idea of a touch.

Mindless, your hips flit, following his hand—

“Needy.”

It cows you. Douses you in icy shame. There's barely any mockery in his even, observant tone, but you feel it unfurl over your shoulders all the same.

He doesn't give you a moment to think, to let the ripples of humiliation take over, forcing you to pull away, hide. His fingers trail over your hood, the pebble of your clit. The sensation, the cool undertone in the leather of his glove, is unlike anything you'd felt before. The thick stitches in the fabric catch on your flesh, nerve endings flaring in pleasure. Heat blooms in your belly.

It feels good.

You gasp, head tipping back. His hand winds around your waist when your knees buckle, catching you with a rasping huff—

“Feelin’ good, ain't you?” He pulls you tight to his chest, finger rubbing circles around your throbbing clit. Your cunt clenches, empty, and you whine, needing something more. Something to fill the ache inside of you—

His finger slips. Slides easily between your folds, parting your lips around the thick of him until he reaches your drenched hole. The sounds it makes when he taps his finger against your fluttering core makes your toes curl. Has heat blistering over your cheeks, down the slope of your neck.

It makes him groan. The low growl makes you throb, clenching in needy little pulls, pulses, as his finger dips into the slick dripping out of you.

“Suckin’ me in,” he grunts, and pushes his finger inside, thrusting up to the last knuckle. Palm tapping against your folds as his index and ring finger close to give him more room to sink deeper into you. The messy, slick squelch is loud, rolling over the mewling gasps that tumble from your lips.

Heat floods your belly at the belly-deep groans he lets out when you squeeze around him.

“Stranglin’ my fuckin’ finger, birdie—”

He leans down, knocking his forehead against the side of your face. It's more intimate than you were expecting. Jarring. The proximity plays a twisted game inside your head—the urge to run, to roll over coalescing into a paralyzing tailspin. Rooting you to the ground when the warm, damp knit of his mask grazes your cheek.

The intimacy of his head on yours is eclipsed when you can feel the shape of his mouth through the fabric.

It's softer than you expected. A plush, fleshy give when he presses his lips against your skin. And—

A gap.

On the side of his mouth, there's a gouge. A pockmark. You feel the gap, the absence, of his flesh when he rolls it over your cheekbone. You try to read the asymmetry of his face—mapping all of these misshapen parts; his mauled lips, the crooked nose that digs into your skin and leaves behind a tacky smear of condescension when he breathes out through his nostrils in a heavy puff of air—and convince yourself that you're doing it so you can bring these patchwork pieces to the police later.

Survival, you think, your head tilting back as he noses down your neck, tickling along your skin.

(And when your cunt flutters around the rough, thick drag of his finger petting along your walls, you add: a bodily reaction. That's all it is.)

He takes another lungful of your scent before he rocks back on his heels, pulling away from you. Straightening up. Looming above you once more.

“Now—”

He pulls his finger out of you slowly and you try not to whimper at the empty feeling that brims up. The way your hips rock toward him, seeking and eager. Wanting.

Needy, just like he said.

Just a bodily reaction—

He holds his hand up to the dim light flickering over his head, fingers spreading apart as he takes in the glossy shine of his middle finger.

The gleam of it makes your ears feel hot. Shame pools in your belly as he makes another noise—a groan, deep and low, in the back of his throat. Eyes darkening as his pupils bloom, eclipsing his irises in an endless pool of black. They flicker toward you, listing half-mast in a way to leonine, so predatory, that it shudders through your bones. Run, run—

His hand flexes around your waist when you twitch. A warning. A threat. You tremble when he leans in, masked lips brushing over your cheek once more. Breath ghosting through the fabric, tickling the inside of your ear.

He smells of war. Of fire and brimstone. Napalm and nitroglycerine. You want to close your eyes, look away, but you can't. His proximity alone roots you to the spot. Turns you into a prey animal, frozen on instinct alone as he prowls around, creeping closer. Maw stretching wide, drooling dripping off razor-sharp canines—

“Let's see if y’worth all the trouble.”

—and he bites.

Knocks his palm into your sternum, roughly shoving you down on the mattress.

His hands fall to the button of his jeans. “Ready?” He asks, but doesn't seem to care about your answer. Opts, instead, to fall to his knee beside you. It pulls on his zipper, tugs it all the way down with a sharp, metallic sound that cuts through the stagnant air as each ring of teeth is pried apart.

You can't help it. You look. Dragged there by something primal, magnetic—the morbid curiosity to see the monster for yourself as it tries to take a bite.

And almost immediately, you wish you hadn't.

The spread of pale skin, dark curls jutting out from the split of his jeans, makes everything feel more real, and moving fast. Whiplash quick. Happening in a blink:

The shift of fabric as he pulls the mask up over his lips, letting rest on the crooked bridge of his nose. A flash of his mouth, mangled. Mauled. Full of ugly, pale pink scars. A gap where tissue once knit his upper lip together. The bite of crooked teeth as he brings the sticky, wet tip of his glove to his mouth, sinking in. Pulling. Tugging. The roll of skin—a rose, a gun, a skull—all encased in barbed wire; thick rivers of blue-green veins.

Another pull and it's free. Dangling between his teeth for a moment as he reaches up and shoves the jacket off his shoulders. Rolling and thick. Wide. A broad chest. Soft belly. There's an inch of flesh around the expanse of him—biceps, thighs, calves, chest, stomach, shoulders—but it's a buffer for the corded, streamlined muscle beneath. A layer of fatty tissue.

Like a tiger, hiding its dizzying musculature beneath a thick, loose pelt.

When he moves, it flexes. His shoulders roll; muscles bunching together, pulling taut under soft skin. The jacket slides off. Falls to the ground behind the mattress. Forgotten, discarded. The glove is next to go. Dropping from between his teeth, landing just beside your ankle with a muted thud.

He follows after it. Ink spilling over his lashline as his eyes drop, staring at the roll of his skin tucked on the outside of your thigh. Trailing up to your knee. Your hip. The split of your cunt beneath your other leg; knee tucked to your chest.

A flash of something, a flicker, is the only warning you get before the back of his hand is nudging the glove off of your skin, replacing it with the rough, calloused grip of his palm.

You jerk at his touch, flinching back—

He's intimidating above you like this. Leaning back on his haunches but still as tall as you are standing up. The sheer absurdity of his height—his width—is dizzying. Gives you vertigo when you look up.

His throat shifts when you move. A swallow. Coarse stubble grows down the column of his neck, dusting over his lower jaw, chin. The rest is swallowed by the balaclava bunched around his crooked nose.

He's not—

He's not handsome.

A smattering of crisscrossing scars, burns, skin pocked and gouged out in deep pockets along his flesh—the slide of a knife carving away at him, you think; digging down to his marrow—all take away from any sense of modern attractiveness you might feel for him with his broad, jagged nose and full lips.

But there's something rugged about him. Untamed. Wild. Appealing in a dangerous way.

You don't know if you would have let this happen under different circumstances. If this minacious beauty of his would have worked on you enough to want it outside of this awful, almost unfathomable trade.

He's too big. Wouldn't even fit inside of your house—

The graze of his thumb on your angle knocks the thought loose, and you're dragged back to the heat of his hand. Rough and coarse; palms slightly damp from the glove. It tugs on your flesh as he draws it up, a rubbery sort of pain as it catches on the soft, dry skin of your ankle. Your shin.

He follows behind a second later, pulling himself into the mattress with a huff, knees shuffling forward as he crawls over you. The jostling rocks your body. Makes your breasts shake as he lumbers on the bed, hand still sliding up, up, until his fingers curl over the bend of your knee.

The bed dips under his weight. Your body sagging, rolling into the divot beneath his knees. Tucked under him. Loomed over. He stares down at you through the cutout of his mask, eyes liquid in the gloam. Pools of melting, dripping obsidian. Black holes. Event horizon—

You look away before it drags you in. Submissive. Softened under the harsh burn of his flat, wide stare. He chuffs when your nose brushes over the thin skin of his wrist, mouth sliding over the thick, pulsing vein stretching down from his inner arm and curling into the bend of his hand. Your lips purse, and he makes that noise again.

Quietly amused, and—

He shuffles forward until the backs of your thighs are pulled over his, spread out on his lap. Bare. Open to him.

And he looks.

And looks.

Hungry, you think. Quietly amused and hungry—

The notion is wrenched out of your head when he shifts his weight. Watches the folds of your pussy open for him as he pulls your knees wider apart, head dropping between his massive shoulders, gaze drilling into the split of your thighs. Gasping at the sting, the sudden stretch, does little to deter him from shoving your leg down until the outside of your knee touches the bed. Muscles straining. Pinching. It hurts; hipbones twinging in agony.

But the embarrassment burning through you singes all the pain.

You're spread open under him. Bare. Legs tangled around his waist, stretched wide around the width of him. Ankles knocking into the hard plains of his lower back each time he shifts.

“Fuckin’ hell—” he grunts. Snarls. The word ripped up from the back of his throat, forced through the twisting channels of his nose. Nasal and ugly when it scrapes out between his teeth. “Gonna ruin this pretty pussy, birdie.”

It's a threat. A promise. You twist, mouthing your protests into the warm skin of his wrist.

There's something about his voice—that airy, brassy tone—that strikes a chord deep inside you. Makes heat pool between your thighs, leaking out in a syrupy mess—

His hand peels away from your knee, sliding down your sticky, damp inner thigh until his knuckles graze the sensitive slip of skin sitting between your outer lip and hip. That ticklish, belly-fluttering sensation blooms in your groin as he rubs his scarred knuckles over the crease, catching the slick gathered there on his thick, meaty thumb.

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he groans, shifting his fingers until they cover the whole of your cunt, cradling you in his hand. He holds you like that for a beat, eyes locked on the way you're swallowed up by the broad stretch of his palm.

The rough drag of his skin over your folds feels good. An all-encompassing heat spreads over your tender flesh from the curve of your ass to the bump of your mons where his middle finger rests, almost touching the strip of skin between your loins and your belly. Held in his grasp. Cradled in his palm.

Your thighs twitch. A shallow jerk as your knees try to bend over his hand, but you can't. With his thumb and pinkie tucking into each crease between your outer lip and leg, it keeps you from closing your legs. Hinged by the wide, flat cup of his palm.

And it shouldn't bludgeon through you the way it does. All heat. All want. Need. A growing ache you can't think around.

(bodily reaction, you think even as the image of his hand—big with thick fingers, scarred knuckles; streaks of faded, ashy ink etched into milky, veined skin—laying over your pussy, swallowing it whole, sears into your mind—)

“Can feel your little cunt,” he grunts, feeling the pulse, the little throbbing pulls of your muscles as they twitch at the sight. The feeling. Clenching down around nothing. “Greedy little thing, ain't you, birdie?”

Anger paints his words as he rasps them out. A teeth gnashing, jaw clenching frustration that needles into the scorn, the fury, forced out between the tight seam of his crooked teeth.

You don't understand it. Can't, maybe.

But it's tucked away as quickly as it appeared, shifting into an ugly, mocking derision. Dry. Acerbic. His teeth flash, lip pulling upward in a sneer—a snarl—before he hums, sliding his hand down. The drag of his damp, rough fingers over your swollen folds has your knees falling open wider around his thick thighs, baring yourself willingly to him.

Want it bad, don't you? He mocks, and the sound of his voice alone has your pussy clenching tight, belly fluttering around the abrasive scrape of his tone. Brassy and full. Gritty. You whine, hips inching up—

His hand peels off of your slit. The rush of cold air drags another whimper out of you, hips pushing up to chase the heady, molten feeling of his skin on yours. And he's amused by it—a laugh echoes out, crackling in the hollow of his throat at your desperation—but you're too achy, too hot, to feel the simmer of humiliation nipping the apples of your cheeks.

He's not even making a real effort to pleasure you, to make you feel good, and yet—

Your hips twitch toward him in needy, mewling cants; please sits on the tip of your tongue, cradled between your teeth. Slips out on a shaky, breathless gasp when he meets you on the next buck of your hips, palm slapping over your wet slit.

The crack echoes through the room. Rough, dry skin on soaked flesh.

And it shocks you more than it hurts. The sting is there, of course, but it's just an afterthought to astonishment. An eye-widening disbelief masking the way your cunt smarts, throbbing from the slap. Nerves muffled behind the burn in your eyes, the searing heat pooling in your sinuses.

Wrenched open, unblinking as you stare up at him, your eyes begin to sting, to water. You blink, and feel something hot trickle down your cheek. A tear. His eyes snap to it. Pupils narrowing to a pinprick as he watches it slide down your face, little droplets clinging to your jaw.

“Poor baby,” he mocks, tilting his head as he tracks the teardrop. “Better behave.”

Behave. Like he's admonishing a child and not an adult.

It morphs; rots. Becomes yet another thing you shouldn't feel feverish over. The slick, sticky feeling grows between your thighs as your cunt flutters at the humiliation of it all.

And deeper—maybe—the bastardized sense of care—

(Punishment is affection in its own, special (awful) way and you've been aching for something just like it, haven't you—)

It's pushed down. Swallowed. And you know in the back of your head that if you keep eating these feelings, you're going to be sick. But you can't stop. Barely breathe around the idea of them sometimes—

“Tha’s’it,” he coos like he knows. Sees them bright and burning behind your irises. Little flickers of need, a smouldering want that you'll never grasp at yourself.

So he gives it to you.

The rough slide of his hand, all scarred and dry and calloused, scrapes over your slit once more. A full, flat stroke upward until your clit bumps into the ridge of his palm. Then down, down—

His fingers spread. Ring and index prying your folds apart as he pushes up once more, opening your seam to slip his middle finger through the slick, sticky mess that drips out of your burning cunt.

“Gonna be good f’me?”

The slide of his fingers drags the tip up to the bump of your clit. You stare down at it, fixed on the jut of his ink-black knuckles threading through your folds. The crease of his nail as he slips his fingers up higher, pad pushing over your pebbled clit. They're dirty. Grey-black under his nails. Congealed with dirt. Blood, maybe.

Your stomach churns even as your hips lift. Eager, searching. Hating yourself each second of it. It's gross. Disgusting.

You want his dirty, thick fingers inside of you—

“When I ask a question—” the tip circles over your clit. A shallow roll that pools heat between your thighs. “I expect an answer.”

“Y–yes,” you stammer out, hips flexing against his hand. Seeking more of that white-hot bloom of pleasure he brings with each pass of his finger.

“Good girl—” and you hate how it burns you up from the inside out. “Wasn't s’hard, was it?”

The retort is bitten back with the slow swipe of his finger drawing tight, small circles around your clit. His fingers are rough, scarred. Too dry. The abrasive drag over your soft sensitive flesh makes you whine—a drawn-out whimper nestled between clenched teeth.

It's too much.

Too harsh. Too sharp.

He rolls your clit under the pads of his fingers in jerking half-circles. Puts too much pressure on the bundle of nerves than you ever would—your touches are always soft, sickeningly sweet; gentling your flesh until you cum—and the sting, the burn, of it makes your toes curl. Body burn.

It's good.

And that's the problem.

It shouldn't be. His touch shouldn't make you so wet, growing slick and sticky between your spread thighs, bare to his hungry, prying gaze. Shouldn't make you moan. Hips twitching with each stroke of his fingers—

And then he peels away from you, but the time to mourn the loss of his touch, the fear of losing this trembling ember pleasure, is snuffed out when he presses his wet, slick fingers against the inside of your knee. The touch is intentional. Insistent. He makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat before pushing it down to the mattress. The twinge of pain swallowed up as quickly as it forms when he drops to his elbows between your thighs, forearms curling under your legs, and tugs you sharply into him.

Heat floods your belly when the backs of your thighs press tight to his broad, muscular shoulders, but it's nothing compared to the sight of him on his knees between your legs. It's so obscene you nearly weep—

And then he leans down and licks a long, broad swipe of his tongue over your cunt.

You hadn't expected it, maybe. His mouth on your pussy, his broken, jagged lips sealing over your pebbled clit. Going down on you seemed too intimate for what he was after. His end goal. It does nothing for him at all—

You realise your mistake when he dips his tongue into your hole and his hips jerk forward. Unconscious. Eager. Seeking. The shifting drags his jeans down his hips, and his cock slips free.

Most of the cocks you've seen—in porn, pictures, art—jut out from the person's groin. standing at attention, the nasty comments used to say. Jokes whispered on the playground. But his falls. Droops down between big, folded thighs. Skin marbled in shades of red, peach. Deep gouges dot his upper thighs, some sinking deep enough to reach bone. More scar tissue than flesh.

—than man.

It looks raw. Fresh. Some injuries not too dissimilar to the Wagyu hanging in the front of the storeroom, on display and oh, so out of place in a town where the richest man must be just a hair above the poverty line.

On paper, anyway.

You swallow, avoiding his gaze as he pauses, dark eyes watching you with his mouth pressed against your seam. Unmoving. Still as a predator between your thighs, cock visible between the bow of his torso, jutting sickeningly from mangled legs as you gawk at this hideous thing that makes several, half-hearted attempts to spring up towards you, spitting clear, milky liquid all over with each jerk. Tugged down by its own weight. Too heavy to fight against gravity like the rest of the cocks you've seen have done—

Normal cocks, you amend. Textbook.

His is anything but.

Ugly, you think again, stomach churning. Roiling. Obscene. An odd thing considering what you're looking at but all too fitting with the way it droops, big, flared head drooling pre-cum all over the bed in long, dangling stands that prickle over your jaws—half nauseous, half hungry, too. Saliva pools in your mouth even though the sight of his cock scares you. Fills your belly with dread. Misery.

It looks like a bruise. Skin smeared with purples, reds. Patches of pink. Long, thick veins run up from the fattened, full base to the divot of his frenulum. Thick. It hangs low. Drips.

He raises slightly and shoves his hand down between his thighs, big hand curling over the fat base of his cock. His grip is tight around himself, and he strokes up, from base to tip. It squeezes more precum from the flushed, fat head, and dribbles between your spread thighs in a thick, pearlescent puddle.

It makes your mouth dry. That twinge in your jaws coming back. Festering. You wonder if he'll make you take that thing in your mouth. Choke you on it. Taste his precum—

“Fuck,” he snarls into your cunt, hand jerking over his cock. “Keep lookin’ at my cock like tha’, birdie—”

You gasp at the rough grunt, the way it seems to tremble through your sensitive flesh. More, though, from the way he sounds. His voice brassy, rough. Unkind, but the words bloom a fresh heat behind your navel.

His voice does things to you. Things you're not allowed to like.

Those thoughts are knocked from your head when he bows down again, eyes still fixed on you, and seals his wicked mouth over your cunt. It's hard to compare it to anything else other than being devoured. Eaten in the truest sense of the word.

His tongue splits down your seam, tip digging into your slick hole. A groan bubbles up at your taste—the soft, fluttering clench of your body trying to drag him in deeper. Needing him deeper. A huff of air ghosts over you, dipped in the same derision as earlier but the harsh slap of skin on skin, his hand working furiously over his cock, makes you acutely aware of how much this affects him.

“Taste good, birdie,” he grunts, and then sucks your fold into his mouth, laving it with his tongue and teeth until the skin is tender, swollen. “S’fuckin’ good—”

Your breath catches when the crooked arch of his nose presses taut to your clit. Pleasure twisting in a dizzying pirouette inside your belly, winding tighter and tighter—

His nose jerks up on your clit. Lips moulded to your seam, you hear him rasp eyes on me, birdie. Don't fuckin’ look away—

The rough snarl trembles through your body, sinking its teeth into the coil until it snaps under its jaw. Your knees snap around his head as your release locks your joints tight. His name, Simon, a hoarse cry on your lips. You barely have time to bask in the ripples of pleasure throbbing through your body before he rips away from you with his teeth bared, and his chin wet.

“Fuck—!” he snarls again, shoving your knees apart as he lifts his massive body up from between your thighs. “Gonna fuck you, birdie. Gotta be inside your tight cunt—”

He towers over you, grinding his cock into the apex of your thighs. The drag of his cock—a little damp from being stuck inside his jeans all day; balmy—against the dry skin of your belly makes you shudder. Shivering beneath him as he huffs through the mask. Head bowing. Dipping to look at the way his cock slaps down on you. Cockhead nudging above your belly button, dribbling a small puddle of pre-cum that gets smeared into your skin when he rocks back on his haunches.

His hand wraps around the thick base of his cock once more, squeezing tight as he grips himself above you. It makes the head swell, engorged with blood. Thickening in his hand as globs of pre-spend leak out onto your belly. That feeling in your jaws comes back—nauseous and wanting.

He leans back with a hum. “Like my cock, eh, birdie?”

The crass words bring a fresh bloom of heat simmering in your veins, creeping up your collar. Like doesn't really cover what you feel when you stare at it—his inked hands running along the long, veined shaft—and the unsettled feeling in the pit of your belly rears when he nudges forward, the weeping head of his cock bumping your mound.

It's humiliating how much want floods through you just looking at it. At him. Disgust, dread, desire.

You don't answer. Not that you really need to—

Your silence is loud enough.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, the rasp thick in his throat. “M’gonna give it to you, pet—”

And he does just that. Slips the head of his cock down the slope of your mound, letting it graze your clit until you're panting, whining softly for more, and pulls it over your slit until his pre-cum is smeared over your drenched folds. You know exactly what this is even without glimpsing the ugly burn of his possessive desire smouldering in the back of his eyes—ownership. Greed. Hunger. It revels in the stain on your skin, from belly to slit; his, all his. Outside and soon—

In.

It shocks a creeping sense of worry into you. “Wait, what about a condom—”

He snorts, ugly and caustic. “What about ‘em?” He taunts, and it's flat. Playful.

“You should—”

He drags his gaze away from the pearlescent smear of his spend on your folds, your clit, and the even, placid look in that stagnant lake tells you everything you already knew.

“I've never—” you start, wincing at the kernel of fear lacing your hoarse words. “Not without a condom—”

It's the wrong thing to say. Near cataclysmic. He drops his head back with a groan that rumbles out of the slope of his throat, sounding like the rip of a chainsaw.

“Firsts for everything,” he purrs, and he nudges your entrance with the bare, weeping tip of his cock.

“But—”

His hand lifts, catching your jaw in the too-wide span of his palm. The force makes your teeth clack together.

“Need me to gag you, birdie?”

You swallow. It's not much of a choice. Gagged and fucked raw, or—

Just fucked raw.

No gag. No condom. You fight back a shiver and wish it was all just from fear.

“No,” you murmur, like you have a choice. “No gag.”

“An’?”

“Um. No–no condom, either—”

It's not enough. "What are you gonna let me do to this pussy, birdie?"

You know what he wants. What he's angling for. But there's a line, you think. A delineation between unwilling participant, coercion, and giving into the need that slinks down your spine, and rots inside your belly.

(Being forced to ask for it isn't permission, but what happens when you want it more than your next breath?)

The shame can come later, you think, and feel yourself give in.

"Cum—cum inside me—"

“Good girl, birdie.”

You hate what that does to you. How eagerly your body reacts to the dark possessive curl in his eyes when you do something he likes.

He nudges your entrance again, this time with purpose. Intent. A heavy pressure pushing on your rim. Too tight, you think, and the sting of the first inch he feeds—forces—into you burns, pulsing behind your navel. His tip isn't even in yet, and it's already too much.

You think about telling him so, offering up your mouth instead, but he leans down on his forearms, and catches your lips in a bruising, biting pantomime of a kiss. A blood-soaked parody with more teeth and tongue—sinking into your lips, nipping hard until the skin splits; catching all that spills with his tongue.

With his weight pressed against you like this, there's nowhere to run when he cups your throat in his hand, winding the other up above your head, forearm tight on your crown to cage you in. And then he shifts. Bears his hips down on yours until the fat head of his cock pops inside of you.

Your squeal is chewed up between his teeth, swallowed down with a rumbling groan.

Caught beneath him, trapped, he works himself into you demanding, heavy thrusts. Each inch burns more than the last. A stinging stretch that brings tears to your eyes. It's already too much and it's not even half. Barely even the tip.

“Can't—” you slur into his wet, demanding mouth. “No more. I–I can't—”

The breath rushes out between his teeth. Your watery eyes drop to the divot above his canine. A permanent snarl. A condescending sneer.

“You can,” he says decisively, words ground out from between crooked teeth. He presses them to your cheek, nipping at the skin under your eye. Possessive and wanting—

(Hungry for something you can't name—)

“And you will.”

—Or maybe you just don't want to. Can't look at the thunderous need draped over his mangled, battered face without thinking of the rumble in your chest that echos back against his thundering call—)

Stupid, foolish thing—

The dark promise of his words isn't a threat until his hand tightens around your neck, nails grazing your skin, and he adds, all of me, birdie as he grinds his hips into yours shallowly. Broad chest expanding with each ragged inhale. Cementing his taunt with a steel edge as you try not to come undone beneath him.

You'll take every fuckin’ inch—

He pulls back until only his glands stretch you open, and you know what's coming when his fingers grip the sides of your neck tight. Holding on. Anchoring you to the bed as he nudges his forearm tighter between your skull and the wall, a protective hold.

Before you can tense up, bracing for it, or even cry out no, please, don't, you can't take it, he huffs, and then slams his hips forward, splitting you open on the fat stretch of his thick, too heavy cock.

Maybe it's hysteria, delirium, but the blunt press of his length against your tender, sore walls balms the ache, the sting. The deeper he pushes, the less it hurts. A paradox that leaves you whimpering under his hand, heels digging into the broad stretch of his waist as you struggle to decide if you want to kick him away or pull him closer.

A war you don't have the power to win when he surges forward, burying himself to the hilt with a growl that shakes the fragile tendons surrounding your heart. Fear, misery. Pleasure, pain. It admixes. Coalescing into a dizzying sense of fullness, unbearable pressure. Catastrophic in its heaviness as your mind reels, struggles to come to terms with the gut-wrenching, heart-aching uncertainty of how you're supposed to go on without having him seated as deep inside of you as he can get. You've never known emptiness before him. Before now. Mere seconds ago.

And now, the thought of it leaves a palpable hollowness itching behind your ribs. Festering. Rotting tissue and bone.

“Simon,” you choke, sobbing his name out under the firm press of his hand. “Simon—”

But he knows.

His arm curls over your head like a crown, and you can easily forget the pinch of each thorn when he holds you tight. Protectively. Possessively. Securing you in his arms before he lifts up, palm sliding over the mattress, touch tender against your cheeks, and then settles it on the indent of your knee. Widening you for him as he spreads his thighs under yours until you're opened up for him.

Those dark eyes are dragged down to the split of your legs where his cock disappears into your slick, swollen cunt. You follow it down, gazing at the impressive width of his stomach bowing over you until they land on the jut of skin pushing out from a messy smatter of damp curls around the base of his cock.

The coarse hair of his groin unfurls as it sticks to your wet lips, and he rolls his head back over his shoulders he heaves through the too tight stretch of your walls over his length. You feel the pulse of him inside of you, thudding like a heartbeat. It blooms molten under the feverish weight of his lidded, dark gaze.

“Fuck, birdie,” he rasps, and it's scorched. Charred. “Look at you—”

As the world is condensed, narrowed down to nothing but the near impossible stretch of his cock seated as deep inside of you as he can get, he leans down, scarred, mangled lips brushing cruelly over your ear, and whispers, see? Told you'd take me.

Every fuckin’ inch.

Your hand jerks to your belly, fingers dancing over your navel as if to feel him there, bulging from under your skin. Nearly hysterical as you try to come to terms with the pulsing, white-hot ache of him inside of you, slowly acclimating to his girth, his length.

He grunts when he sees what you're doing, eyes flaring as your fingers skirt around your navel.

“It's—” you shudder, gasping for air. “It's too much, Simon, I can't take it—”

He rolls his hips with a groan. “m’cock too big for you, birdie?”

His usual cadence is flat, droll, but an unmistakable sense of masculine pride, a deep, egotistic sense of satisfaction, drapes itself over his brassy words. Glueing to the scorching rasp of his voice in a way that makes you unerringly certain that he likes it. Likes that his cock is too big for you. That it hurts.

“Y’can take it,” he prompts, forcing more of himself into you until something snaps. Splits. Makes room. Carves out a space for him to fit.

The brief flash of pain is soothed when he's seated deep. That same paradoxical balm making itself known as he flattens his hips into yours with a noise—half a grunt, or a growl; a lazy, pleasure-soaked snarl. You're not sure what it is, but the sound knocks the air from your lungs, igniting inside of you like a spark inside a tinderbox.

It's only when his balls are flush against you that the same masculine pride brims up again. Primal. Animalistic. The urge to present your soft belly rears up suddenly, and it's only stifled when he grunts again, looking down at you with lidded, black eyes.

“Now, be good and let me fuck your tight cunt.”

He's not looking for assent. Nothing you could say at this moment will sway his mind one way or the other. There's a nasty spool of determination welling up like blood on a pricked finger. Beading up to the surface in a clean, neat droplet as he rolls his broad shoulders, and shuffles into a comfortable position on his haunches between your spread thighs. The motion jostles his cock in a way that makes your breath hitch with each jerk.

It's not painful. Not particularly. But you're overwhelmed by the sensation of utter fullness in a way you've never experienced before. Each grind of his cock against your overly stretched walls deeping that incipient feeling of anxiety brewing in your belly that one wrong move and you'll tear. He's just—

Too big.

And despite his claims—or rather, in spite of them—you don't think you can do it. Don't think you can take him. It's too much. It feels like being turned inside out and then put back into place. An uneasy sense of discomfiture blooms with each too-tight, too-sharp tug of his cock pulling taut on your rim.

Almost deliriously, you think you can feel the pulse of his cock inside your goddamn throat.

“Simon—” you start on a tremulous breath but he cuts you off with a hum.

“Relax.”

You can't. Can't—

“Fuckin’ hell, bird,” he rasps, leaning down suddenly until his face was pushed tight into the curve of your neck, breath shallow on your thudding pulse. “Stop squirmin’ ‘round me like tha’ or I'll cum right fuckin’ now.”

Your heart stutters. Gallops painfully in your chest. His words make you dizzy because for as much as this feeling of him, his cock, inside of you dances on a delicate precipice of being more than you can feasibly handle and somehow the most incredible thing you'd ever experienced before, you hadn't considered how he'd feel.

Inexplicably, it pleases you.

There's something so strange—so extraordinary—about bringing a man like him, like this, to his knees. Pleasuring him by just heaving through the white-hot stretch of his cock inside of you. Making him bury his head in your neck, groaning about how he was gonna fuckin’ bust, pretty thing, fuck—

It was a powerful feeling.

Unwarranted, maybe. But incredible, nevertheless.

“Fuck,” he grunts, and you feel his throat work around a thick swallow. “Gonna fuck you, birdie. Gonna fuck this pretty cunt so fuckin' hard until you beg me stop—”

And he does just that. Rears back from your neck, and settles again between your thighs—quicker this time. With an urgency that makes you whimper when his cock grinds against your walls hard enough to bruise.

When he finally pulls out until only the flared head of his cock remains, you knot a fist into the thin pillow, clinging on, and latch the other onto his hip as if that could somehow stop the vicious promise in his eyes about poundin’ you into the goddamn mattress. There's a flash, a brief flicker of his eyes, and then he thrusts back inside of you with a grunt that makes your belly clench, and your back arch.

True to the promises he gave, it's brutal. Violent.

Any pleasure you feel is leached through osmosis. A tether bound around his own.

His arm is shoved under your back, angling your pelvis up. Thighs dangling over the thick spread of his own, ass seated in his lap. He drives into you, thrusts deep—grinds his hips until your moans break into hoarse screams, whimpers. Makes your eyes roll so far back, all you see is black even when you blink your eyes up at him.

He carves a spot deep inside of you with each delirious piston of his cock, pounding into you with brutal thrusts, and then holding tight when his balls slap against your ass. Digging the head of his cock into the seal of your womb until it aches behind your navel. Each breath feels like glass in your lungs—

“Tha’s it,” he slurs in your ear, mouth damp against your skin. “Take my cock so good, pretty birdie. Little pussy was made for it, weren't you? Tight cunt all mine—”

His gruff words tug on that tether until you're wrapped around him like a bow. Following him down this endless spiral as he slams inside of you over and over again, cooing in your ear about the sounds you made for him, pretty cunt so fuckin’ wet f’me, birdie, hear tha’? all f’me—

“Cum f'me, birdie. Want this pussy cummin’ ‘round my cock—”

“Can't—” you gasp, arching into him, desperate and needy. It rides a line between pain and pleasure; a needlepoint you wobble on. “Need—”

You try to reach down, to touch your clit, but grinds his hips into yours with a snarl. “Cum ‘around my cock, birdie.”

“Touch me—”

“Fuckin’ hell—”

It edges on too much. Pain and pleasure teetering on a knife's edge, split apart by a line the width of a razer. Looping and tangling around each other until you can't differentiate between the two. But it makes sense, you suppose, staring up at him arched above you like a black cloud of smoke. All hunger and fire. Consuming, devouring, everything in its path. A wildfire.

Butcher, you think again when his hand wraps around your throat. A mimicry of what he did in the truck, forcing your eyes on him. Your life tucked neatly against his palm.

These hands take lives. It's what they're made for. All scarred, and thick. Scar tissue and bone. Muscle and cartilage. Meant to render meat of cattle. Slaughterhouse in the shape of a man. Consumption personified.

But where there should be fear, all you feel is an echoing sense of hunger. Leatherbound to each other, maybe—

The look that passes over his eyes as he stares down at you, cupped in his palm, seems to fit perfectly into the fractured gaps inside yourself you try so hard to ignore. And what doesn't—

Well.

He'll make room to fit.

You reach up, curling your fingers around his thick wrist. His eyes flash, but he doesn't slow his thrusts. Doesn't stop. Just watches as you peel his hand away from your neck, bringing it up to your mouth.

On his palm, there's a piece of skin that's unblemished compared to the rest of his worn, burnt hands. A strip just big enough for you to sink your teeth into.

And you do.

“Fuck, Birdie—!” The snarl is ripped from his throat. His thrusts grow harder, sloppier. Each bit of strength in his muscled hips and thighs is used to pound into you until your vision blacks out. It hurts. Aches. Your heels slip down, catching on the broad expanse of his lower back. And you tighten them around his waist, pulling him closer. Deeper. “Fuck, Birdie, fuckin’ cunt was made f'me, wasn’t it? So cum on my cock. Now—”

Whining, you shake your head. “Can't. I can't. I need—”

You don't get to finish. With a huff of anger, he rips his hand off of the mattress, leaning back on his haunches, and shoves his hand between your thighs, scarred fingers stroking over your pebbled clit. It's rough. Sloppy. His anger hums through his body, skewering into you as he glared down, gaze swinging like a pendulum between the split of your thighs where his cock disappears into your swollen cunt, his fingers rubbing over your clit, and back up the hand around your neck, the tears staining your cheeks.

There's an edge to his thrusts. A viciousness in the way he pistons his hips into you. Dark eyes catching every flicker—each wince, gasp, moan, whine all meticulously catalogued and exploited. He finds the spots that make your hips jerk, twitching both toward and away from him. Angling into the ones that have your eyes rolling back into your head, drool dribbling past your slack lips as you gasp his name out into the dank, humid air.

It smells of sweat, sex, and him. Something brutal, bloody, and dark. Rotten leaves. Charred forests after a rain shower. Dangerous. Tinged with a slight acrid, chemical stench—benzene, oxidizing iron. It drips down your throat, and drenches your lungs. Staining you from the inside out.

And he exploits that, too. Leans in, and breathes heavily against your upper lip, your cheek. Drowns you in his scent. His sweat beads along his jaw, droplets raining down over your brow. Soaked in his essence. Unable to see, smell, or touch anything that isn't him.

With his hand over your mouth, teeth sunk into his palm, all you can taste is him, too. Leather. Gun oil. Blood.

The ravenous look in his eye sharpens, turning into deadly points.

“Such a pretty fuckin' bird.” He rasps, the words shattered, mangled in the back of his throat. They carry the scent of blood when you breathe them in, and you wonder if he forced them through glass. Pushed them out with his bloody fists.

You bite down harder in response, keening through the white-hot pain of his cock spearing deeper than before, stretching you past your limits. The taste of blood on your tongue, the rasping snarl pulled from his chest, his fingers toying with your clit, push you over the edge once more. Again and again, and again, and—

His hand peels away from your oversensitive clit, dropping down to the mattress beside your face. He follows quickly after several impossibly deep thrusts that shove you higher up on the mattress, pressing in until his balls sit flush against your ass, cockhead battering against your cervix, and he groans—deep and liquid—when he comes, spilling inside of you. Rooted deep, cock twitching, Simon drops to his elbow beside your head, smothering you under his weight as the tension in his body bleeds out.

Your teeth stick to the divots in his hand, and the sensation of ungluing them from the wounds you gave him makes you shiver. Slowly, you roll your tongue out, chasing the drops of blood, and breathe heavily through your nose as he burrows deeper inside of you, chest shuddering over yours.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasps, hips jerking into yours with a slap that echoes through the room. “Little tease, ain't you?”

Even with his cock softening inside of you, it's still thick. Fat. Stretching you open as he yawns out above you, bloodied hand dropping down to cup your neck again, forearm resting heavily between your breasts. He raises slightly on his elbow, black eyes glinting in the shallow dark of the room. Piercing as they drill into your sweat-slicked face.

It aches when he moves. When he presses his hips harder into yours, the muscles in your legs throb as his broad waist splits them apart. Your feet dangle, sliding uselessly down his back, over his ass, before coming to rest curled around his thighs. Melting into the mattress, tender and sore and all chewed up—

You feel like a massive contusion instead of a person. A pestle. His.

The thought makes you shiver, and his eyes flash in triumph like he knows.

The feeling of him pulling out of you draws a whimper from your lips. The drag on your sensitive, bruised walls is a strange mix of tender pleasure and pain. He chuckles at your mewl—dark and low; the sound of nightmares, you think. Crackling sap on charred wood.

You try to pretend it doesn't make you shudder, but the way he hums in response dashes the feigned oblivion before it can form. All you can do is heave on the bed, and watch him through narrowed slits as he leans back on his haunches once again, head cocking to the side. His dark eyes fixed on the split of your legs. The ache in your cunt growing sharp under his molten stare.

“Fuck,” he rasps, the shallow groan pulled out from between clenched teeth. You wonder if the mangled curse was unintentional. Ripped from his throat before he could clamp his jaws around it—a crack in the facade. A hairline splinter in the indomitable mask he wears.

Your heart lurches. None of this makes sense, but your head is too muddled, too syrupy, to think much at all. A quandary for later when he throws you from his bed with a harsh slap on your ass and a and don't think about doing this ever again.

But you don't think you can move. “Give me a minute,” you start on a trembling breath. “And I'll—”

His brows move but his eyes stay fixed on your sore cunt. You can feel him leak out of you, spilling on the mattress in thick globs. The sensation makes you shiver.

“You'll what?”

It looks like he has to forcibly tear his eyes away from you, reluctance forming a cold, angry crater between his brows. The brunt of his ire—white, burning—makes you want to supplicate yourself at his feet, roll over on your belly and show the beast you mean no harm.

(Run, and run far—)

He huffs. “You'll what, birdie?”

It takes a minute to find your voice through all the panic clogging your throat. “I'll leave, um—”

He peels away from you with a loud, rough snort, and drops to his his elbow beside you. Hands curling possessively over your waist, fingers tight. Unyielding.

“Not goin’ anywhere, birdie. Told you, didn't I? You're mine.”

“I'm—”

“Go to sleep.”

He pulls you roughly to his chest until your head is pillowed on his shoulder, and then rolls on his back, keeping you cushioned at his side. You try to move, but his arm wedges under your neck, curling over your shoulder. Trapping you to him.

The panic wants to come now. To rage against the shackle of his embrace, to run home and scrub your skin until it bleeds. But the exhaustion collapses over it all until your eyes feel too heavy to hold open. Too painful.

As you drift, aimless and dreamless, his voice cuts through the fog. “Gotta learn ‘ow to cum with nothin’ but my cock inside of you sooner or later, birdie. Or you won't be coming at all—”

It sounds like a threat. A promise. You fall asleep with the words echoing in your head, his arm an anchor around your waist.

He wakes up hungry.

A gnawing in his belly pulls him from the thin doze he fell into after fucking you three more times—with your face pressed into the mattress, ass in the air for him to rut against like a beast; teetering over his hips, the spread of them too wide for your thighs to split over leaving you precariously unbalanced and shifting your weight above him as neither knee sat comfortably on the mattress; and on your belly with him crushing you to the floor under his bulk. The memory of which makes his spent cock stir, twisting limply against his damp, sticky thigh. Matted down with drying cum, sweat, the slick wetness of being buried inside your messy cunt.

Filled now with his cum.

He groans low in his throat as he thinks about it. The sloppy way you let him take you over and over again until you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore, passing out before he finished. Letting him fuck his cum inside of you as you whimpered in your sleep—

Perfect little thing, aren't you? So good to him.

Simon can't remember the last time he fucked someone, much less when it was this enjoyable (an understatement, of course; in the back of his head, wheels spin round and round as he tries to come up with a plan to keep his cock buried inside of you at all times while still doing his work—), and the overflow of unquenched lust churns in his belly. A hunger he can now slake on your willing body. In the silence, he purrs—

But the effort, the exertion, dredged up a different need inside him.

Simple hunger. An appetite.

He could eat—

his eyes slant toward the top of your crown in the dark, and he amends it, quickly, to: in more ways than one.

He'll go home in a minute. Make himself a steak from the prime cut he butchered a few days ago, leftovers that no one had any qualms about when he took several pieces home with him.

(and really, why would they argue with the butcher who keeps their wallets fat and their bills paid?)

It was left on the counter earlier before he got the call that your brother was making another move. Now a perfect room temperature as it waits for him to come back. Cook it the way he likes—

Rare.

The perfect grill is a nice char on the outside, but bleeding red on the inside. Basted in duck fat and garlic. A sprig of rosemary in the pan, but not touching the meat. Just enough to give the juice that earthy, sweet flavour. Let it rest for ten minutes under foil with the rest of the fat poured over it from the pan. Served as is with maybe a dash of salt and pepper on the side.

Simple. But incredibly difficult to perfect, he finds.

Everyone tries to make it fancier than what it needs to be, but at the end of the day, meat is meat. And going from picking scraps from the garbage outside of the Italian butcher on the corner to ordering his own pretentious filet mignon still gives him a sense of unease. Whiplash, perhaps. Nothing to something—how about that, Tommy?

Maybe that's why he prefers to raise and butcher his own cattle. A never-ending supply of meat for him to sink his teeth into even if this whole thing goes belly up and he's back to begging for morsels on the corner. Tommy hiding in the shadows with a baseball bat waiting to ambush the richer men who happen to feel altruistic that day.

This practice bled over into his current occupation, too. The basement of that same Italian butcher shop he used to sneak expired sausage from out of the bins is now his home base of sorts. A money laundering front of the 141. Headquarters for them to congregate in secrecy upstairs. And here—

A torture chamber for those who tried to cross them. Strung up on meat hooks like the cattle they eat, the ones he feeds them, until he makes up his mind on what he wants to do to them.

It's where you should have been, he supposes, thumb brushing a spot of dried blood on your shoulder, right below a nasty bite mark on your forearm. The ring nearly black from the clotted blood pooling in the indents. It matches several others on your thighs—top, insides, back—and neck, belly, collarbones, sternum. All chewed up. Marked by the butcher.

In working for the old Italian man who ran the shop when he was eighteen, he learned that most of the butchers preferred to mark their carcasses when they came in. A little x on the fat to signify they'd be the ones carving up the prime meat.

He didn't think you could handle his knife, so he gave you his teeth instead. But the implication is clear.

His.

It's overkill considering his reputation, and the claim he already had on you. Because even before this, back when he saw you through the window of his shop as he was moonlit as a legitimate butcher and businessman instead of the enforcer, the brute, everyone already knew he was, his interest was clear. You were off-limits. His to deal with.

And while Price refers not to get involved in small-time street dealers, the warnings Soap and Gaz impressed onto your brother should have been the end of an irritating situation and not the beginning of a fuckin’ headache. But no. He had to push. And push.

Until Price gave the order to take care of it.

And that he did.

(With the added benefit of killing one bird and keeping the other in a pretty cage.)

Price probably won't like his solution, but Simon racked up enough favours to keep a little pet of his own. Been a good boy for a long, long time now, and he supposes he's owed a bone.

Or a sweet thing tucked tight to his side having passed out some two hours ago after he slaked his dizzying thirst on you over and over again even though it doesn't feel like it's been enough.

It's rare that he has an appetite for people. Even rarer that he lets this meagre hunger consume him like this. But there's something about you that makes his teeth ache in the same way they often do whenever he's hungry for meat.

He wants to devour you. Consume you. Eat you alive and save nothing for anyone else to taste.

(So—

Price will just have to let him keep you, won't he?)

The mattress vibrates under him. His phone buzzing with an incoming text. He reaches over, pulling it close enough to read the notification on his screen. It's from Soap.

All her stuff is on your porch.

He hums, but doesn't reply. Simply opts to drop his phone on his belly, and tug you closer to his broad chest. He'll wake you in an hour, and the stirring in his groin tells him it'll be for another round. Maybe he'll take you in the freezer. Make you cling to the hook hanging down from the ceiling as he fucks you like that. He has a pair of ties for ox, lamb legs, that he can loop around your wrists and heft you up on.

It'll hurt, he's sure. The binds weren't designed with comfort in mind, but he can easily bear your weight as he pounds into you from below, your pretty legs wrapped tight around his waist.

The image, the thought, alone has him thickening against his thigh. He reaches down, gripping the base tight in his hand as he pulls you even closer, burying his nose in your crown.

At the very least, he wouldn't be lying when he told Price he strung you up.

Three rounds—on your back, your hands and knees, perched above him like a pretty goddess he stole away from a temple—and he still isn't satisfied. Fuck. He breathes in your scent and doesn't think he ever will be.

He'll get you out of here, take you home. Make you the steak he likes for a late dinner, rare and simple—the same one he gave your brother weeks ago when he dragged him into the shop, strung him up on a hook, and demanded payment for his disrespect.

Who'd have thought that his payment would be you?

(fitting, though, since he'd had his eye on you for a while now—)

He nudges you when his phone chimes again with another message doubtless from Soap telling him all your things have been tucked away. Matters dealt with.

“C’mon,” he grunts, running his hand down your spine. “We’re leavin’.”

You blink at him slowly. “Leaving?”

He nods. “Get dressed.”

You're quiet as he turns, reaching for his jeans left in a heap beside the mattress, but he hears the hitch in your throat. The click when you swallow. Unbothered by it, he turns, giving you his back as he wedges his feet inside the trousers, pulling them up his legs.

The bed shifts behind him. “I—I can walk back to my brother's—”

The hope in your voice is a delicate thing. Fragile like fine china. A pretty, vulnerable tchotchke meant to be seen, admired, but not touched. Not handled roughly.

Unfortunately for you, he's never had much of a gentle touch.

When he throws a glance over his shoulder, he's not surprised to find your arm folded over your bare breasts as you kneel on the mattress, your palm resting flat between your parted thighs, wrist and forearm covering the slip of heaven between them from his greedy, prying gaze.

It paints a startling picture, he finds. One with you looking thoroughly ravaged. Taken. But presenting it in a soft sort of sensuality meant to make a man feel both hot under the collar and like an unrepentant voyeur.

Pretty bird, he thinks, and feels his cock stir.

He rises swiftly, hiking up his jeans around his thighs as he goes, and then turns to you with a heady desire to crush that gossamer of hope between his greedy hand like a silken cobweb that will stick to his fingers.

“Not goin’ to your brothers,” he says, pushing his tongue against his cheek to stem the ache burning in his muscles.

You shiver, eyes growing wide, frenzied with fear as you stare up at him. The shift of your throat when you swallow makes pre-cum dribble out of his fattened cock. He's never really had much of a taste for it, but he's overcome with the urge to see you cry—

“Where are we going?”

Amid the ache in his loins, the flickering fantasies of your pretty, lachrymal face gazing up at him helpless, hopeless, and needy, he catches the edge of panic when you speak. The razor-sharp tremble of fear.

But buried amongst it, hidden in the bruised look you give him as he towers over you with his cock bulging in his slacks and his eyes burning with want, he finds a keen sense of eagerness amongst the rubble. Agog, almost.

And fuck. If that doesn't do something awful to him.

“What?” He taunts, cocking his head to the side as your breath grows shallow and your eyes wide. “Did you think that was enough to pay your debt, birdie?”

“What? You can't—”

“Don't like it—” he lifts his shoulder up in a cool, indifferent shrug, enjoying the dismayed expression that falls over your brow more than he should. “—go to the police.”

“The ones on your payroll?” You spit, eyes flaring wide like an angry cat. “You—”

Several things might have continued in place of your choked, angry sob, but it's swallowed down as pragmatically as it was the first time he cornered you earlier today. And as beautiful as your ire is, he finds the cornered look on your face to be much more pleasing. Prettier.

“C’mon, bird,” he mocks, holding his hand out toward you with a tick of his lips. “All your stuff is at home. Don't be stupid.”

“Stupid?” You gasp in indignation, but there's a bruised look in your eyes. A wounded thing that makes his breath hitch in his lungs for reasons he can't really ascertain, but just knows that he likes it. Likes it a lot. “This is—insane.”

Again, he shrugs, but the indifference this time isn't the same manufactured callousness meant to inspire fear. The conversation is stale already. Grating on him. He's not used to having his orders ignored or questioned. What he says usually goes—either through association or reputation, or just the fact that no one has ever come close to filling the same measure of space as he does—and questioning him like this makes him feel too much like a boy, and not enough like the living ghost he pretends to be.

“You can't do this. It's not right.”

An appeal to his humanity. Cute. He huffs, reaching down to fasten the button of his jeans. The sound the zipper makes cuts through the room. “You're mine, birdie. Better get used to it.”

Catching your eye as he says it was only meant to reignite the kindling fear you have of him from extinguishing. A scared prey animal was a better pet than an angry one. But the look on your face catches him off-guard.

It reminds him of a flightless little bird shivering in a child's shoebox. Tiny broken thing his mum warned him not to touch or its mother would abandon it to die on its own.

“Until the debt is paid off.”

A statement, not a question. He shrugs, but doesn't respond. Tilts his head toward the door. “Let's go.”

His lack of reassurance doesn't soften the flint in your gaze, but the prospect of recompense seems to spurn you on. Another wishbone of hope to cling to. And despite himself, he lets you keep it. Lets your little finger wrap around the delicate bone for comfort because as much as you might think there's a fifty-fifty chance of getting the bigger piece, he has no intentions of letting something like that get in the way of his appetite even if you do.

(And his hunger has always been particularly voracious, hasn't it?)

“Come, birdie. Gotta get you home, and fed, don't I?”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #series: dogmeat #for only being 19k this really took a lot out of me #simon riley x you #ghost x you

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noisytenant · 2 years ago

Text

its really funny that i like started smoking weed like a year ago in a recreation-legal state and now i swear i’ve heard more people my age say that they’ve quit weed than started. After it was made legal

#indexed post #I do really get it though and I’m glad they’re prioritizing their health and comfort #I think drug decrim (the ideal but legalization is what it is) ideally is abt granting autonomy to stop as much as start #I imagine when access isn’t unstable and restricted you have fewer conflicts of interest around acquisition and use #I’m still figuring out what place it has in my life bc i will like go months w/o anything then try again #And i think in general i don’t feel that different… At the amt i use i don’t get especially fucked up or anything #but i think sometimes it gets me through a rough patch esp pain wise and also can be a fun evening thing

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runa-falls · 11 months ago

Text

after dark

summary: he wants you. and he knows you need him.

pairing: geneticist!miguel o'hara x intern!reader

rating: explicit [18+] - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

cw: dark!miguel, dub/non-con elements, somnophilia, dacryphilia, drugging, afab!reader, stalking, obsession, smut, slight size kink, piv sex, creampie, breeding kink, gaslighting (?), a bit of dumbification, miguel's nano-suit in action!

wc: ~1.7k

a/n: this is my submission for @romana-after-dark's dead dove december event!

masterlist

---

Despite the obnoxious number of pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals on your bed, your body is completely uncovered. A sweet scene reserved for his eyes only.

You're curled up with your shirt shoved up to your chest, displaying your barely there panties that cling to your curves. Your body shivers unconsciously as a shadowed form cascades over your sprawled figure. He steps closer, his broad body blocking the moonlight that streams in through the window.

So unsuspecting. So…pure.

You nuzzle your face into your pillow with a sleepy sigh, body soft and relaxed, completely unaware of his presence. His claws dig into his palm as he holds himself back from touching you.

You've always been a tease, showing up to work with those naive eyes and sweet smiles. More than once, your fingers have brushed against his as you shyly handed him a cup of coffee, mumbling an adorable, "For you, Dr. O'Hara", before scurrying away.

Red eyes glow as you move to lay on your back, legs falling apart to show him how the fabric of your underwear presses perfectly against the softness of your cunt. Your arms lazily stretch above your body, resting against the mess of your hair on the pillow. He seethes at the sight of your tits, barely shielded by your t-shirt.

You want this.

He's sure of it.

You're practically begging for it with how sweet you smell.

A hand lightly brushes against your abdomen, moving methodically so the sudden touch doesn't accidentally wake you. A finger hooks the underside of your shirt and tugs it over the curve of your tits, revealing your pebbling buds to the cool air. Sensitive.

He swallows down a groan as he captures a tit in his hand and softly squeezes the soft mound. You arch your back against his thumb as it barely flicks over your nipple and a soft whimper slips from your pouty lips against your pillow.

His other hand palms over his covered cock as it throbs desperately at the sight. Damn, you're a heavy sleeper.

Miguel lets his touch drift lower, teasing at the waistband of your underwear. He traces that cute little bow in the front, a symbol of innocence above a needy cunt. You’re so cute, acting all pure when all you really need is a big cock to fill you up.

Two fingers press gently against your covered folds, prodding where you need him the most. You’re already wet for him, drenching the light fabric with your slick. He lightly tugs the underwear out of the way, needing to feel your sloppy cunt suck around his thick fingers.

Pulsing fangs dig into his bottom lip as he reveals your pussy, glistening so ethereally under the moonlight. He spreads your slick over your folds, mesmerized by the mess as you drip nectar onto the mattress below. God, you’re soaked. Even unconscious, you’re a desperate slut who’d take anything to be filled and bred.

He attempts to push a finger inside of you, tenderly nudging at your entrance until he can ease the tip of his index finger inside your hot core. About halfway in, your body stiffens and your legs instinctively spread apart.

You’re trying to let him in. You’re inviting him.

With more space, it’s easier to push in, to bury his finger until you’re wrapped around him. You feel so good, so wet and hot, perfectly tight around his finger. He can’t wait to feel the vice of your cunt around his cock.

Slowly, he pulls out, staring at the glistening tops of his knuckles, your mark on him. You let out a pretty sigh, so light and pleasurable and real that he’s afraid you woke up, but still you don’t open your eyes.

Miguel pushes back in, just as slow, but this time at an angle. The tip of his finger drags against the top wall of your cunt and your pussy flutters around him. This time you let out a rough moan, involuntary, but so delicious. You’re so responsive to him.

His mouth waters as the heady scent of your lust calls him to coax more pretty sounds and messy slick from your body. He nearly turns you over to shove his cock into you, needing to feel your cunt swallow him until you’re staining your pillowcase with drool and tears.

He needs more. But he also needs you to cooperate.

He leans over the side of the bed and hovers over your figure. His fangs throb under his top lip as he gets closer to you. He brushes your hair to the side, exposing your neck, eyeing the spot where your throat meets your shoulder.

He presses a gentle kiss against your shoulder before laving his tongue against his target area, your sweet taste egging him on. Your body shivers with sensitivity as his hot mouth works over your skin, but you stay asleep. Your lack of awareness gives him the confidence to take the bite.

An involuntary moan rumbles up from his chest as his fangs sink into your soft skin. Miguel has to hold onto your arms before he gets carried away from the feeling. Your head involuntarily tilts to the side to give him more access to your neck as your body throbs, and you groan as a wave of pain, pleasure, and shock fills your senses.

Your eyes flutter open when the bed dips next to you announcing his presence, but all you can see is scarlet eyes staring down with curiosity. Your mind is foggy as you try to sit up, but your body stays flat on the mattress, feeling heavy and helpless.

"Hmn…?"

Miguel coos lightly against your shoulder, “Shh…don’t worry, cariño. I’ll take care of you.”

You recognize that drawl, but you've never heard him so low and rough, “O’H-Hara?” You try to cover yourself with your blanket, slowly moving against whatever is holding you back, but he holds onto your wrist to stop your movements. “Wha–” You choke on your words as a sudden bout of heat spreads throughout your body.

The tingling hot sensation is overwhelming as it settles onto the surface of your skin. It makes your head fuzzy and susceptible.

"Let me help you..." Miguel settles over you and grinds his hips against yours, pinning you against your bed. He's hard against you, thick cock perfectly outlined by the thin fabric of his suit that's barely acting as a barrier between you. Your ruined underwear is still shoved to the side as he ruts himself against your cunt.

"Doctor..." Your body is immediately on fire, reacting mindlessly to his touch. You mewl wordlessly, arching your back and pressing harder against him. You don't know what's happening to your body. All you know is that you need more. "Please." It's a broken plea that leaves your tired lips.

There's an unbearable heat between your legs, but his body prevents you from pressing your legs together and reducing the intense feeling. He squeezes your wrists as you squirm under him, huffing in lustful frustration.

He whispers something above your ear that your scrabbled mind can't decipher, "Suit, Code Zero, Confirm."

But it doesn't really matter what he said when his bare body is finally pressing against you. He doesn't even have to line himself up before his aching cock is rubbing against your dripping folds, tip bumping so softly, yet earth-shatteringly, against your clit. “You don’t have to beg anymore, baby, I’ve got you…”

You cry out when he notches his cock against your entrance. He presses in slowly, letting you feel how completely he stretches you out. Miguel bites back a smile when he feels your legs shake against his hips. "This is what you wanted, isn't it, mi vida?" His voice is nearly a growl with how it drips with darkness.

You nod, eyes blearily searching his, wondering when he'll finally bottom out. Miguel watches your eyebrows scrunch together as you struggle with the intense pressure of him pushing in.

Adorable.

He groans when his hips finally meet yours, filling you to the brim. He doesn't waste time before beginning to move against you, fucking his cock into you over and over until you're eyes are rolling to the back of your head.

He doesn't stay gentle for long, easily losing himself to the feeling of your perfect little pussy wrapped around him. You can hear the distinct sound of his hips smacking against your thighs complimented by his rhythmic sopping jabs as he fucks you baselessly into your mattress.

It's all so much that you don’t even notice the tears that run down the sides of your heated cheeks onto the pillow under your head.

But he does.

"Feels that good, hm?" He teases, "Such a weepy baby. Can't even take a good fucking without cryin'." A raspy groan vibrates against you when your cunt accidentally flutters around him, unable to hold back against the pleasure he's forcing into your body. "Tell me you need me, cariño."

"I--" You try to hold yourself back from the edge, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of playing your body so perfectly, but then he rolls against you so fluidly, hitting that explosive spot inside of you.

"Go on, baby." Miguel encourages, "Say. It." He punctuates each word with a stabbing thrust right where you need him.

"Mngg..." Your cunt tightens impossibly hard around him as white fills your vision. A grated moan is squeezed out of your throat as you reach nirvana, every ounce of energy pushed out in one final bout.

You don't mean to cum, you don't even want to, but you have no control over your body.

You go boneless as he continues to fuck you, harsh strokes against your weak body. "Mm, I’m gonna fill you up so good, cariño." Your body stiffens, quickly pulled out of your temporary state of euphoria from his words, "...Gonna fuck a baby into this pussy so you'll never leave me."

You try to shove yourself out of his hold, but his hold is too strong.

"W-wait, Dr. O--"

"It's Miguel." He growls out.

"Don't -- not inside --" Miguel ignores your pleas, letting go of one wrist to place his hand over your mouth. You can't do anything against his large body as he frantically ruts into you, taking everything he wants and more.

"You want this," He huffs. "You need me, baby. Need to be filled up and taken care of." He gives a few more hard, sloppy thrusts before shoving himself deep inside and painting your cunt with his cum.

#deaddovedecember2023 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #cw: somno #cw: somnophilia #cw: dub con #em's 123 celebration

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mzzledmutt · 4 months ago

Text

—PREPARE FOR TROUBLE

starring.ᐟ keigo takami x rumi usagiyama x tōya todoroki x reader

synopsis.ᐟ “prepare for trouble and make it double!” An innocent night of fun with your ill intentioned bestfriend ends in bumping and grinding with a heroic duo.

warnings.ᐟ SMUT, fem!reader, alcohol use, drug use (weed + coke), clubbing, one night stand, foursome (ffmm), public sex, unprotected vaginal + anal sex, cunnilingus, blowjobs, overstimulation, fingering, creampies, pegging, spit, spanking, slapping, hair pulling, biting, squirting, exhibitionism + voyeurism, feather play, temperature play, pet names (princess, doll, dove, honey, mommy + daddy) used

word count.ᐟ 10.6k words

m.mutt 𐂯 this is a refresh/rewrite of an older fic i have since deleted on tumblr! this fic is/has been cross posted on my ao3! i hope you enjoy!!

SWEATY bodies bump and grind against each other as loud music plays in the humid club. Girls sit in seats at the bar, flirting with sleazy men hoping to get a free drink and cash. Douchebags hit on everything they see with thighs and breasts as if they were chicken.

It made you feel gross.

Clubbing was definitely not your favorite activity in the world. The only reason you still sat in this place was due to a text you had gotten from your friend, an offer to save you from boredom under his own rules, of course.

On a night like this, you’d rather be sprawled across your bed. Masturbating to whatever degenerate porn you could find that caught your interest for longer than a minute.

You sat at your little table, tucked away at the back of the club, sipping on the half-empty drink in front of you. Your friend had run off to grab more drinks and hadn’t returned in a while. You were so tempted to flirt your way into another drink, stronger than whatever fruity concoction you had ordered the first time.

Come on now, it’s not like you didn't wear this dress for nothing. The way it hugged your skin and complimented your curves was sure to lure in anyone willing to spend their money on you.

It seems you’d have to resort to that soon considering a dark-haired demon, left on your own.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear though. After what felt like an hour, the familiar mop of black hair crosses your peripheral and slides into the seat across from you. “You left me, asshole.” You complain and he snickers, setting a drink in front of you.

“Sorry, princess.” A soft smile tugs on his scared lips, accented by his snake bites. “Got a little distracted.” He digs in his pocket, tongue poking from between his lips in concentration. You grab your plastic cup and sip the liquid from the little black straw.

“Oh, fuck.” You hiss at the taste, this was much stronger than your previous drink. “This is what I needed. Thank you, Dabi.” You smile sweetly at the man across from you as he sends a wink your way. “Anytime…there it is.” His hand is quickly pulled from his pocket. A rectangular tin, a lighter, and a small clear baggie are tossed onto the table.

“You wanna get fucked up, princess?” A sly smirk splays across his face in the dim club lighting.

Hesitantly, you crack open the tin seeing about seven blunts laid side by side, in the clear baggie was loose white powder. “It’s’ll I could grab, my plug is going out of town.” You continue to stare down at the items on the table as you sip. “You obviously don’t have to, but I’m definitely gonna do a line or two.” You weighed out your options, looking back up at him.

He looked pretty in the low lighting, the soft blue tones of the flashing lights illuminating the lower half of his face. Perfectly concealing him in mysterious shadows. Dabi was always pretty though, scarred flesh molded into an alluring figure.

You stop your meticulous studying of his face before focusing back on the substances before you.

You grab a blunt from the tin and pull it to your lips. “You mind?” Cerulean eyes light up and his smirk grows. “Anytime, doll.” The flame sparks on his index finger and he holds it out to you. You lean forward, lighting the end of the blunt and taking a few puffs while it is held tight between your lips. The smoke flows freely as you sit back and blow it out.

“‘S a new strain, tell me how ya’ like it.” Dabi lights his own, holding it between his teeth for just a moment. He takes his drags like a pro, watching as you relax into your seat after each puff. “I thought you were stayin’ relatively clean?” You bump the baggie on the table.

Dabi huffs a laugh, averting all eye contact he once held. “There’s no point anymore.” He says it as if it were the easiest thing in the world. You would’ve pressed but, it’s hard enough being the friend of a villain.

Making him regress into his shell wouldn't help.

“See anyone you like?” He’s changing the conversation. “Nope. Everyone’s boring.” You take another drag, blowing the smoke down onto the table. “I see what you mean, princess.” Dabi leans back in his chair, eyes scanning over the room. “Not even a bimbo to fuck for the night, this blows.” - “You wanted to come here!” You mention as he sounded so bored.

“For once this place is empty, full o’ normies.” He rolls his eyes. “Why do you typically come here?” You finally ask, leaning forward to hear him better.

“I used to meet my dealer here before he switched locations. Maybe find a piece o’ ass or two but tonight it’s dry.” Dabi downs the rest of his drink, setting the cup on the table.

“Didn’t a new club open like a few blocks away?” You lean down to sip your drink again. “Think so, but that’s one of those high-end places. Only pros and horny fans are gonna populate that joint.” He remarks, grabbing his cup and scowling at its emptiness.

“Fuck, I’m gettin’ a new drink.” He huffs, pushing off the table. “You want another, doll?” He quirks a brow as he towers over you. “Nah, I’m alright thank you.” Dabi shrugs and walks off.

You sat at the table, taking drags from your blunt and sipping your drink. At least the music in this place wasn’t bad. The DJ playing an upbeat RnB song. You sit by yourself for some time, gently swaying in your chair. The liquor and weed were hitting now.

Eyes slightly blurry as you dazed off into the distance, music flowing through your ears. You were on cloud nine, with no clue of how much time was passing. You snapped from your daze when your phone buzzed violently on the table.

Unlocking it, you open your messages and see Dabi texted you.

hey

heyyyy

read

doll

doing a line off this blonde assss

read

shits magical

read

you left for a drink??

sent

took a detour

read

You hadn’t even noticed he took the tin and the baggie. At least you still had your blun—your eyes trail over and notice it had burnt out a while ago.

“Damn it!”

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you rest your chin on your hand. He was going to be awhile. What was the point of ever dragging you to this club if he was going to go fuck some bitch and leave you lonely? You had no interest in flirting with any of the randoms who danced or sat by themselves.

You knew you had a few admirers here, they gawked and mumbled as you walked past but, with Dabi’s intimidating demeanor and your lack of interest, you knew they’d never show up.

You watch as a couple across from you make out. Hands in their hair, tongues down their throats, and their hips rocking against each other. You made a face of disgust, a festering jealousy broiling within you.

You debated leaving the club, catching a ride, and going home. It wasn’t often you got to hang out with Dabi but, if he were actually here and not spending his time elsewhere you wouldn’t be in this predicament.

There was no way home that wasn’t sketchy or incredibly inconvenient. So, you should grin and bear it. Fuck Dabi, his short attention span, and his high sex drive.

“What’s a sweet thing like you doing here all alone?” A hand grabs the back of your chair, grazing your skin. You flinch, turning quickly to see an older man with golden and silver teeth. He was nursing a cup in his unoccupied hand. “‘M not alone.” You pick your drink back up, needing to keep it close to your body.

“Oh, I know. I saw that jackass walk off with some pretty boy not too long ago.” The man circles your table, sitting in Dabi’s previous seat.

“So, he ain’t your boyfriend. He’s too busy chasing after the same tail.” The man laughs, loud and hearty. It made you uncomfortable so, you laughed awkwardly. Hoping Dabi would save you. “You smell good, baby. Like earthy and shit.” - “Weed.” You curtly mumble, pulling your cup back to your lips. “You’re smelling weed.” You take a long drink, hoping he would just get the hint and walk off.

“How about you dance for me, hmm?” You furrow your brows, looking at him as if he had three heads. “I’ve been here all night and haven’t seen ya’ dance. C’mon, sweetness.” He leaned forward, resting more on the table. You go to send him off before he pulls out a wad of cash.

Your reaction was very visible. Eyebrows pulled high, jaw slightly falling slack, and eyes wide. The man laughs at your reaction. “I can make it worth your while.” He offers, with a grungy smirk.

“Whatever you want.” You take the offer and stand.

Before you could move on to dancing, you finished off your drink knowing you’d need to be more intoxicated to do this. Your body sways with the music and your hands trace your figure. Mind hazy from the drugs and alcohol, eyes watching the other figures move in the dim lighting, only truly appearing when neon lights flickered over them.

The DJ changed the song to a more sensual new age song, appealing to the young adults and older clubgoers trying to stay relevant. Your hands run up your thighs, lifting the skirt to your black velvet dress, showing just a few centimeters below your panties. The man watches from the table, bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

You flash him a smile and scoop your breast from your dress, holding the soft mounds in your hands. You pull a nipple into your mouth, sucking on the bud before adjusting your appearance so no one else would see. If you were gonna put on a show for money, you were gonna do it right.

Your tipsy, fluid dancing was disrupted when a body pressed against yours. A smirk curls up on your lips as you begin to grind your ass into the figure behind you. With a quick swivel of your hips, you determine your partner is either a woman or a grower.

The hairs on your neck stand to a point as hot breath brushes against your smooth skin, making slight arousal begin to form in the deepest pits of your stomach.

The mysterious figure grabs your waist, pulling you taut against them. As your back collides with their chest you realize your intruder is a woman. “Hi, princess.” The woman’s husky voice sends tingles through your body and straight to your hot cunt. “Hey.” You replied, continuing to grind into the woman’s lower half.

“You look absolutely delectable, honey.” Her tongue seemed to whip at the top of your ear, leaving saliva to cool and send goosebumps down your arms. “You haven’t even seen my face,” You quip, reaching you and behind you to hold her neck.

“What if I’m a horrid creature.” A soft fan of breath hits your neck again as she laughs. “I’ve been watching you from afar for a while, princess.”

You noticed she was hiding you as you danced against her, your bodies concealed from the man watching you. Her hands softly rub at your hips, trailing to your ass whenever you’d lean over to throw it back. Pussy flooding with slick as you feel her hardly noticeable thrusts against you as you grind your ass against her.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” She asked words like the melody of a jealous love song. “He’s at home,”

You whispered, making the woman pull back a little. “He’s pink, silicone, and needs to be plugged in after I cum.” You laughed at her reaction. “Fuck,” She laughs. “You scared me, sweetness. Thought I was gonna have to beat a prick up tonight.” Your heart fluttered for a moment.

“You beat a man up for me? Already?” You were flattered, truly flattered a stranger would be so forward. “Honey, I know I’d do anything for you.”

Her words were thick and sweet, almost silencing your rampant mind from the question on the top of your tongue. Who is the stranger who decided to dance with you?

Reluctantly, you pull yourself away from the woman leaving your body tingling and begging for her warmth. You turn to face to view your mysterious female partner and your heart pounds faster.

Your eyes widen at the sigh of the tall woman. Hair as white as snow draped down her back matching the fluffy ears atop her head, a contrast to her deep, brown skin. The lilac two-piece she worse accentuated her vermillion eyes.

“Hi, honey bunch.” She bats her gorgeous lashes at you, clearly taking note of how you guffawed at her.

She looked so strong. Her torso was covered by a low-cut, spaghetti-strap top. Her thighs, lord her thighs, muscles bulged from the confines of her maxi skirt, the same color as her shirt. Her breasts nearly spilled from the top, muscles flexing from their cotton prison.

She was going to ruin you. “You okay? Am I losing you, honey?” Her hand comes up to cup your jaw, gently stroking one spot by your lips.

Her red-painted lips spoke words of honey and like a bee, you latched onto every word.

“‘M fine, you’re really pretty.” You compliment, your fingers coming up to play with the ends of her blazer. “Why thank you, love.” Her gaze was so intimidating, deep vermilion eyes boring into yours with lust. Your lust-filled grinding had stopped due to your admiration of the woman before, making you feel out of place from the other club-goers around you.

“I want you.” You murmur before pulling back from her. A tan, manicured hand reaches out quickly to grab your own, keeping you at arm’s length.

The woman watches in confusion as you shake your hand free and throw her a smirk.

You move into the light, trailing hands up and down your body as you sway. The song playing was sensual and slow.

Your eyes trace over the woman’s form as you dance by yourself, knowingly teasing and seducing her. Pearly white teeth sink into her red-painted bottom lip as she watches you lift your dress to flash your panties in the large crowd. Two fingers dip into your mouth, collecting saliva and trailing down your body. Your hips buck slightly as your fingers come into contact with your wet panties and your sensitive clit.

You gently caress your clit and softly moan.

Red eyes darkened with lust as she grabbed you again, pulling you by your hips and holding you close. “Oho, seems I’ve got myself a little slut, hmm?” She chided, staring down at you. “You’re fucking filthy, huh?”She seemed to moan, blown pupils concealing her blood-red gaze. “Did you like the show?” You ask, giving her your most innocent look and licking your lips.

“I loved the show, honey. I wanna see more. I wanna see your cunt drip with arousal and cum after I eat you out.” The woman’s mouth like velvet as she brushed her lips against yours. Shaky breath leaves you as her hand's cradle and squeeze your ass. “I never caught your name, princess.” Your arms come to rest upon her shoulders. “I never threw it,” You giggle, making her give a stern look.

“I’m ___, I like ‘Honey’ a lot though.” Your teeth gently sink into your bottom lip. “Name’s Rumi.” Rumi, a pretty name for an even prettier girl. It replayed in your mind, an echoing melody. Rumi, Ru-mi, Roo-Me, Ruh-oo-me.

Rumi.

She’s pulling you away before you can argue, leading your pliable form to a booth across the dance floor. You glide through crowds and slip past people, hands interlocked as you walk.

It’s disorienting when Rumi pushes you onto the pleather seats, sliding in beside you. It’s pathetic how your cunt throbs when her hands rest on your hips. “You’re so pretty, honey.” Rumi's grip is possessive as if you were her prize for the evening.

“Look at you,” Her hands are roaming, creeping up your torso until they’re cupping your breast. A staticky feeling fluttered through your body at Rumi’s touch. Eventually, her hands move up to your cheeks, smushing your lips together. “Beautiful.” She leans in and softly kisses you.

Rumi’s hands eventually find their way to squeeze and grope at other parts of your body. Your lips are interlocked, tongues briefly intermingling. Rumi breaks the kiss, leaving you to pant hopelessly.

“You want me?” You nod, stupefied. With a quirk of her brow, you compose yourself enough to scramble a plea. “Isn’t that what I said on the floor?” Rumi smirks, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before leaning in to kiss you once more. Your lips meet, hers soft and sweet, a subtle burn behind her kiss from her previous alcohol consumption.

Rumi’s hands cradle your head and grasp at your hip. The kiss is deepened as her tongue glides against your own. As if your bodies were magnets you found yourselves gravitated towards each other. You shuffled onto her lap, your thighs strewn across hers as she held you closer.

Rumi’s hands escape to your waist as yours escape to hold the back of her head. Almost swapping positions. She grabs and gropes, pinching the skin and grinning as you cry out. Your mind is foggy, you’re present but, your body’s on fire.

You feel good, better than good. Your core throbs and aches, hips bucking as you beg for attention. Rumi obliges your silent pleas, she gently strokes your thigh. Skilled fingers just barely brushed against the thin fabric of your panties.

Your lips move in sync, her dominating yours as you submissively accept. Rumi teases your sensitive skin, dragging her nails drown your thighs, roaming towards your ass only to move away.

You pull back for air, panting heavily as Rumi kisses your neck. Hazy eyes darted around the club, hoping no one was watching you and your newest lover and it seemed as if you both were invisible to the intoxicated crowd. They were dancing, drinking, laughing, anything but, looking at your booth.

You pull Rumi back by her hair and smash your lips against hers. She admired your bold move but, shut you down soon after. Her teasing finally comes to an end as her fingers rub against your clothed clit. Your cunt leaks with arousal, the sticky fluid clinging to the panties adding the pool on the thin fabric.

Rumi pulls your panties to the side and slides her finger through your soaked cunt, collecting the juices you produced. She pulls back from the kiss and shoves her two fingers into your mouth, replacing the warm feeling of her soft tongue. Your eyes, wide and naive, stare into hers.

“Go on,” She gives you an encouraging nod. “Taste yourself.” This wasn’t your first rodeo by any means yet you felt so intimidated by her. Her presence alone was enough to make you feel small, almost insignificant.

Slowly, your tongue dances around her fingers. Between each digit and over each knuckle, you clean her finger of your arousal and allow her to slip them away from your mouth.

Rumi's saliva-slick hand trails back to your throbbing core and her finger traces your clit, applying pressure, making you moan.

Her eyes bore into yours, asking for permission before she continued with her insatiable and filthy acts. “Yes.” Your voice was soft but Rumi heard you loud and clear. Her fingers began their descent into your hot, wet cunt. The way they curled and scissored against your walls forced moans and gasps from you.

You were thankful for the upbeat, loud song the DJ had chosen to play.

Rumi's fingers were like magic, bringing you quickly to your impending orgasm. Your hips rock with her motions hoping for more friction and control. Rumi notices your tactic and pins you in place, giving you a stern look when you pout. “You take what I give.” She mumbled, staring down at her fingers sliding into your slick pussy.

Her eyes watched as your pussy throbbed with every movement and arousal leaked into her hand.

A loud moan makes Rumi look up at you. You sat slouched on the booth, teeth sunken into your hand and eyes squeezed shut. “You close baby?” You nod rapidly as the knot in your stomach nearly bursts. “You can cum baby, go ahead. Cum for me, honey.” Rumi kisses your neck and ear.

A strangled moan gets caught in your throat as the tension finally snaps as your orgasm washes over you. Cum drips down onto the seat and into her hand making her praise and console you. “You did so well for me honey.” She praises, rubbing her free hand up and down your trembling thighs.

“So good for me.” Your heart pounded and your head seemed hazy, not only from the activities you had engaged in earlier. You pant and whimper as you calm down for the erotic scene. Rumi smiles down at you, watching as you come down from your high.

“C’mon baby, come back to me. Floatin’ off too far.” She kisses your forehead, cheeks, and nose. Anything to jump-start your mind. Soon your eyes refocus, settling on the hulking form before you. God damn, isn’t she gorgeous? “There’s my pretty girl.” She coos, smiling. “I’d take you somewhere to continue this but, I didn’t show up alone.” Rumi waves, looking over you, raising her hand, and then focusing back on you.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t relax though.” Your walls throbbed and you realized she never removed her fingers. “Oh, sorry love. Wanted you to be more attentive before I overstimulated ya’.” The white-haired woman suddenly leans over you protectively, flashing a smile at whoever is approaching.

“Thank you.” Her voice was thick. A waitress places two trays of drinks on the table. The smaller woman bows and skips off leaving you two alone.

“You’re starin’, pretty.” Rumi grabs one of the drinks and downs it. You hadn’t even realized your eyes never left her. Honestly, besides the overall brain fog, you were still trying to decipher who she was.

You wince, as everything around you seems to become louder. It’s like a kick in the chest. This sudden clarity shocks your senses, sobering you from all previous events. You almost feel winded and dizzy.

“Breathe for me, honey.” You do as told, shutting you as she holds you. Her fingers shift within you, pulling a heavy whine from your chest. Rumi coos softly, rubbing her thumb over your aching clit to soothe you.

Slowly, her fingers are pulled from your aching cunt, leaving you empty. It’s crude, the way she grins at your watchful gaze. Rumi pulls the digits into her mouth, groaning at the taste of you. You watch with bated breath as she cleans herself before pressing a kiss to your lips.

“I’m gonna need to taste you again before the night ends.” Her voice is sultry and silky. You nod dumbly.

You're moved back to your spot beside her, a hand resting on your thigh for comfort. She’s forcing you to drink water as she talks, it’s a little hard to hear her over the music but, you were just happy to be looking at her. Suddenly, she catches something in her peripheral.

“You bastard!” She shouts to a figure approaching the table.

“Walkin’ with a fuckin’ limp? Already? I thought you could hang Mr. Takami.” A bashful blonde strolls up to the table. “Shut up.” The man whines as another figure approaches behind him. Rumi laughs as you notice the man behind the blonde.

Fucking Dabi.

Both of your eyes widen seeing each other. “Did you bring your toy to meet me?” Dabi stared at you in shock, impressed but, shocked nonetheless. “No, I need to take a seat.” Rumi laughs a sound that focuses you. “Well then, this is ___. Honey, this is my best friend, Keigo.”

Holy fuck. As if this night couldn’t get any goddamn better. Of course, he had to choose the one blonde who was best friends with your hookup.

“Heyo.” Keigo slides into the seat across from you. “This is Dabi. Dabi, Rumi.” He gestures towards the woman. Keigo’s a pretty blonde, average height with a nice build but, you couldn’t see much dark, collared shirt. Behind him, pressed between his back and the booth were a set of vibrant red wings.

A pair you had seen on television and Dabi’s phone many times.

“So how’d you two meet?” He asks as he pulls Dabi to sit beside him. “Saw her on the dance floor,” Rumi's arm comes to wrap around your shoulder, keeping you close. “She’s so fluid when she moves.” A smug look falls on Keigo’s face.

“What about you?” Rumi asks, stopping Keigo before he speaks further. “Oh, I saw hi—“ He is interrupted by Dabi. “Saw him in the bathroom, he let me do a line off his ass.” His nonchalance made the statement feel so natural as if the words he said weren’t totally absurd.

“You were in there for much longer than just ‘doing a line.’” Rumi presses. “You’re a smart girl, you saw the limp.” Dabi chuckles, grabbing a drink from the tray before him.

“How come my business gets aired out and Rumi gets to stay quiet?” Keigo pipes in.

“Oh relax, birdie. Maybe later.” Rumi takes her shot. “I’m kinda curious too.” You kick Dabi’s shin, making him laugh. “It’s fine, I’ll pry it out of the bird later.” You all laugh, grabbing shots and chatting.

You're sticking looking between Rumi and Keigo. Back and forth as if you were almost programmed to do as, analyzing them. The markings by Keigo’s eyes, Rumi’s ears, and muscles. “You alright there, dove?” Keigo asks, noticing your movements. Dove.

It finally clicked and you felt like an idiot.

You had been dancing with a pro. Mirko to be exact. You were kissing and grinding and letting Mirko touch you. The Bunny hero was seen as any lesbian's wet dream. Her muscled stature, boisterous personality, and glowing face made her easy to love.

Dabi on the other hand had been with Hawks. Japan’s heartthrob and favorite hero. His charming words, striking quirk, and gorgeous looks left everyone in awe.

The Mirko and Hawks. The Bunny and Bird duo most of Japan would drop their panties for.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You grab another drink from the table, quickly downing it to suppress the sudden onslaught of thoughts. “Where the hell have you been, doll?” Dabi spoke from his spot across from you. “I could ask you the same.” He gives you a look, one that says “I asked you first.”

“Need I remind you? You left me.” You stated matter of factly. “I was propositioned by an old man for a grand.” Rumi chimes in, “I can attest to that, I saved her.” Dabi just rolls his eyes, used to your typical dramatics. “Did you take it?”

“Not the point.”

“Look, at least I gave you a heads up.” He argues in defense. “Not really.” A look of annoyance crossed his scarred face. “Yeah, yeah. I told you I’d be busy.”

“Not with fucking Hawks.” You muttered to not alert anyone who may have been eavesdropping. “Oh well, told you it was a blonde.” Dabi shrugs as if that removed all the blame from him. “Besides you didn’t tell me it was Mirko.”

At his words, you shrink on yourself. The truth finally spills from your lips. “I didn’t realize it was her…” The man blinks at you in silence before erupting with laughter. “How do you not realize you’re getting fingered by Mirko?” Keigo and Rumi do their best to suppress their own giggles.

“Will you shut up?” You whisper-yell in embarrassment. “Aw come on, don’t give her a hard time,” Keigo speaks after calming himself. “The only reason we come to this shithole is to go unnoticed.” Which made sense, everyone seemed so focused on their own worlds.

“So,” Rumi hums from beside you. “How do you two know each other?” You sigh dramatically. “He is, unfortunately, my best friend.” Dabi rolled his eyes, leaning back and folding his arms to rest behind his head.

“You adore me.” He replied smoothly. “Loathe, you. There’s a difference.” You correct him. “Sure, like you would know.” The dark-haired man scoffs, looking over at the crowd.

“Seems like there’s something more than friends here.” Keigo admits. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Didn’t say that but, there’s something.” You lock eyes with the hero, studying his features in the dim lighting.

Although your way of life and line of work prevent you from being too involved with heroic affairs, you’ve seen Keigo before. His glowing skin, perfect hair, shiny wings, and stylish clothes. He’s gorgeous, in person and on screen.

He looks different before you, obviously out of hero attire and a professional setting. His normal get up replaced by a black collared shirt and matching jeans. Although a visor no longer obstructed the view of his golden eyes, his saucer-like pupils did.

“What did you do to him?” You asked, remembering Rumi’s remark about his walking. “Why do you wanna know? Fear you’re missin’ out?” He laughs, throwing an arm around the blonde.

“Hell no. Shut up!” You pout, leaning further into Rumi. “Don’t get so defensive. You know I gladly will.” You can feel a slight jealousy brewing inside of you, almost making your eyes twitch. “Take you in the back and bend you over. Want me to take a line off your ass too?” The rattle of his deep voice went straight to your cunt.

“Or do you wanna go back to mine?” You shift in your seat, cunt throbbing and panties soaking once more.

“That’s enough.” You grumble, face flushed. Dabi knew the perfect way to get under your skin, especially if he wanted something. “I mean, I really wanna get out of here.” Keigo leans his head on your friend's shoulder.

Dabi grins as Rumi also agrees. “We have a place nearby, it’s easier that way.” She says, not even giving you a moment to speak. All parties seemed to agree but you. You watch as Dabi kisses Keigo’s foreheads before whispering something inaudible in his ear.

Your cheeks are pinched and your fave is turned towards Rumi. “We should head out,” Rumi’s voice filled your head as she gets closer. “I wanna get you outta this dress.” She nibbles at your ear. “Does that sound good to you? Goin’ to a hotel or somethin’ and lettin’ me wreck this pretty pussy?” You have to stay quiet so you don’t moan. “Y-yes, please.” Your voice, weak and trembling.

Rumi and Keigo glance at each other and give a nod. “Let’s go.” Rumi helps you up from the booth, holding onto your arm as you wobble for a moment. She brushes herself off, quickly linking arms with Keigo.

“Look at me.” A rough voice commands, fingers finding your chin. You're forced to look into Dabi’s intimidating gaze. “You okay?” Before you can speak he’s brushing lint off of your dress and fixing your hair. “I’m okay, Dabi.” His thumb cautiously wipes stray eyeliner from beneath your water line.

“We can dip at any time. You wanna stop? We’ll go. Understand?” You nod quickly, not trusting your voice at the moment. “Good girl,” He pressed his lips to your forehead, making your eyes flutter shut. “Don’t need you puttin’ yourself in a bad situation f’me or because you’re starstruck, m’kay?” You nod again.

“I need words, pipsqueak.” A shiver wracked through your body. “Okay..”-“Good, thank you, princess.” You and Dabi’s relationship is more than complicated. You're not together by any means but, you keep the bed warm for each other. He’s never shown particular interest in you, besides your time spent together and jokes to mess with you.

Dabi has taken it upon himself to always be your caretaker. He's always there, even if you don’t see him. Especially in a situation like this, he’d never let you sleep with someone without his presence. For some reason, you abide by his rule.

“I drove us here, keeps things more inconspicuous,” Rumi says, tossing some cash on the table. “I’ll go pull the car around, there’s a lounge in the back.” She straightened her dress and threw her long hair into a bun. “Kei,” The blonde peers around Dabi. “Get them back there and I'll let you know when I’m here.” - “I gotcha. C’mon guys.”

Rumi kisses your cheek before she leaves, giving you a wink before she disappears into the crowd. Dabi throws an arm over your shoulder as Keigo grabs his hand, leading you all to a dim hallway lined with pictures and tacky decor.

A security guard and a black metal door were the only things here and as you approached man opened it. Four large men, dressed in security uniforms, turned to watch you enter. “Evenin’.” Keigo’s voice was chipper, he even wore a smile.

“Just waiting for our ride. Do you mind?” The men look at you, eyes flickering up and down. “Right this way Mr. Takami.” One of the men rises from his seat, unclamping a velvet rope and pulling the curtains back.

“Room number four is cleared, sir.” You follow behind them, entering the dim room. “Well, aren’t you helpful? I’ll be sure to leave a good tip.” You looked to Dabi. “Y’alright?” He murmurs, continuing to keep you close.

“I’m okay, I swear.” You nudge your head into his shoulder. “You’ve been all over the place, princess. Mind keeps wanderin’ away.” Keigo takes a seat, pulling his phone from his pocket.

Dabi lets you go, following Keigo's lead. He sits with enough room between him and Keigo for you to squeeze in. “C’mon, get comfortable.” Dabi pats the space. Both of their thighs were spread, leaving you practically no room to sit without sitting in them.

“Rumi shouldn’t be too long but,” Keigo tucks his phone away. “She parked on the other side of the street.” He shrugs, adjusting his position. “Might as well take a seat.” His gaze was predatory, the way his hips shifted, exposing his dickprint.

You roll your eyes and take the seat, ending up spread on their laps. They don’t mess around, hands quickly coming to touch and rub at your figure. Their faces in your neck, kissing at the skin and tickling you with their breaths.

“You’re so pretty, dove.” Keigo mutters, his hand squeezing at your thigh. “I like this color on you.” Dabi nips at your lobe. “Thank you.” You’re already breathless, almost overwhelmed by the attention you’re receiving.

“Did you say ‘thank you’ to Keigo?” He asks, voice husky. “Thank you, Keigo.” You pant out, locking eyes with him. “Good girl.” Dabi coos, his hand coming to cradle the nape of your neck. “Isn’t he pretty?”

You're positive your pupils match Keigo’s. Dilated and hazy but, full of lust. His hands creep around your waist as he pulls you close. “Mhm,” You hum, entranced with the man before you. “You should kiss him, pretty.” He felt like your conscious or the little devil sitting on your shoulder.

“For me, yeah?” Egging you on for mutual satisfaction. Keigo kisses you, unable to take the tension much longer. Lips mashing, hands roaming, and soft groans rumbling from your chests. Dabi watches with a wide grin, one hand on your neck and the other on Keigo’s clothed dick.

He would occasionally squeeze both of you, relishing in your moans.

Keigo’s hands move to your breasts, squeezing the flesh in his palms before slipping his hands beneath the fabric. He breaks from the kiss to ogle your tits, pressing his face between them, kissing them, and sucking on the skin. “Keigo, shit.” You bite your finger to suppress your sounds.

Keigo worships your tits. Lapping at and sucking on your nipples, tweaking them between his fingertips. He left hickeys in his wake, covering your chest in lovebites to remember him by. The warmth of his tongue in your sensitive nipples flooded your cunt.

Dabi’s hands left their positions, soon one was trailing up and down your thigh. The other was unbuckling his jeans and delving beneath the fabric of his boxers to stroke his aching erection.

You grab Dabi’s hand, placing it exactly where you needed him. His large hand covered your entire clothes cunt, his fingers press along the fabric. “One time not enough?” He asks in a hushed tone. “Please, I don’t ask for much.”

“Yeah right.” Dabi scoffs but, obliges your plea. Your panties are shifted to the side exposing your soaked pussy to the cold air. You whine loudly as his finger presses against your clit, the skin-to-skin feeling almost foreign.

The men had focused their attention on you. Keigo worshiped your breasts as he stroked himself. Dabi made quick work of stimulating your clit, drawing tight circles in the bundle of nerves. Your juices were coating his fingers, causing them to slip occasionally.

“You’re soaked.” Dabi coos, allowing his fingers to glide through your slick folds. “Ya’ like me spreadin’ you open?” You mewl at his words, squirming in your spot. He snickers, watch as you watch him attentively, awaiting his next touch.

Two thick digits circle your aching cunt before delving into the source of slick. Your back arched at the intrusion, hands flying down to grab his. Dabi’s fingers slowly pump into you, rendering any fight against him useless.

You’re soon weak, laid across him and Keigo, on display for anyone who may pass through. Your cunt squeezes around him, gushing from the slightest ministrations. You're already sensitive, having an orgasm ripped out of you once before.

Now Dabi’s assault on your poor cunny felt like overkill. His thumb was pressed to your clit, tight circles traced on your skin, his fingers deep in your core, Keigo’s hot mouth on your tits.

It’s becoming too much.

“Kei, c’mere.” Dabi broke the static of your moans, guiding their faces together before locking into a deep kiss. You're pliant and needy beneath them, helpless watching from below as they make out. It's slow, passionate, something that makes your heart skip a beat. They seemed comfortable as if they’d been in this scenario before. Knowing, Dabi, they have.

Keigo writhed in his spot, softly thrusting into his hand for any kind of friction.

Dabi refuses to skip a beat, his fingers increase with pace. You cry out from beneath them, soaking the fabric below you.

Dabi breaks the kiss, pulling Keigo up and into his lap. “S’fuckin’ pretty.” He mutters, grabbing the blonde’s jaw. Heavy eyes, filled with lust, meet your own. You stood dumbly in the room, fingers twisting strands of hair. “For someone so hellbent on gettin’ fucked tonight, you’re bein’ quiet distance.” His brow quirks up, asking you to give him some excuse.

“Does it feel good, princess?”

“Speak up.”

“It feels so good, please don’t stop!” Your pretty eyes are full of tears, pleading with him to keep going. Keigo, ever the pleaser, locks you into a deep kiss. You hum in contentment, eyes fluttering shut. Keigo is quick and needy, a predator devouring his prey.

His kiss was hungry. All spit, tongue, and teeth. Hands wandering, tugging, and squeezing at whatever they can find.

Keigo pulls away almost as quickly as he sprung towards you. He’s a panting mess of blonde hair and disheveled clothing. “I need to taste that pretty pussy.” He heaves between bated breaths. “Ya’ gonna let me, dove?” He doesn’t give you a moment to speak, latching onto your neck once more leaving pretty purple marks against your skin.

“Car’s out back let’s—“ Dabi is the only one coherent enough to notice Rumi in the doorway, sending her a two-fingered wave. She watched as you writhed in Keigo’s grasp, soft moans spilling from your spit-soaked lips.

“I hate to break the party up but, if we don’t leave right now I’m gonna slut you all out in front of everyone.”

None of you waited around for another order. Scrambling to dress yourselves and exit the dingy building. It didn’t take long to get to their hotel, a ten-minute drive max.

Rumi sat in the driver's seat, struggling to keep her eyes on the road. The rest of you piled into the back of the vehicle, a perfect distraction for your driver. Grinding, kissing, moaning, spanking each other. Her eyes would flicker between the streets in front of her and the backseat.

Rumi desperately wished she could just watch, pull over to the side of the road, and throw all caution to the wind. She wanted to watch as you and Hawk’s sloppily made out in the backseat, tongue tangling and grinding against each other's thighs but, the rearview mirror would have to suffice.

Once arriving at the hotel, she helped untangle the mess of limbs and escorted you all to their room. She scolded Keigo as he nearly sunk to his knees in the elevator, reminding him of the cameras watching their every move.

You had to behave until getting into their room and once you did, you were aghast. Your eyes widened as you looked around, no longer focused on your partners behind you. “This place costs more than my rent.” You awed, looking around. Rumi and Keigo snicker, licking up and getting comfortable.

There’s a sudden gust of wind, lifting the skirt of your dress and you’re surrounded for a moment by a plume of crimson. You turn, and watch as Keigo stretches his wings. They almost double in size, effectively dwarfing you beneath him. He wore a proud smile on his face, wings back to their full appearance.

“Sorry, dove. Feels weird not having them around.” You yelp as something brushes against your nipples before a red feather slips from between your breasts and onto the wings of the hero before you. “Pervert.” You tease, making him chuckle.

“Come with me.” Keigo takes your hand pulling you behind him. He leads you from the entryway to the closed door of the bedroom. Two feathers pushed the doors open revealing a stunning bedroom. Your jaw falls in shock once more.

The room was huge, decked in neutral-toned colors, floor-to-ceiling windows, mood lighting, and a large bed in the center. “Seems like you two were plannin’ on bringin’ someone home.�� Dabi's voice made you jump, he stood in the doorway beside Keigo.

“It wasn’t exactly Rumi’s plan.” He admits, leaning against the taller man. Dabi pulls the hero close, pressing a kiss to his hairline. You were too enraptured with the room to hear their conversation only for Keigo to speed past you.

He collapses onto the bed, sprawling out onto the sheets of the massive bed.

You jump feeling a quick smack to your ass. “Get on up there, princess.” Dabi coos, following behind Keigo. You watch as he kisses the blond, straddling his waist, and pinning his hands beside his head. “You heard him, right?” Rumi’s voice scared you. “Relax, honey.”

“And take that pretty dress off, I wanna get a few things.” Rumi was already taking off her heels, allowing them to clatter to the floor.

You followed her orders perfectly, stripping yourself of your dress only to be stopped by a warm hand. “Let me help you.” Dabi stared at you with such intensity and lust, a look you’ve seen from him many times but, this was different. A kind of gentleness resting behind his gaze.

“Da—“ He hushes you. Carefully, his hands slip beneath the strap of your dress, knocking them off your shoulders. “Calm down, doll.” His hands were hot as they pulled your dress down your legs, lips attached to your skin, leaving lavender memories for you to find later.

You're gently pushed onto the bed and he follows suit, back to kissing your sensitive skin.

Keigo moves to the other side of you, kissing your thighs in worship. You felt as if you were on a cloud, having two men adore your body felt amazing. The men met at your hipbones, staring at each other over you before leaning in for another heated kiss.

Their tongues tangled with each other, strings of spit slipping from their mouths and down onto your heated skin. You writhed and whimpered, watching the two men delve into such intimacy. Keigo's hand was quick to find your clothed cunt, dragging his fingers up and down your soaked folds. Your hips canted up, breaking their kiss. “Calm down, princess.” Dabi’s voice made you shiver, heart pounding harder in your chest.

His scarred lips are pressed against your panty-clad clit, eliciting a beautiful moan from your kiss-swollen lips. He sloppy kissed your clit, laving over it with his tongue, moaning each time you writhed beneath him and the blonde.

A throat clearing makes your eyes snap open.

Rumi stands at the end of the bed, lilac strap-on standing proudly before her. “I see you all are getting along well.” She gets a chorus of moans in return. Your panties were soaked in drool from the men, all of it mixing with your arousal and making it drip and coat your cunt and ass. “Such a sight for sore eyes,” Rumi crawls onto the bed, slowly. Dabi and Keigo slowly pull back from your cunt as she made her way towards you. “Such obedient boys, hmm?” She grabbed their jaw.

Keigo melted immediately, a doe-eyed look on his face while Dabi was the complete opposite. A look of annoyance and embarrassment washes over him before he pulls from her grip.

“Thank you for gettin’ her nice n’ wet f’me.” Her red gaze was now on you and you nearly cried. She was all muscle and curves.

Heavy tits sitting perfectly on her chest, thick thighs on full display, wet pussy hidden by her harness and strap. She noticed your gaze, spitting on her hand and slicking up the toy. “You wan’ this? Hmm?” She hums, teasing you without even touching you. “You want Mommy’s big cock inside you, baby?” You whimpered loudly, nodding quickly. She laughs at you, loud and mean. “Yeah? Okay, I’ll give it to you, honey.”

She leaned down, hovering over you. “‘M gonna ruin you, baby.” She teases your slick folds with the tip, dragging it down from your clit to your sopping hole and back up again. She repeated this motion several times, watching as your resolve slowly broke until you were clinging to her and whining for her to just, “Put it in already!”

She answered your prayers soon enough, her thick cock splitting you open on her pretty strap. A moan is ripped from the deepest parts of you. “Fuck, so tight.” Her eyes stared down at your hole, watching how your walls held her. Rumi pulls out slowly, pushing back in just a little deeper. She keeps her thrusting at a steady slow pace, watching as you squirm beneath her.

You were growing slightly impatient, wrapping your legs around her waist, trying to push her deeper. She ignored your pleas and pinned your arms as you went to grab her. “Mph-please,” You beg, getting tired of the slowness. “F-Faster, Mommy.” Her ears perked up, her body going rigid for a moment. Her tail moved quickly, tickling your ankles and calves. She kicked into overdrive, pulling out quickly and pounding into you with a loud ‘squelch!’ You felt all of the air get punched out of you and you didn’t even get a moment to recover.

She fucked into you quickly, thick cock slamming into your cervix without care. You keened and cried, happy you got your wish. “Fuh-fuck yes, Mommy!” You cry, tears wetting your hazy eyes and flushed cheeks. “More-muh-more!” Her pretty hands wander down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on your soaked cunt.

Her other hand dragged over your figure, gently stimulating you but, making you beg for more. Your eyes roll to see Dabi mounted behind Keigo, the younger male's wings spread and twitching as his eyes roll. Finger digging into the fabric as he cried out your best friend’s name.

The ghost-like touch of her hands caressing your bosom and the heavy pressure of her strap, deep inside your gummy walls, made you squirm.

Some cry out when they cum. Backs arched and lips open in a shout. They’ll cry for their mothers, god, or anything their lust-hazed minds can possibly name in the heat of the moment.

You were definitely a part of that group.

Whenever your hands or your silicone toy has brought you to another orgasm, you’d cry out and arch your back in ecstasy before falling back into the comfort of warm sheets.

Now you cried out her name, back arched high off the bed as you cum just for her. She laps it all up, her non-stop thrusts dragging it on for what felt like ages. “Such a good baby,” She coos, bringing her lips down to nibble at your collarbone. “There you go, cum ‘round this strap, honey.” You cried out at each sharp thrust, feeling her so deep inside you, that it drove you crazy.

Your silky walls throbbed, slick continuing to leave rings of creamy white around her strap. Your hips jerked suddenly, trying to pull away from her. “Too much? Hmm?” You nod quickly, breathless and lightheaded. Your bleary vision focused on Keigo next to you, eyes crossed as Dabi fucked him into oblivion, drooling trailing from between his pretty swollen lips.

“Okay, okay.” Rumi’s thrusts come to a stop as she stays nestled inside you. Her lips wrap around your nipple, gently sucking at the hard bud. “So good, baby.” She hums, tongue curling around your bruised breasts.

“Gonna let Mommy cum, hmm? Mommy’s gonna cum for you, baby.” She kisses your chest, removing her hand to rub at her own clit. Her heavy strap rested against your cunt and stomach. Her mouth covers your own, allowing you to swallow each of her moans as she draws herself over the edge.

Soon, she came so prettily. Moans flowed freely as she tossed her head back before burying it into your neck. She shivered against you, kissing your neck and rubbing your hips.

You two lay in the aftermath, lulled into relaxation by the steady moans and thrusts of the couple next to you. A wing suddenly smacks you in the face, forcing your eyes open in frustration. Keigo’s back was arched so prettily. Wings fanned out, mouth hung open as rope after rope of cum splurt out from his throbbing cock. Dabi soon toppled over the edge after him. Filling him to the brim then, pulling out to watch it pour from his abused hole.

You all lay in the bed, catching your breath after all of the pent-up sexual tension came to fruition.

“Fuck,” Dabi was the first to speak. “Need ‘nother blunt.” Keigo laughed, rolling onto his back. Rumi nuzzled your neck, pressing more kisses. Dabi sat up, stretching himself out, getting up to grab his coat. Rumi sat up, removing her strap which left pretty indents on her dark skin. Dabi returned, holding a baggie and his packet of papers.

Dabi leaned to the side, using Rumi’s nightstand to roll a few blunts. Everyone took a moment to breathe, coming down from their long-awaited orgasm of the night. You knew it wasn’t over though. Golden eyes traced over your bare skin, flickering from your blissed-out face to your still-dripping cunny.

You could feel the throb from your cunt once you see his cock, slowly twitching back to life. You two kept your eyes on each other while Rumi and Dabi spoke. You both slide closer to each other, sitting with still a bit of room between you two.

Suddenly, you two surged towards each other, lips locking in a heated kiss. Hands roaming all over each other's figures. Pulling hair, grabbing feathers. You both pull away, panting and sloppy. “Wan’ you to suck my cock, baby.” He was slightly out of breath, puffs of air fanning your face. “Wan’ fuck ‘his pretty pussy.” He was still slightly delirious, both of your eyes practically mimicking hearts.

Your hands drift down to his already hard cock, gently stroking him as he cooes so prettily beside you.

“Such a pretty cock, Kei.”

He whines and keens, your thumb swirling around his cockhead, collecting any stray precum. You stared down at the blonde’s cock lovingly, enjoying his purrs and moans. Your cunt was throbbing, slick leaking down your thighs and onto the sheets. You need Keigo, desperately. You hardly wasted any time. Dropping down and wrapping your lips around his pretty cock.

His hips cant up into your mouth before you held him still, suckling his pretty head while he cried beneath you. “S-so good, ___! Feels so fuckin’-ah!” He was so sensitive from his previous fucking, twitching wildly in your mouth and already pumping drops of precum into your mouth. “S’fuh-hmm!” He tosses his head back, running his fingers through your hair before grabbing a decent handful. Dabi and Rumi sat on the sidelines.

Sharing a blunt between the two of them, watching you both indulge in each other. Keigo panted erratically. Already feeling the burn of overstimulation from his previous heavy orgasm. Your mouth was his vice, one he couldn't get rid of. A few feathers part from his vermillion wings, caressing over your body. Carefully winding around your breasts and legs, squeezing tightly onto your nipples.

“Fuck, fuck! Need ta’ ma-make you feel good ___!” Keigo gasps out, followed by the buzzing of a toy Rumi set on the bed early. He teases your hole, circling the cylinder around and coating it in your juices. You initially jumped once it made contact with your clit, taking the blonde’s cock further down your throat and moaning around him.

Pleased by your reaction, he continued to circle your clit and slap it against your sobbing cunt.

Finally, he plunges the vibrator deep inside of you, the thickness of it filling your walls and making you cry out. He kept his cock deep in your throat, fucking into your warmth while his feathers continued to please you. The two on your nipples curled and uncurled, effectively pinching you. The small one on your clit, buzzing quickly and making you gush. Several around your body, gently dragging up and down, keeping you on this edge.

His pretty hands brushed your hair out of your face, wanting to watch as you fell apart for him. “S’good, baby!” He tosses his head back with a loud moan. “Fuckin’ hell! This mouth so fuckin’ good, ‘m gonna cum down yer’ throat, dove!” He was losing his composure, wings unable to stay still as they fluttered and trembled. He was writhing beneath you, fully caught up in the pleasure of your mouth as you bobbed on his cock.

Your walls were tight, squeezing around the buzzing toy. The rope in your stomach was unraveling as you gagged and choked on Keigo’s cock. Each sound forces you closer and closer to your own orgasm. “Please, please!” He begged, seemingly to any higher power. Dabi leans over, stroking his hair and kissing his face. “Such a good boy, Kei.”

“C’mon, cum for her, Keigo.” Rumi joined in, rubbing his chest and hips.

“I’m—gah, ah—fuck!” His lips part in a silent cry, an angel’s plea. Tears were running down his face, matching your own. You two came together; Your walls squeezing around the silicone toy and his cock pumping into your throat. He emptied himself into your mouth. You came with him, gushing around the toy as you swallow his cum. As an attempt to slow your breathing, you drink aloof his arousal. Pulling off his now softening cock with a dopey grin only to fall onto him in exhaustion.

You laid nearly lifeless over top of Keigo. Rumi and Dabi quickly come to your aid. Pulling you off of each other. Rumi cradles the shaking blonde, stroking his hair as he cries. You curled in on yourself, quivering as tears rolled down your cheeks. “Oh no, it’s okay. You both did so good. So good.” Your mind couldn't process what was happening anymore. Brain so clouded, your eyes couldn't focus on your surroundings.

You lay there, shaking, and shut your eyes. Slipping into an uncomfortable unconsciousness.

You were so out of it. High on weed and your numerous orgasms of the night. Your body ached in overstimulation, shivers wracking through you periodically. Heated hands run up and down your quivering body.

“Shhh, relax, princess.” A voice rasps in your ear, kisses pressed down your spine. You lay on your stomach, trying to calm down and stop your hyperventilating. “I know, I know,” He cooes, continuing his motions. “You’re doin’ so well f’us. Doin’ so fuckin’ well.” You relaxed under his grip, eyes slowly fluttering open.

“Can you hear me, princess?” You nod, tapping on the bed a few times. “Good, good.” He moves to cuddle you more easily, one of his arms moving to support your head. “You wanna keep goin’? I’m not gonna force you to take more if ya’ can’t.” Your mouth was dry, probably a factor of cotton mouth but, you swallowed enough spit to coat your throat.

“Yes, please,” You take another large swallow. “Wan’ more.” Dabi chuckles, lightly smacking your inner thigh. “Dumb little slut wants more cock?” He purrs in your ear, moving to straddle you. “Yes, Dabi. Wan’ more.” He manhandles you, forcing you more onto your stomach then, pushing your knees in so you’d be presenting for him, ass in the air.

“Such a gorgeous ass,” He spreads your cheeks apart, watching as your cunt drools for him. “Sloppy girl.” He dives down, kissing your messy hole. Your jolt forwards, whining loudly into the pillows. “My pretty girl.” His scarred lips tainted your hole, smothering and lapping up any juices that spilled out of you.

His jeweled fingers soon join, slipping into your abused hole. “Da-Dabi!” You jolted forward, moving away from him. A sharp smack is landed right onto your left asscheek, followed by two extra.

“Who the fuck are you runnin’ from, huh?” His voice was deep as he growled the words at you. Sharp teeth soon dig into your ass. You cried out, once again moving from the blossoming pain. Dabi spanks your cunny, cackling at your cries. “Answer me you fuckin’ brat.” He tugs your hair, forcing you back to stare at him from upside down. Tears were in your eyes once again, threatening to pour out at any moment.

“‘M suh-sorry, Dabi.” You were begging for sympathy. “Nuh uh, apologize right.” Your brain was so hazed, you searched his eyes hoping for an answer.

“‘M sorry, Daddy.” He smirks widely, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He kisses your lips softly, letting go of his rough hold. “You wan’ my cock, hmm?” - “Yes, Daddy. Want your cock, daddy.” A pleased smile worked its way onto his face.

Dabi readjusts your position, pushing your head into the pillows. “Be good for me, princess.” His leaking cockhead drags through your folds, starting from your clit and dragging down. You whine and push back onto him, hoping for more. He stops, slapping his pierced shaft against your soaked cunny. “Bet this pretty pussy’s so tight,” He grabs your hips as he begins to push in. “So tight and fuckin’ wet.” Dabi growls.

Feeling each cold bulb of his pierced dick sliding into your tight heat made you keen into the sheets. Fisting them tightly between your fists and jaw falling open. “Ah—fuck me…” His voice was slow and drawn out as he pushed through your gummy walls. “Fuck yes, Daddy.” You pant, drooling onto the mussed sheets. Once he’s fully seated, he slowly pulls back out; Letting another beautiful moan flow from his tainted lips.

After a few agonizing thrusts, ripping whines, and whimpers from you, his thrusts pick up the pace. “Came four fuckin’ times an’ you’re still tight as a virgin?” The dark-haired man snarls, fucking into your tight cunt quickly.

His slow pace became fast and ruthless. “Oh shit, Daddy!” You shouted, picking your head up for a breath of fresh air. You moan shamelessly into the air, eyes hazed in pleasure.

“Please—shit—please, please! Sluh—slow down!” The air was being punched out of your lungs. You could feel his cock in your stomach, making a very obvious bulge protrude from your stomach. “Pluh—please! Stop, Daddy! ‘S too much!”

“Ugh—god! Daddy, please!” His cock rammed your cervix, uncaring that you begged him to stop. His fingers dug into your hips in a bruising grip, keeping you upright as he used your dripping cunt. “Creamin’ on daddy’s dick already, hmm?” He growled in your ear, biting at the lobe. “Just started and you're already fallin’ apart.” His hips roughly smacked into your ass, pleasingly reddening your skin.

Dabi’s thrusts were precise and sharp, nailing your sweet spot each, and every time. “Squeezin’ me so damn tight, baby,” His head falls between your shoulder blades. His forehead presses against your sticky skin. “Cum for me, doll. Cum all over Daddy’s dick.” Voice ragged from strain. His fingers trail down to your clit, weaving tight circles to bring you to the edge and you followed his order. Cumming loudly around his thick cock. Cunt pulsating and gushing around him as he moans in pleasure. Praising you for being so damn good for him.

“My good girl, my good fuckin’ girl!” His voice hitches as his hips stutter. “Fuck ‘m gonna cum, pretty.” He presses hot kisses to your back, lips dragging against your skin as he continues to fuck you roughly. You were breathless, barely hanging on to consciousness as he pistons in and out of your abused cunny. You wouldn't be walking for weeks.

“Gonna fill up this tight pussy, m’kay, baby?” You nodded slowly, caught in your post-orgasm haze. The world covered by a thick smoke screen. He grips your waist hard as he spills into your womb, hips continuing their movements as he fucks his cum deep inside of you. Finally, he collapsed onto you. Kisses and mumbled apologies pressed into your skin; Digging into your brain.

The room's air was thick with smoke and lust. Everyone panting and returning to their previous reality. You and Keigo were down for the count. Both lay flat on your faces, panting wildly and eyes shut.

“Y’done?” You lay on the bed in a daze. Mouth parted, drool spilling onto the cool silk sheets. Body shivering from overstimulation and the crisp air. Holes twitching, nearly violently as slick and cum pour out of you. Your eyes are unfocused, staring ahead of you. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of your body, they would’ve thought you were dead.

“Let’s clean ‘em up, get ‘em in bed.” Dabi is already scooping you in his comforting grip. She helps Keigo up, leading you all to the bathroom. A soft kiss is pressed to your hairline, making you hum in content.

“I gotcha, princess.”

1K notes · View notes

yeonzzzn · 8 months ago

Text

stuck with me: park jongseong

pairing: jay x afab!reader word count: 26.2k

synopsis: in the middle of the apocalypse, you and jay find each other in a situation of life and death, using the protection of each other to get to the next safe zone. unfortunately for the both of you, things take a turn once secrets get revealed and the fight for survival becomes greater.

genre: enemies to lovers, zombie apocalypse!au, blonde jay, smuggler hyung line + smuggler txt, riize members + jungkook and namjoon make appearances, smut.

warnings: swearing, blood, weapons(guns and knives), drug mentions, make-out session, multiple unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f. rec), gun goes pew pew, mentions of d**th, MINORS DNI, lemme know if I missed anything ♡

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jay said, the barrel of his shotgun pointing straight ahead, his heart rate racing faster than just a second ago, index finger twitching as his whole hand shook.

You stood across from him, pointing your pistol right back at him, aiming directly for the middle of his forehead.

Unfortunately for you, you had three other shotguns pointing directly at you.

Your glare didn’t relent as you eyed each of them.

“You’d be wise to drop your weapon,” you darted to the one who spoke, his dark red dyed hair hung slightly over his eyes, a sure sign that he didn’t trust you. Which was fair. You didn’t trust them either.

“Four against one,” one smirked, his natural fangs showing, “Be smart, girl.”

“I was here first,” you snapped, eyes darting between the four of them, “Find another place to ransack.”

Jay glanced to his left as Jake took a step ahead of him, “As if! Drop your fucking weapon!” he yelled at you.

You scoffed, raising both hands up, slowly backing away. Vampire fangs was right, it was four against one. There was no scenario where you would win this fight. Not when four shotguns were being pointed at you with the low amount of ammo you had left. It was a loser situation. They slowly lowered their guns slightly, obviously still on edge.

Jay watched you carefully as you backed away. Watching as your long-sleeved shirt forsaken you, revealing the white bandage wrapped around your forearm with blood soaking through. His heart raced faster, eyes widened.

“She’s been fucking bit!!” the redhead snapped, all four of the boys' weapons locking back into place pointing at you.

“Shit,” Jay hissed.

You lowered your pistol back at the blonde, gritting your teeth.

**5 HOURS BEFORE**

You stuffed your mouth with the extra shirt from your backpack, biting down as hard as your jaw let you, and rolled up your sleeve to your elbow, the bite mark on your forearm still looking as gross as ever.

The bottle of medical alcohol you found at the hospital sat to your left on the counter as you dangled your bitten right arm over the hospital's sink.

You grabbed the bottle and took a few massive deep breaths in before pouring the alcohol down onto the bite.

Your grip on the shirt tightened as you hissed in pain, doing everything you could possible to keep your groans to a reasonably quiet level to not alert any living or undead beings that could be stalking the hospital to your current location.

Once the last of the alcohol dripped from the bottle and onto your arm, you grabbed the paper towels and gently dabbed your skin then tossed the towels behind you. You then picked up the tube of ointment, spreading enough on your fingers to rub gently on the bite. Adding the finishing touch of wrapping the white bandages around the bite and securing it tight.

You got lucky to have found all these supplies when you did or else you’d be dead soon due to infection and loss of blood.

You quickly pulled your long-sleeve back down then tossed your extra shirt, along with your newfound medical supplies, into your backpack and threw it over your shoulders.

In all honesty, besides just being lucky enough to have found these supplies, you were lucky to still even be breathing.

It’s been three years since this hell started. Since the so-called “cure” for some wack-ass disease was created for treatment that ultimately backfired and turned anyone who took it into a man-eating monster. And as the world failed to contain the outbreak, if anyone who was affected by the treatment bit or even scratched someone else, it too turned them into man-eating monsters. Or zombies if you will. Maybe even runners, clickers, or bloaters if you played the famous “The Last of Us” video game before the world went to shit. The walking dead, walkers, lurkers, the infected. Basically, any term you can think of for zombies is literally what was happening.

Before the world knew it, everyone was thrown into this universe of kill or be killed to survive. The strong-willed were the only ones who survived. Or unless you were lucky and packed up with others. Or even extremely lucky and live inside one of the safe zones and not have to worry about leaving it.

Unfortunately for you, you were all the above, minus not getting to leave the comfort of the safe zone.

The safe zone you lived in was small and quiet. Not a lot of people, maybe a little over three hundred. So when supplies ran low, teams were sent out to gather more. Your safe zone wasn’t lucky enough to have military aid, and even when the military did come by to give supplies, it never was enough. Guess they saw your safe zone as a waste of time.

You’ve ventured out of the safe zone multiple times for supply runs, so when you were picked to be a part of the team to head out, you thought nothing of it. Thought of it as just another scouting and supply run…but it wasn’t. Clearly.

Your luck had to run out at some point, and that day just so happened to be where the luck ended.

Your team was stuck between a rock and a hard place, quite literally, actually. The rock technically being a wall and the hard place being the undead had your team surrounded with no chances of escaping. Two of your team members were already killed, one got bit and killed themselves to spare the pain of changing, leaving just you and four others. One got scratched on the leg and had no other chance of escaping. Bless that man because he used his last bit of flares and bullets to part the sea in a chance to let you and the others make a run for it.

You held onto the hand of your best friend as you both booked it on the small clear path. And once the sea started to close, you knew it was over. Your friend was ripped from your hand, her screams filling your ears along with the others who were being torn apart. You wanted to give up. You should have given up. You were surrounded, and the smell of death from the unliving as they were only nearly inches away from you. But some spark of hope kept you moving forward. Some unrelenting force pushing you towards the window. Your best friend yelled at you to keep going. If you were honest, her voice wasn’t the only thing that gave that hope. Something else was drawing you to stay alive, and what could that have been? You didn’t know. But you wanted to find out.

You guarded your neck and face with your arms as you jumped through the window, the sound of breaking glass being loud enough and the smell of your blood that now ran down your arms surely alerted any other zombies in the area. But you kept moving once your feet touched the ground and started sprinting. You kept moving even as the tears streamed down your face as you left your teammates behind.

You were the lone survivor.

It didn’t take you long to notice the bite on your forearm just above your wrist once you got to a water stream and soaked your cut and bruised arms from breaking the window. You thought you were done for. That everyone else’s sacrifices were all for nothing. You wouldn’t be accepted back at the safe zone if you even made it back to the safe zone. Once you’ve been bit or scratched it takes roughly twenty-four hours before you start turning. The safe zone was two days away. You wouldn’t make it.

Except you did.

It’s now been a month since you’ve been bitten and nothing about you has changed besides the fact you have a random ass zombie bite mark on your arm that is slowly, but surely, healing. It will be one hell of a scar.

You knew returning back to the zone wouldn’t work. They’d kill you on the spot. Or if they let you back in and notice you’ve survived a bite mark…you’d just become an experiment. Just like in every zombie video game and movie.

So you took to the life of being a lone wolf. Doing everything—and meaning everything—you needed to survive.

You continued your search of the hospital, gathering more medical supplies and any food left behind. Along with more ammunition(even if it was just a few bullets) for your pistol and any other weapons to add to your arsenal. As you passed by a window, you noticed just how low the sun was setting, meaning you needed to either get to a safe place within the hospital or attempt to find a nearby building or house that was safer.

Because let’s be honest, who knew who or what was in this hospital still. And you sure as fuck weren’t going to be sticking around long enough to find out.

You lifted up your sleeve to check your bite, seeing a small amount of blood staining the bandage. You quietly cursed, knowing you had to leave as soon as possible before something detected your blood smell. The only thing that sucked about the bite being slow healing, is the fact it still bled and was still infected. You needed to get treated, but that came at a cost that wasn’t worth it.

You quickly and quietly slipped out the same way you came in, darting into the overgrown nature the world was now, your pistol in hand and knife strapped at your thigh.

**3 HOURS BEFORE**

“Are you being serious right now?” Jay scoffed, staring down at Heeseung as his hands, and parts of his face were stained red.

Heeseung smirked as he looked up at his younger friend, “Obviously.” he chuckled, “We are in the zombie apocalypse, If I want to dye my hair red, I will dye my hair red.”

Jay stared down at the hair supplies surrounding Heeseung on the floor, “Where the fuck did you even find all this?”

Heeseung shrugged, “I found them a couple of months back the last time we left the zone. Only just now decided to put them to use.”

Sunghoon let out a low laugh. He was sitting at the kitchen table with an old Polaroid camera in his hands. The old thing was broken, but that didn’t stop Sunghoon from wanting to fix it and use it, “You’d think being in the zombie apocalypse, dying your hair would be the last thing on your mind.”

Jake agreed, “We should be stealing supplies that are needed.”

“And this was needed!” Heeseung rolled his eyes, “Who says fashion had to die with the world?”

Jay always loved how positive his older friend was. How unaffected he was by this fucked up world. But with the way his world came to an end, Heeseung kind of had no choice but to grin and bear it. To shove the past away and live in the now and for the future. Also being the oldest and taking up that mantle to be the sole source of happiness and good vibes for the group, he was better than the rest of the boys living in this cabin.

Jay knelt down beside Heeseung on the floor, eyes wandering between all the supplies, “Damn you used up all the red.”

Heeseung just smiled, “Want me to dye your hair?”

Jay lifts his hand to run it through his black hair, debating if it even would be worth it. It would add some fun to his life. But ultimately he declined, “We are going out.”

Jake groaned, and flopped himself down onto his bed, “Are we seriously sneaking out tonight?”

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, draping his arm over the back, “What are we smuggling out?”

Jay shook his head, ��It’s what we are going to smuggle in.”

Heeseung kept his eyes pointed at the small square mirror he had propped up against a bike of old books on the floor as he continued to run his red dye-stained hands through his hair, “What could we possibly be smuggling in?”

“Drugs, obviously,” Jake said, rolling onto his stomach, “What else could we smuggle into the zone that isn’t allowed to be here?”

Jay shrugged, “I got a tip that a building about an hour south from here, someone from a neighboring safe zone dropped the drugs off there. We smuggle that in and sell that shit, we’d have enough money to last us for months.”

“And who the fuck tipped you off?” Sunghoon scoffed, hands going back to fiddling with his camera.

“I swear to god if you say Yeonjun,” Heeseung said with a click of his tongue, “Man is higher than a kite half the damn time.”

Jay just smiles, “Nah, it wasn’t from Yeonjun or his crew.”

“Then who?” Jake asked with pure confusion on his face.

“Probably Jungkook,” Sunghoon guessed, “He’s the only other person who would care enough about smuggling drugs into the zone. He probably got someone in the jail to run their mouths to even pass on this information.”

Jungkook was one of the local police officers in this safe zone. He wasn’t a dirty cop or anything, he just understood that sometimes people need a getaway. That getaway is either hard-core drugs, or even the lesser ones. Ones that either get you fucked up, or higher than a kite like Yeonjun is half the time. Either way, Jungkook allowed these four to sneak in and out of the zone as they pleased as long as they didn't get caught or bitten. Because once they got caught, Jungkook would hold no power to protect them.

Jay just nodded and stood up, “We leave in an hour. Like I said, it would take us an hour to get to where we need to go.”

“Oh, good!” Heeseung cooed, “That gives us plenty of time to bleach your hair.”

Jay scrunched his nose, looking at the box of hair bleach sitting beside Heeseung.

“There’s a pretty cool blonde color you can use, I sure as hell won’t use it.”

Jay rolled his eyes and sat down beside his friend, “Make it quick.”

**10 MINUTES BEFORE**

Jay, Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon all carefully walked into the small village that is said to have the drugs.

Each of the boys kept their eyes open for the building that was described to them, guns locked and loaded and ready to fire in case of any trouble.

The moonlight and the few shitty street lamps that still somehow worked were the only source of light they had to light the village.

It was quiet, a bit too quiet for Jay’s liking but a blessing nevertheless. The last thing he needed was having to actually fire their weapons and alert any zombies their way.

“Where the fuck is this building,” Jake softly snapped, “I do not like being out here.”

“That makes two of us,” Heeseung agreed, “I don’t like the vibes here.”

Most of the world has been overgrown with grass, plants, vines, etc etc etc. Each city or town or village outside the safe zones wouldn’t be well kept and taken care of. But this place? The grass was cut. Only a select few houses and buildings had vines covering them. Someone or a few people were taking care of this place. Jay could only imagine it was whoever dropped the drugs off here. Or so he hoped.

You also found the small village, taking a mental note of how clean it was when it shouldn’t be. You didn’t like it, but you needed to eat, clean your bite, and sleep. This place would have to do until the sun comes up.

Most of the houses or buildings were locked or covered in vines, and since the undead stalked around more freely at night, you didn’t want to risk breaking a door or window and settled for finding one that was already broken into.

You found your way into a building where the door was barely holding onto its hinges. You walked in, seeing that it used to be an old convenience store that was yet to be raided.

Your heart quickened at the sight, wasting no time to pile what food, medicines, and other supplies you could into your backpack. It was like you hit the jackpot, your luck showing off.

Your luck brought you an old tin box sitting on a small shelf under the register (that unfortunately had zero money in it). You gently shook the box, hearing what sounded like a plastic bag shifting about. After opening the lid, your eyes widened at the contents.

Drugs. Hard ones. Ones that would knock you on your ass and get you high as fuck. You dug through the plastic bag, seeing some of the drugs were for pain in high dosages, which was perfect for your bitten arm. God damn were you lucky.

You shoved the tin into your backpack, ready to find a place to sleep when a noise coming from the back of the store jolted you to a stop. Your heartbeat quickened and your breathing became unsteady. Your hand on your pistol tightened, shaking as you quietly walked towards the back. You prayed and prayed it was just some animal, or the wind blowing through the broken windows.

You turned the corner towards the bathrooms, only to be met face-to-face with an undead monster.

The thing hissed and groaned as it saw you, lunging forward, arms stretched out and drool dripping from its opened mouth. The smell of rotting flesh was enough to make you want to toss up everything you’d eaten that day. You only had enough time to take a few steps back before tripping over your own feet falling completely on your ass.

You haven’t felt fear like this since you and your old team members got cornered. The flashbacks of watching your friends get eaten and torn about filled your brain. You started to panic, thinking this was it until that sparkle of hope filled you once again. You raised your pistol up, aiming at the zombie's head, and pulled the trigger twice.

“Please tell me you all heard that too,” Heeseung whispered, the sounds of a gun being fired echoed across the village.

“Yeah,” Jay took a deep breath in, “I heard it too.”

The boys quickly went in the direction of the sound, eyes glancing in every direction to keep watch of any trouble until they found the building they were looking for and found something they weren’t expecting to find—you.

You barely got to your feet and turned around when the four men approached you, shotguns aiming directly at you.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

And that’s how you all ended up here, guns pointing at each other with every intent to kill.

“She’s been fucking bit!!” Heeseung snapped, all four of the boys' weapons locking back into place pointing at you.

“Shit,” Jay hissed.

You lowered your pistol back at Jay, gritting your teeth, “It’s not what you think.”

“Like hell it is!!” Sunghoon yelled, “I should put a few rounds into you right now!”

Jay couldn’t explain it, but something felt off about this, about you. Your wrap was soaked in blood, but you can clearly see the blood has darkened in some areas of the wrap. Usually, a person who has been bitten turns within twenty-four hours. Your wound looks older than that.

You whipped your weapon back to vampire fang, narrowing your eyes, “Shoot me and I’ll sure as hell make sure to get some rounds into you too.”

“Sunghoon,” Heeseung sternly said, “Stand down.”

Sunghoon locked his jaw and took a few steps back. Heeseung noticed it as well. The longer he stared at you, the more he could tell your bite looked too old.

“Hoon, Jake,” Jay said, barely turning his head to look at the younger too, keeping his weapon pointed at you, “Go find what we came here for so we can leave, I don’t want to stick around long enough to find out if she has more friends here.”

The younger too nodded, slowly backing away and then turning on their heels, running in different directions to find what they came here for.

Heeseung and Jay kept their eyes on you. You knew once they got whatever they came for they would leave you here or kill you.

You preferred the first option.

“Fuck!” Jake yelled, finding the whole place empty, “Nothing is here!”

Heeseung and Jay narrowed their eyes at you, you could read it all over their faces that they came here for what you found and shoved into your backpack.

“Fucking bitch, plan to take those drugs to knock your ass out while you change? Maybe kill yourself in the process?”

You showed your teeth, “What is it to you?” You snapped, “I found it first, fuck off!”

Jay took a step closer to you, and you took two back, “We have a lot—and I mean a lot—of money riding on those drugs, hand them over before I kill you and take them myself.”

“Might as well just kill her,” Heeseung scoffed, “It’ll be a blessing compared to what she’ll feel once the change takes over.”

“It's not what you think!” you yelled again.

Heeseung wasn’t listening, not really caring either. He’s had enough. They needed those drugs, needed that money to keep his brothers alive. So he stepped toward you quickly, sliding his shotgun tied to the strap behind his back, one hand gripping your wrists and the other at your backpack.

He was too quick for you to process or make a move. It was obvious at the way your pistol left your hands and was kicked to the blonde, the way his knee bent into the back of yours buckling you to the ground, that his man had done this plenty of times. Has been in plenty of fights and probably killed multiple people.

But you’d be damned if you were going to go down this easy.

You slammed your weight to your back, to knock his hand off your backpack, then moved to the left, putting all your force into his side to push him off you. But his grip on your left wrist was unrelenting, his fingers held just above your wrap, slowly sliding it off.

You managed to get him off you, sending him to his ass. You quickly stood to your feet, only to be met with your pistol touching your forehead, the blonde's eyes like fire burning into you. Jake and Sunghoon standing back behind him, pointing their guns at you again.

“Heeseung,” Jay said, “You good buddy?”

Your eyes darted to the redhead, watching as he stood up, eyes piercing.

You looked back at the man in front of you, raising your hands back up, “Take the fucking drugs, this shit ain’t worth it.” It really wasn’t worth it. Even if you got away these four would chase you down until they got the box and killed you. You needed to survive for the sake of the friends you’ve lost.

You kept your eyes locked with the blonde as Heeseung was now at your back, digging into it to pull out the tin box.

Jay was about to pull away when his eyes darted back to your wrist, seeing the bite. Without thinking his free hand gripped your bitten wrist and pulled it forward, lowering the pistol to lift your sleep up higher.

“Shit,” he hissed, “Guys, come look at this.”

You were now surrounded by the four of them looking at your wound, every single one of their eyes widening.

You also glanced down at your bite, it was obvious it was infected from it not being taken care of, but it was healing. And it was obvious that it was.

“You’re immune?” The redhead said, his eyes now lifting to examine your face, “How is that possible?”

Jay locked eyes with you again, then with his friends, “What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?”

—

Sneaking out of the safe zone with four people is one thing. But sneaking back in with four people while SMUGGLING another life and illegal drugs is another.

The safe zone might be one of the biggest in the world, but everyone knows who Jay, Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon are. So with you standing in the middle of the four as you all climbed up through a hole that leads into an abandoned broken-down home and the face of a military officer staring back at you, your heart sank. And the looks of the four boys around you were evidence enough that you all just got caught.

“What the actual fuck is going on?!” the officer snapped, his eyes filled with such a fire that I made you want to duck under the boys and back down to the hole and escape into the free world.

“Jungkook,” Heeseung said, raising his hands up, letting his shotgun dangle from his chest, “Listen, man, we didn’t plan this either.”

“You know they keep count of every mother fucker in this safe zone!” Jungkook snapped

“We know!” Heeseung snapped back, “But you’re going to want to see this.”

Heeseung whips around to you, reaching his hand out for you to take it, nodding his head to move closer to him, “Come here, YN.”

You glare at him, shaking your head. You still didn’t trust these four boys, why would you willingly hand over your secret to a military officer?

Jake nudged you forward, stumbling over your feet and reaching for Heeseung’s hand anyway.

Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest and it made your heart sink even more. The man was BUFF. His big strong arms flexed naturally and the tattoos that ran from his hand and up his right arm made him seem even more scary, like this man could snap your neck without breaking a sweat.

Heeseung barely lifted your sleeve up to expose your bite and Jungkook was five steps back with his pistol drawn out towards you.

What’s with everyone pointing guns at you today?

“You brought an INFECTED here?!” he yelled, the hell fire burning in his eyes raging more, “I should kill each of you right now for bringing her here.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes and pulled your sleeve up further, “Fucking look!”

Jungkook stared down at your arm, his gun slowly falling to the floor, “How can that be possible?”

A question for you.

You just looked down at the bite, shaking your head, “I don’t know.”

Jungkook silently looked between you all, “Fuck!”

He shoved his pistol back into the holster at his hip and paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair.

“Get her back to the house, NOW!” he growled, pointing a finger at all four of them one by one, “Do not let anyone see her, you understand?” They all nodded, “Good, and make sure she fucking bathes and gets that wound cleaned up and wrapped. I’ll come by when I get my head straight.”

You now walked even closer in between the four boys than what you were earlier, wandering your eyes to every person you walked passed, scared you’d be discovered. That feeling eased up a bit as they led you down an alleyway, then across another street before quickly shuffling you inside what you assumed was their home.

Once the door was closed and deadbolted, you scanned their home. It was small, but big enough to house the four of them.

There weren’t any rooms, so their four beds lined up against the west side of the house, with a couch across from it with a small table and a radio beside it.

Their kitchen on the east side of the house was also small, fitting enough space for the normal kitchen essentials and a table for eating in the middle, a bathtub sitting in the corner.

You were scared for a second about how these four use the bathroom but noticed outside the kitchen window an outhouse.

“This used to be a storage house,” Jake said, dropping his body onto the couch, “The four of us fixed it up and made it our home. It’s not much, but it’s something.”

It was definitely better than the places you’ve been sleeping in recently.

Jay was now handing you a clean pair of clothes, “Wear these after you bathe, we’ll find you some that fit better tomorrow.”

You thanked him and walked to the tub, dropping your backpack into a chair at the table. You stared at the tub with excitement. You’ve been without a proper bath since being bitten and the thought of getting a warm bath made your heart sink.

You turned the hot water knob, watching as the clean water flowed into the tub. Most safe zones were lucky if they had clean running water and basically electricity. The bigger zones obviously are the luckier ones. Yours, on the other hand, had no electricity and water was so scarce there were designated days when people were allowed to bathe.

Without another thought, your hands went to the hems of your shirt and slowly started lifting.

“Woah woah what the fuck are you doing?!?” Sunghoon snapped, his heart racing at the sight of barely seeing your belly.

“I’m fixing to bathe? I stink?”

“And you are just going to strip in front of us?!?” Jake said, the clear blush settling in on his cheeks.

You scoffed, letting out a laugh, “The world is ending as we know it and you’re worried about seeing a female naked? Shouldn’t you be glad to see it?”

Jake sat in silence, his eyes now wandering to Heeseung and Jay, who kept their eyes on you, their reactions haven't changed since you first met them.

“Well, I’m not about to be labeled as a pervert,” Sunghoon said, rushing back to the front door, “I’m going to sit outside.”

“Yeah same here,” Jake jumped from the couch, following his best friend out.

Heeseung finally looked at Jay, who was already staring back at him.

You watched as their eyes communicated with each other in a silent language that you didn’t know. Then with a nod Heeseung turned and followed Jake out, closing the door behind him.

Jay’s eyes were back on you, his facial expression still not changing.

“What? Not going to follow your friends out?”

He shrugged, “Someone has to make sure you don’t steal our shit and make a run for it.”

You glared at him and scoffed, “I survived for months with less than what you have here, my safe zone didn’t have anything and I made it perfectly fine even after I was bit and couldn’t return back. I have no need for your stuff.”

Which was true. You survived perfectly fine without the gifts the bigger safe zones had. And then with you having to hunt for your food and survive on less than your safe zone. You didn’t need his shit. You were perfectly fine.

Jay just shrugged again, crossing his arms behind him as he kept his eyes on you. And you took it as a challenge.

You slid your shirt from your body and let it hit the floor, keeping eye contact with him as your fingers went to your jeans, unbuttoning and dropping them to your ankles.

Jay was completely unfazed as he looked at you with nothing but your sports bra and panties on. He was more focused on the scars that covered both your arms.

“What are those from?” he asked. You already knew where his eyes were looking.

“Happened the same day I was bitten,” you said, now looping your fingers into your sports bra and pulling it over your head, “I had to jump through a window before I got killed by our lovely undead friends outside the safe zone.”

Jay wanted to ask about how you even got into the situation that led to getting bitten and jumping through a window. Shit had to have been rough.

Jay continued looking over your body, eyes stopping at your breasts and then back up to your eyes. You smirked at him, “Not going to turn around?”

He once again shrugged, “Like you said, I have bigger things to worry about than seeing a naked woman in front of me.”

You quickly scanned him up and down, not seeing any signs that your almost completely naked body was affecting him, “Does it not bother you?”

“It’s just skin, YN.”

Fair enough.

You dropped your panties to the floor and climbed into the tub, stinking your body in completely, letting the hot water fill you with warmth for a few seconds before turning the knob to stop the flow of water.

Jay watched you relax, watched as your hands rubbed up and down your scarred arms. He wanted to press more about them, to ask how it was possible you even survived whatever happened, mostly with how your bite is clearly infected from not being taken care of properly.

“Are you going to keep staring at me or what??”

“Would you rather I sit down and whip my dick out?” he narrows his eyes at you.

“Fucking prick,” you scowled.

“Don’t ask stupid fucking questions then.”

“We just met and you’ve already seen me naked and it had no effect on you yet you keep staring at me. I think I deserve to ask the “stupid” questions.”

You just stared back at him, trying to read his face but getting nothing.

To be honest, sex was the last thing on Jay’s mind. He’s been through way too much bullshit to let some random woman and her cunt affect him that easily. It’s not even that he was disinterested in sex, he had plenty of women around the safe zone that would drop to their knees so fast for him. Plenty of women he’s taken to his bed and pleasured them all night long. But sex wasn’t something he needed to survive like how so many other people in safe zones act like and turn to in a way to forget that the world went to shit. Jay couldn’t afford to let that happen with him.

Plus Jay didn’t even know you and wasn’t some asshole to force you into sex with him all because you stripped in front of him.

You eventually looked away from him, giving up on trying to read him, “Can I have a washcloth and soap?”

Jay walked to one of the cabinets, pulled out a new bar of soap, a washcloth, and some old shampoo, and then handed them all to you, you mumbled out a thanks.

You all of a sudden felt guilty, thinking maybe Jay possibly had a girlfriend or even a wife and you just bared yourself to him. But then wiped that thought off the table, there was no way. Because if he did he would be with them, not some smuggler. Then another thought came into your head and it was so simple: maybe he just didn’t find you attractive.

You felt your self-esteem plummet and any confidence you had was out the window. You already figured you had a fair body, curvy hips, and busty breasts. The boy back home you used to fuck around with was always finding ways to bend you over. It boosted your ego, but maybe it boosted it too high if some random stranger’s dick didn’t get hard at the sight of you stripping in front of him.

Jay read your expressions like a book, getting more confused than anything at why you’d let what he thinks affect you. You clearly were strong-willed and a survivor, already proving enough that you didn’t need the fancy things to keep surviving. So why let those small stupid thoughts affect you that way?

Jay went to confront you, but the knocking at the door pulled him back, turning his head slightly to listen, “Jungkook is here,” Heeseung called from the other side of the door.

Jay looked back at you, “You can go deal with whatever that is,” you said as you ran the washcloth over your arms, “I promise I won’t steal anything or go anywhere. Don’t know my way around this zone anyways.”

Which was true, you were so focused on not being seen that you wouldn’t remember the way to sneak out.

Jay just nodded, turning around and heading for the door, “Just so you know,” he said stopping at the door, “I might seem like a pervert for saying it, but you do have a sexy body, and don’t let anyone tell you differently or make you think differently. Don’t take it not affecting me personally, I truly have more important things to worry about than getting laid.”

Then he slipped out the door, leaving you alone in the house.

Jungkook stood on the grass with his hands on his hips, eyes wandering everywhere, making sure no one else was about to hear what he was fixing to speak about.

“What’s up?” Jay asked, standing beside Heeseung.

“Her bite mark,” Jungkook started, “It looks about a month old, ya?”

All four men nodded, “It’s what she told us too, on the way here,” Jake said, “Don’t know how true that could be though.”

“There’s been some rumors—strictly just rumors—that there’s been a few others that have been found immune,” Jungkook said barely above a whisper, his eyes continuing to dart around the area.

“How is that possible?” Heeseung asked, “Three years and there has yet to be a cure to stop this madness and now you’re telling me there are others like her that are immune?”

“There were others like her,” Jungkook sighed, “They either were killed before they got to the capital or killed themselves before being taken there. But again, it’s baseless rumors. No proof, until her.”

Sunghoon scoffed, “Can we please get to the point of all this?”

“Hoon,” Heeseung said with a warning.

“I contacted the capital and told them we found an immune,” The four men stood in silence, staring at Jungkook, not knowing what to say or expect next, “So,” Jungkook was smirking now, “I have a job for you four.”

Jake chuckled, “You’re fucking crazy, man.”

Jungkook shot him a warning look, a silent reminder of who he was and what his rank was, “At least hear my offer first before calling me crazy,” Jake crossed his arms and waited for Jungkook to continue, “One million. Each. If you drag her across the country to the capital.”

One million. Each. That’s four million dollars. They would be fucking set, no longer having to worry about fighting for money to buy food and survive. No longer having to leave the safe zone to smuggle shit in and out for money. They would be safe to finally just live. But the problem lies in the trip. And that trip wasn’t worth it.

“Nah,” Jake laughed, “You got me fucked up. I am a smuggler, not an escort. Make the government come pick her ass up. Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

Everyone’s eyes were back on Jungkook. He shrugged, “They have other things to worry about besides making that trip to pick up one individual. Plus it would make a scene if they flew in here and just took her. It would make it obvious that there are immune in this world. It would cause a panic, give the people false hope for a cure.”

Jay watched as each of his friends shook their heads, saying how it wasn’t worth it to drag a stranger across the fucking country to hand you over just for the possibility of a cure being found.

They all talked over each other, Jungkook trying to convince them with all the money they would have, and the three others not accepting it.

“Fucking hell, I’ll go alone,” Jay said without even realizing he was opening his mouth.

“Jay, no!” Heeseung snapped, “That bitch ain’t worth it! We stick to our normal jobs!”

Jay looks at Jungkook, “If I take her alone will we still get four million total?” Jungkook nodded, and that’s all Jay needed.

“You’re fucking stupid, man!” Sunghoon hissed, “What are you thinking?!”

“That we would be fucking set and not have to beg ever again for food or work our asses off in this stupid prison for money and food. To never have to worry about stepping foot outside this zone. To remain safe,” Jay didn’t realize he was holding his breath as he said that, taking a massive inhale in and clenching his fingers against his biceps, “When would we leave?”

“Tomorrow night, It’ll give me enough time to let the capital know you accepted their offer and to gather enough weapons and materials for your journey.”

Jay just nodded, “I am doing this, and you can’t stop me.”

Heeseung gritted his teeth, “And what if they kill her the moment you hand her over?”

Jay just shrugs, “Not my circus, not my monkeys. But at least we’ll have four million dollars.”

—

You covered your hands over your ears, closing your eyes tightly. Your breathing was uneven as you heard your heartbeat in your ears, Jay’s voice was muffled and drowning out of the sound of your heartbeat and the screams of the undead surrounding the area.

“YN!!” he said loud enough for you to hear him but quiet enough for the undead to not hear him, “YN, calm down!”

You couldn’t hear him, you just knew he was speaking to you. The memories of being cornered in the building resurfaced. The sounds of your friends screaming, the smells of the dead, and the blood dripping from everyone. The visions of you feeling your best friend being ripped away from you. Everything was replying over and over.

You started to hyperventilate, your every breath loud enough to draw the undead in your and Jay’s direction.

Jay grabbed both of your wrists, trying to pull them from your ears, him repeating your name over and over again but nothing worked.

“Fuck,” he hissed, taking a look around. The two of you were in a safe enough spot that the zombies wouldn’t be able to reach you, but once they found where you both were hiding…it was over.

Jay placed his hands on top of yours, “YN, look at me.” But you didn’t respond, your breathing getting worse as the time ticked by.

He was running out of ways to calm you down and get you to be quiet. His heart was racing faster as fear was overtaking him and his options running low.

Jay slides his hands to your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing over the back of your hands at your ears. Without another thought, he moved forward.

**A WEEK BEFORE**

Jay forced you to get as much rest as possible to be awake enough for the start of the journey to the capital.

Jungkook said it would be a five-month walk there if everything went smoothly and no hiccups on the road on the way there. Or ya know, the two of you don’t get killed.

The moment Jungkook knocked on the door to the house, Heeseung quickly answered, swinging the door open to let him slip in before anyone could see.

He carried two backpacks filled with food, medicine, and weapons and ammunition.

“This should last you both the five-month journey,” He said, pushing his tongue into the side of his cheek, “That's if you ration the food and the ammunition. Just don’t put yourselves into situations to have to use too much.”

Jay scoffed, sliding the backpack onto his shoulders, “Don’t you know who you’re talking to?”

Jungkook chuckled, pulling him into a quick hug, “Safe travels.”

Jungkook didn’t say another word as he darted out of the house, Heeseung closing and locking the door behind him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jake said with a shake of his head, “There’s no need to do this. We’ve survived perfectly fine before.”

Jay has been weighing out his options ever since agreeing to do this. Always leaning toward taking this trip. He didn’t want to watch his brothers suffer anymore. Yeah they all weren’t struggling, but they would be so much better off once that money was in his hands.

The amount of food they would have to fill their bellies, not having to worry about rationing. Not having to shove money away just to save up for the food, more clothes, and the other bills this safe zone forced on the residents here. They wouldn’t have to smuggle ever again. Jungkook could get off their backs about certain jobs. They would be free.

“I have to do this,” Jay breathes, “I want to do this.”

And hey, who knows? Maybe giving her off to the capital will make a cure and the world could be saved. Maybe.

Sunghoon pulls Jay’s shotgun from the hidden closet, “Just don’t do anything stupid, ya?”

Jay chuckled, “I’ll leave the stupid here with you three.”

Everyone laughed but you and Heeseung, who stood at the door still and leaning against the wall, arms crossed and his face filled with worry.

You have only known these guys for a short time, but you can tell each of them rely on each other for everything. Whatever terrible things these four had to endure before the outbreak and even after…they became family. Inseparable. Bonded for the rest of their lives.

Jay pulled the younger two into hugs, saying how he’ll be back within a year.

Heeseung pushed himself off the wall, dropping his arms to pull Jay into a hug, the older locking his jaw when he looked at you, “You come back in one piece, got it!”

Jay rolled his eyes, “You know I will Hee.”

Heeseung pulled away, finally looking away from you, “She better be worth all this fucking trouble,” he whispers, eyes quickly darting to you to see you adjusting your backpack on your shoulders, “What will you do if they actually kill her the moment you get there?”

Jay just shrugs, “Not my problem once the money is in my hands.”

Heeseung sighs, “She’s still a human being. I can only imagine how life has been since finding out she was immune.”

Jay tilted his head back to look at you, to look at the wrap that barely stuck out of your long-sleeve shirt. “She probably has been through hell to keep it a secret.”

You look back up at them, “Ready to go yet or are you two going to make out before we leave?”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, “Good luck with that attitude man,”

Jay sighed, “Yeah. I’ll need it.”

It didn’t take the two of you long to leave the house and quickly and quietly make your way back to the same tunnels and escape route you used to get into the safe zone.

Jay helped pull you out of the manhole then kicked the metal plate back over it and locked it tightly.

He swung his shotgun from his back to his front, positioning his hands in the right places before walking ahead of you, “Come on, let’s get this over with Miss Immune.”

You snarl at him but follow behind anyway.

This was the last thing you wanted to happen. To be turned into the capital. To be used as some experiment and plaything for scientists to gock over.

“Might as well just kill me and get it over with,” you scoffed, keeping your eyes on the ground, stepping over everything Jay was, “They will just kill me eventually.”

Jay shrugged, “You’re worth four million to them, they can do whatever they want after they have you in their hands.”

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, “Did your mother ever teach you how to treat a lady?”

He chuckles, “My manners went out the window the moment you pointed a gun at my head.”

You glared at the back of his head, “Says the one that surrounded me with four shotguns and then pointed my pistol directly to my forehead.”

Jay said nothing in return and kept walking forward. Eventually slinging his gun back around his back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Neither of you spoke for hours as the night pressed on. The woods were quiet, a bit too quiet for your liking and the only thing making you feel at ease was the fact Jay kept his gun resting on his back and hands shoved into his pockets. He obviously knew these woods better than you. He was a smuggler, after all.

Even after all the sleep you received back at the house, drowsiness found you anyway. You yawned and rubbed your eyes, “Can we find somewhere to sleep?”

Jay didn’t realize how tired he was either until after hearing your voice, a yawn escaping his lips as well, “There’s a small shed we’ve used when our smuggling routes take a couple of days, we can stop there to eat and sleep.”

“How far is it?” you asked, not knowing how much longer you could actually go.

Jay looks at the surrounding area before he answers, “About another hour.”

You groaned but accepted it. Soon enough the small shed came into view. It was overgrown with vines and weeds but still stood strong.

Sleep hit you the minute you dropped into the dusty cot, not caring enough to clean it. Jay did the same.

The moment the sun started to shine through the shed, Jay woke you up and started the journey again.

The whole day passed in silence, only speaking when spoken to and only stopping for food, bathroom breaks, and to rest.

A week has passed when the two of you approach an old factory building. A long chain-linked fence surrounded the area.

“Shit,” Jay scoffed, “We’ll have to cut through.”

“Can’t just, like you know, go around?” it was such a simple question, yet Jay looked at you as if you asked the stupidest question in the world, “Fine!” you snapped, holding your hands up in defense, “You’re the one who knows better, right?”

“We’d waste time going around,” Jay locks his fingers around the holes of the fence, “Every second counts, plus this place might have materials we can gather.”

And there he goes, climbing up and over the fence, carefully dropping himself back to the ground and turning to face you, “Well?” he raised a brow, “Get your ass moving.”

You roll your eyes and attach your fingers and toes of your boots in the loops, lifting yourself up, crawling to the top, and swinging your leg over the top, “Catch me?”

Jay narrowed his eyes, “You survived by yourself for god knows how long before meeting me, and now you’re acting like you need help?”

“I’m scared of heights,”

“You’re fucking joking.”

You smile, clearly loving how he reacts to your teasing, “Yeah I’m fucking with you,” you dropped down to the ground, Jay’s hands quickly resting on your shoulders to keep you from losing balance, “Learn to live a little, okay?”

His glare was unrelenting as you walked past him, “I lived plenty before the world ended.”

You watched as he hurried past you, wanting to ask what he meant. To know some part of how he was before the world went to utter shit. You were stuck with him for five months, might as well get to actually know him, right?

You opened your mouth to ask him, only to be met with his hands now on you. One covering your mouth and the other pulling you to his chest, backing the both of you up against a truck, “Keep quiet, we have company.”

Your eyes wander to where he was looking, seeing the few undead friends that lurked around the entrance to the factory.

You pulled his hand from your mouth, catching your breath and assessing what to do.

“We need to find a way around without alerting them.”

“I already know that, YN,” he whispers, “The question is how.”

Jay searched the area, pinpointing every safe spot that led to the door.

“Okay,” he released you from his grip, “Stay on my ass.”

You followed on his heels, holding your breath the entire way until his hands touched the handle of the factory door and pushed it open.

You glanced around at your undead friends who stalked around, their bodies bunched over as they slowly dragged their feet with each step they took, grunts leaving their mouths.

Jay peaked into the factory, the only light showing was from the windows, barely giving off enough light for him to confirm the opening at least, was clear.

He carefully and quickly slid between the doors, reaching back out to pull you in behind him, closing the door and locking it for extra protection.

You both took in the factory. It was a complete mess. Tables, papers, machinery, torn clothes, and everything in between covered the floors. The smell of this place was disgusting. The mixture of oils, grease, blood, and dead things—probably both humans, zombie, and animals—filled the air.

You tried to not throw up your lunch, covering your mouth with your hand, “I don’t like it here.”

“That makes two of us,” Jay said softly, “Taking a flashlight from his backpack, “Let’s get moving, and keep quiet, we don’t know what’s in here.”

You followed behind him at a distance, eyes wandering over everything possible, looking for any material that could aid you both. But so far, nothing. Everything was either broken or just couldn’t be used. Nothing of help or a service to either of you.

Jay had a bad feeling about this place, like whatever happened here was a lot worse than the remnants of this place give off. It was way too quiet to just be abandoned. His gut feeling told him to look for anything—and everything—possible that would stick out. Things that shouldn’t be here. He swallowed hard, flashing his light down to the floor, seeing scratch marks going in every direction, dried blood staining the tile.

Then it clicked in his head. Everything made sense.

This whole factory was a trap.

This place wasn’t abandoned. Not even close. It was purposely left like this to lure in survivors, making them think they found a safe place to hide. Whoever ran this factory obviously wasn’t here, or else something would have already gone wrong. “YN,” he whispers, “This place is a trap.”

“I know,” you said with a shaky breath. Jay was alerted to the tone of your voice, whipping around to see the tears swelling your eyes. He traced his eyes down, seeing the cord you’ve stepped on, “Something clicked when I stepped on it,” you tried to hold back the tears, to look brave in front of him, to look like a survivor. But you failed, the fear washing over you too quickly, “Jay,” you cried.

“Shhh, no, hey,” he quickly gets closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Calm down, let me figure out what to do.”

You nodded, feeling a tear slide down your cheek. Jay lifted his hand and wiped away the tear, cupping your face and tracing his fingers along your jaw as he walked away from you, following where the cord led. It was plugged into one of the machines. He wandered his eyes back to the other end of the core, following it back to your feet, and then continued to where it was plugged into the wall. Jay wasn’t stupid, he knew if he just unplugged the cord it would make the machine react. He and Jake have rigged multiple machines to still set off if unplugged. The only way would be to cut the cord completely.

Jay knelt to his knees, setting the flashlight to the floor and sliding a folded knife from his pocket, whipping it open. He took a deep breath, counting down from three before folding the cord and cutting it.

You cry out and drop to your knees, covering your hands over your ears at the ringing alarm that Jay set off.

“Fuck!” He screamed, quickly standing back to his knees and rushing to you, “We need to fucking go, NOW!”

Whoever this bastard was that rigged that trap was a damned genius, an absolute asshole, but a genius. To rig a machine to set off an alarm when cut? The more Jay thought about it as he dragged you back up to your feet, the more he realized the alarm would have been set off either way. Cutting the power in either way would have set the alarm off.

The two of you barely took a few steps when the sounds of the undead surrounded the factory outside, because, of course, it would. That damn alarm just alerted whatever was outside—and inside—this factory. He needed to get that alarm off, and now.

Jay dragged you with him to what looked like the office of the building, not wasting time checking for a button or way to turn it off. He whipped the shotgun around and sent bullets into every control panel until the alarm went silent.

But unfortunately, Jay letting some rounds into the panel only sent whatever dead friends that were in the building to their exact location.

Jay grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the office, running as fast as he could and praying your legs could keep up with him. This wasn’t the first time he’s had to run from these monsters, or even hide from them. It wasn’t a skill he wanted to mark off his checklist of survival but had no nevertheless. You’ve only had to run from them the night your friends were killed while you fled. Your legs felt like they were led to the memory coming back.

You started to lose your breath, the fear covering every inch of you as you tried to focus on Jay’s back, on the warmth of his hand wrapped in yours. It worked for a bit as he dragged you down every hallway to find an exit. Worked until you both ran past a door, that just so happened to have zombies crawling inside it, who watched the two of you run back.

You heard the crack of the door first, Jay heard it the second time. His head whips around to see the wood of the door barely breaking and see them pile out of the room.

Jay acted fast, shoving you into an office room he prayed was safe. His eyes worked their magic, scanning as quickly as he could and seeing the room was in fact, clear. His hands only left you for a few seconds to close the door carefully, praying they didn’t hear it. But obviously, and because why would they not, heard the shut of the door anyway, alerting them in this direction.

They ran past, obviously not knowing which room you two snuck into, but their loud groans, hisses, and whales were loud enough to send every zombie on this side of the factory toward this hallway.

Which is how you ended up here. Back pressed to the wall, hands to your ears as you hyperventilate.

He was running out of ways to calm you down and get you to be quiet. His heart was racing faster as fear was overtaking him and his options running low.

Jay slides his hands to your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing over the back of your hands at your ears. Without another thought, he moved forward.

He connected his lips to yours, taking in every breath you let out. You opened your eyes quickly, seeing him staring back at you. You focused on the brown of his eyes, focused on the way his lips felt against yours. Your heart rate slowed, and the shaking of your hands stopped. It wasn’t even like he was kissing you kissing you, he just held his lips to yours, unmoving.

You waited for him to pull away, to pull away and tease you for being a scary cat. But he didn’t.

His eyes slowly closed, quickly removing his lips and connecting them again, pressing his lips harder to yours. You also closed your eyes, kissing him back. Your hands at your ears, slipped down to his wrists, squeezing them tightly as he shifted his hands to the edge of your jaw, fingers gripping the back of your head.

Jay doesn’t know what came over him, he only planned to kiss you once and have it be long enough to steady out your breathing. But something drew him in and he couldn’t stop.

Jay licks your bottom lip, waiting for your mouth to open and let him inside. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth as you sucked on the muscle, savoring the taste of him.

His grip on your face tightens as he softly groans into your mouth, clearly losing himself. Knowing he needed to stop but not being able to. The feel of your lips being addicting.

You need to stop, you need to stop, you need to stop.

The sounds of the zombies outside the door faded, the world finally becoming quiet and it was enough to make him stop.

Jay quickly pushed away from you, sliding himself across the floor and to the other side of the office, completely out of breath. He brought his knees to his chest in hopes of hiding the raging boner in his pants, dropping his face into his palms, then running them through his hair.

You took a few deep breaths, not taking your eyes off him.

“We will give it time before leaving, to make sure everything is clear to leave,” he said, doing everything he could to not look at you.

You nodded as if he could see it anyway. And not another word was spoken.

—

It’s been two months since he’s kissed you. Two months' worth of him doing everything to not look at you, to not touch you. He barely has been able to even speak to you. Reminding himself over and over again what his true mission was: to hand you over to the capital, get paid, and get his ass back home. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

You dropped to your knees, wiping the sweat from your forehead, “Jay?” he ignored you and kept walking forwards, “Jay!” silence, “ASSHOLE!!!”

Jay turned around, piercing holes into you with his eyes that were also on fire at you calling him an asshole. At least it finally got his attention.

“I am tired,” you breathed, wiping the sweat that was already recollected on your forehead.

“Okay, and?” he said calmly. If it weren’t for the fire burning in his eyes you would have thought he was actually calm. But Jay couldn’t afford to be nice to you, not when he’s fighting every demon within himself to not press his lips against yours again. Not when he has four million dollars waiting for him.

You glared back at him, “I need rest? We’ve been walking for days straight and only took a couple of breaks to sleep for an hour.”

“How the fuck did you survive alone for so long?” he questioned, starting to think maybe you just hid the entire time before they found you, “what happened to that attitude when we first met?”

You stood back to your feet, quickly walking past him and shoving your middle finger in his face, barely grazing his nose, “Want my attitude? Here it is asshat.”

Jay smirked as he watched you walk ahead of him, eyes without his permission moving from the back of your head down to your hips, watching the way they sway. Jay scoffed at himself, quickly dropping his eyes to the ground and rushing after you, “Smartass, you don’t even know where you are going.”

You stopped walking, staring straight ahead.

But Jay didn’t stop, and ran right into you, almost knocking you over completely, his hands quickly grabbing your shoulders. His rage settled in again, “What the fuck! Don’t just stop wa—“

“Long time no see, Jay Park.”

He moved on autopilot, hands rushing to your waist and shoving your behind him in the same motion of wiping his gun from his back to front, finger itching to pull the trigger, “Same to you, Choi Soobin. What are you doing so far out from your zone?”

The blonde smirked, “Was on a smuggle run, but shouldn’t I be asking you that question, Jay?”

A laugh from behind, “Yeah, aren’t you the one who is a little too far from your zone?”

You pulled your pistol from its holster, facing your back to Jay’s and pointing it at a blue-haired man.

Jay narrowed his eyes, snaking one hand behind him to grab your shirt, pulling you closer to him, back to back, keeping his shotgun aimed at Soobin, “I am also on a smuggling run, Huening Kai, just passing through.”

“You know,” a voice to his right, “This is our territory, there is just no passing through here.”

Jay was barely able to glare to his right, seeing Beomgyu pointing a rifle at you and him.

Then another laugh to the left of him, his eyes darting to see Taehyun walking closer, also pointing his rifle, “Jay, did you really think we wouldn’t have seen you two when you got close to our zone?”

Jay just chuckled, not because of the fact they were even close to another zone, but because he let themselves get close to another zone. He was so caught up in trying to ignore you and push down his demons that he didn’t realize how close he pulled you both here. But he kept laughing, “What I think is Yeonjun is missing out, isn’t he? My feelings hurt that he isn’t here.”

Soobin just smiled, “You think my brothers would just leave me behind?” Yeonjun said, finally making his appearance from behind Soobin, “That wounds me.”

Jay just rolls his eyes, “Are we done here? I have important shit to do.”

“Like what?” the blonde leader asked, his eyes darting behind Jay to look at you, “What are you smuggling, exactly?”

You pressed your back harder against Jay’s, feeling his hand tighten at your shirt.

Soobin just tilts his head, his smile growing wider, “Don’t tell me it’s the girl.”

Your heart stopped and Jay kept quiet, not having a damn thing to say as a comeback. The only thing on his mind was to protect you, to keep you so close to him that he could fuse with you if possible.

But Jay knew telling the truth, or well parts of it, was the only way to get around when it came to these five. Jay has dealt with them enough in the past to know how they work, “I’m taking her to the capital.”

“Jay!” you snapped.

“Shut up!” was his reply to you, “She’s important to the capital and I have been tasked to get her there. We honestly were just passing through, it’s my bad we got too close.”

Soobin looked between the eyes of each of his brothers, each of them giving him nods and shrugs, “It’s getting late, don’t want you getting caught up with our…walking dead at night. Stay in our zone for the night.”

Jay wanted to say no, to say they were fine. But the death truth was they were running low on supplies. Needed clean clothes and showers. Your bite mark needed to be cleaned, which is why Jay thinks you’re been more out of it the last few days than normal. He knew you also needed some proper sleep and not being able to find any safe place in days to actually give you that rest killed him, “Fine. We leave at first light.”

You wanted to protest, turning around completely to yell at him, to reject their offer for him. But all he did was grab your waist and pull you to his side, lowering his gun over to his shoulder and giving you the look of warning to keep your mouth shut. So you didn’t fight him. You needed to stay alive anyway, who knew what would happen to Jay, Heeseung, Jake, Sunghoon, and Jungkook if Jay failed to get you to the capital. And you didn’t want to think about it. So you clung to his side as everyone walked forward, Beomgyu and Taehyun standing at yours and Jay’s side as Kai stayed behind you, and Soobin and Yeonjun leading the way.

“Where are your three stooges at?” Yeonjun asked, barely turning his head around to smile at Jay, “Not used to seeing you as a lone wolf.”

You tuned out their conversation, keeping your eyes locked off into the distance, biting your lip to keep from talking. You don't know how Jay knew these five or why they obviously seem to be on bad terms, the last thing you needed to do was open your mouth and make it all worse.

Huening Kai kept eyeing you and Jay, looking for anything possible to tell him more about what was actually going on with the two of you. Jay isn’t ever by himself without the other three. And Jay isn’t the type of person to smuggle a human, drugs and weapons were more his and his friend's forte, so why did he have you attached to him as if they were going to rip you away from him?

“Ahhh,” Kai giggled, there’s feelings involved. He kept his eyes wandering, barely glancing over to your arm and back up to your shoulder before tracing them quickly back down, seeing the bandage peeking out from your long sleeve, “Haha! Holy shit guys! She’s been bit.”

Just as quick as the five of them turned to face the two of you, pointing their weapons, Jay was pulling you to his chest and snapping your pistol from its holster at your hip and pointing it straight ahead at Soobin and Yeonjun.

“Holy shit is right, man,” Yeonjun laughed, “No fucking wonder you’re out here alone, Jay. Going to the capital, my ass.”

Fucking Huening Kai.

The grip on your waist tightened, Jay snarling at each of them, “It’s not what you think it is.”

“Oh? It’s not?” Soobin hissed, his friendly cute persona being replaced with his cool, hard, leader persona, “Give me a reason to not kill you both right fucking now.”

“Because she was hurt,” Jay said quickly, “We’ve been traveling for two months. We had to climb a fence and she got herself caught. That’s it.”

You could hear how fast Jay’s heart was racing in his chest, how hard his body went the moment Kai opened his mouth. He pushed you even closer to him, leaving no room between the two of you.

The rage Jay felt course through his body was scaring him. The thoughts he had in his head on the ways he would kill all five of them just by pointing a gun at you. It was scaring him at the things he was willing to do to protect you. Scaring him because he didn’t understand why.

“What does the capitol want with her then?” Soobin asked, clearly not believing the story, “What’s so special?”

Jay just shrugged, “Beats me. And nor do I care to know. All I know is I’m getting a fat paycheck for getting her there.” The hurt you felt at his words when his actions towards you right now were the opposite. You felt confused. First, he kisses you the way he did back at the factory, then turns completely cold and now he’s got you pressed to his chest, grip unrelenting as he points your gun at the threat in front of him. Maybe all he really did care about was the money.

To Jay’s surprise, each of them lowered their weapons, “There’s the Jay I know,” Soobin teased, “Let’s just get back in the zone before the dead decide to get us to join them.”

Everyone walked in silence the rest of the short walk to the safe zone and to your surprise, they didn’t sneak back into the zone, their military guards just…let them in? You looked up at Jay, him already answering you in a whisper without looking back at you, “This safe zone is full of smugglers and corrupted police, it’s how they survive here. The normal citizens and police don’t know how corrupt it is. They are very very sneaky. It’s one of the most dangerous zones right now.”

You didn’t answer. Just put your eyes back in front of you as you all entered the zone. Jay pulled you closer to him again, his eyes darting to every person who looked his way, who looked your way.

“We have one room available for you two to share,” Soobin said pointing at the small building to his left, “We will come by tomorrow to let you back out of the zone. Until then I suggest you stay inside, or at least keep her inside. There are clean clothes and some fruit in there too.”

They still don’t trust us.

Jay pulled you along with him, the other five watching as the two of you entered the building.

“What are you thinking?” Soobin asked Kai, who had his arms wrapped tightly across his chest, blue hair blowing in the wind as he narrowed his eyes at the building.

“If she wasn’t bitten, then what could be so special that Jay protected her like that? Besides the obvious attraction, he feels. But something is off. The caption doesn't want just anybody, not anyone from this side of the country at least,” Kai took his chin between two fingers and looked up at the dark sky. Picturing the way your bandage was wrapped around your wrist, there was no way you weren’t bitten. It was wrapped in a way to hide what was there, not to cover up some wounds…unless, “She is immune.”

Jay let you bathe first, him keeping his eye pointed out the window as he popped a grape into his mouth. He didn’t trust the five boys either, not when they stood in a circle in the same exact place, clearly discussing what to do about the two of them, “If you keep staring at them you’ll just give them more reasons to not trust us, we just need to get through the night.”

Jay looks over at you, seeing the way you dangle your arms over the bathtub, resting your chin on white porcelain, “Neither I nor them trust each other and you’re worth a shit ton of money, I’ll keep him eye on them if I want to,” without another word, he looks back out the window. You sigh and resume your bath then get out and quickly change, letting Jay now soak in the tub.

You fell asleep faster than you thought and it pissed Jay off. How could you sleep so easily? But the more he looked at your sleeping body, eyes darting to your bite mark, the wound no longer continued to bleed or be filled with pus but now red and irritated. The longer he looked, the more he relaxed, realizing you’ve been through enough shit. You deserved some actual rest.

Jay couldn’t afford to rest though. He left the room, breaking the doorknob once the door was shut, securing a way no one else could get in to hurt you. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he left the building in search of food and other materials to replenish what you and he had used over the last two months.

He hated being here. Jay spent enough time over the last couple of years smuggling shit in and out of this place. It’s the main reason why Soobin and his dogs don’t like him and his friends. One major rule of smuggling in this world is to stay out of other smugglers' zones. But hey, if the money was good, Jay and his team did it.

Jay was barely able to walk away from a stall selling canned food when he ran into Yeonjun, “Was wondering if I’d run into you,” he smiled, folding his hands behind his back, “Should have known you’d be out restocking your supplies.”

Jay just rolls his eyes, “What do you want? I have sleep to catch.”

“Hmm,” Yeonjun hummed, following behind Jay, “I want to ask you again about your girl.”

“She’s not my girl,” Jay hissed, “Just someone I am taking to—“

“I know she’s immune.”

Jay turned on his heels quickly, pointing a finger into Yeonjun’s face, “Shut the fuck up! Keep your fucking mouth shut!”

But he only smirked, “So our suspensions are true?”

“No!” Jay scoffed, dropping his hand, “You can’t just throw around the word immune without it causing chaos, you know this, you dumbass.”

Yeonjun shrugs, “You’re willing to turn your girlfriend into the capital so easily? When she has a gift everyone would kill to have? She isn’t safe out there.”

Jay narrowed his eyes, trying to read Yeonjun’s face for any hint of what he was trying to pull. But then it clicked with him. Soobin is the one who usually is the head of the battle. The first to step up and say or do anything. Yeonjun is also attached to Soobin as his second. But the fact Yeonjun is here right now…without Soobin…Jay’s heart nearly stopped. He slowly backed away. They were planning something and Yeonjun was being used as a distraction.

“You know the capital will kill her, Jay!” he chuckles, “They will kill her the moment you hand her over. Your precious love will die.”

Jay stopped listening as he made a full sprint back to the room.

—

Jay didn’t continue breathing until he stepped foot into the room, seeing you sleeping peacefully.

He took a couple of deep breathes, placing a hand on the wall to steady himself, giving him only a few seconds of deep breathing before pushing off the wall and packing up both backpacks, “YN,” he calls to you, his heart rate increasing with each second longer you stayed here, “YN!!”

You jolted awake, slowly lifting yourself from the bed and seeing Jay rushing around the room in a hurry, “What?” you barely were able to get the words out without a yawn creeping out afterward.

“We need to go. Like now.”

You didn’t like the desperation in his voice, and you sure didn’t like the way he was rushing around to gather all your things into the backpacks. Something was wrong and it made your stomach drop, “Why? What happened?”

Jay told you about the encounter with Yeonjun, and how he thinks they are planning something, explaining how Soobin and his team work. You didn’t understand it.

“How are you so sure they are even planning anything?” You asked, now following him around the room as he paced to gather everything, “They let us stay here?”

Jay stopped pacing, his hands immediately grabbing your face, “They know you’re immune. And they are smugglers, YN. I know how they think. They are going to keep you here and probably sell you to the highest bidder, the thing those people would do to you…” Jay didn’t even want to think about what those nasty people would do. The worst thing is to use you as experiments to find a cure on their own without the capital which will result in killing you, or them using you as their own plaything, forcing you to produce offspring in hopes of more people being born with the immunity. Either way, he wasn’t going to let it happen.

He couldn’t let them take you from him. Couldn’t let them harm you in any way. He was going crazy just thinking about it all. He stepped away from you, “Get your boots on and quickly.”

You did as you were told, slipping your feet into the boots and taking your backpack from him as he walked to the door, peeking out the windows before waving you to follow him. Jay already secured an escape route. He’s slipped in and out of this zone enough times to know every escape route possible.

He kept you tugged tightly to him as you both left the building, quickly slipping into the alleyway. To say you were scared was an understatement. You still didn’t fully understand what was going on, mostly on Jay’s side. He seemed so ready to hand you over for the money, what difference would it make if he just left you here? Why go through the trouble of getting you out of this place?

“Jay,” you called for him, but he ignored you. Just gripping your arm tighter as he led you in and out and around different buildings and alleyways. Stopping anytime someone walked by or got too close, Jay held his breath every single time as if it would help hide the two of you. But before he knew it, you both were approaching the fence, seeing the hole he and his team has used to get in and out was not patched up, “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

Jay ran his hands through his hair, then grabbed your arm again, pulling you down the fence line. Eyes searching for an opening. Every safe zone had one. A little door in the fence that would lead out in case of evacuation. You’d need a military card to get access for it to open, but Jay had ways to break it.

You both finally reached that door, the keycard scanner blinking green, showing it was working. Jay dropped the backpack to the ground, pulling out some tools.

“What are you doing??” You whispered, eyes darting to her surrounding area, “What if you set off an alarm like last time?”

Jay chuckled, “I’ve done this before, the factory was rigged from the start.” It was the first time even talking about the factory. Jay used the screwdriver's flat end to pry open the lid, looking at the series of wires, “Time to get to work.” You watched as he cut wires and replaced them, the little flashing green light turning red, then flashing back to green and the door unlocked and slowly opened, “Magic.”

You rolled your eyes, “We don’t have time for this.”

Jay threw the tools back into the backpack, quickly standing up and reaching for your hand. The two of you were barely three steps out of the zone when five figures with tickets pointing directly at you two appeared. Jay flung you behind him, aiming his shotgun at Soobin.

“Should have known you’d try to escape,” the blonde boy hissed, “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”

“I’m NOT letting you keep her here,” Jay barked back.

Taehyun chuckled, “Why does it matter to you what we would do with her here? Don’t you only care about the money she’s worth?”

“I don’t see four million dollars in your hands, Kang,” Jay snapped, eyes burning holes into Taehyun’s chest but kept his gun aimed at Soobin, “And since I don’t see the fucking money, we’re leaving.”

“Just think what the capital would do,” Yeonjun said, “Far worse than her staying safe here.”

Jay gritted his teeth, “You wouldn’t keep her safe. You’d use her!”

The smile on Soobin’s face told him everything he needed to know. They were going to use you in any way possible and you weren’t going to survive it and if you did, you wouldn’t be the same.

The five of them took one step closer and Jay felt like he was about to combust, “Take one more fucking step and I’ll shoot!” He yelled, darting the barrel at each of them.

“It’s five against one,” Kai teased, taking another few steps forward, “What the fuck are you going—“

One moment Kai was standing, the next he was on the ground, blood pooling from his thigh. His hands were quickly covered in his own blood as he put pressure on the wound, his blue hair sticking to his face from the sweat he had just broken out in. Teeth gritting and eyes that could kill were staring right back at Jay.

Kai’s four friends rushed to him, each of them now looking at Jay as well, “I fucking told you to not take another step. I’ll kill you all if you so much as lay a finger or come near her!!”

Soobin’s smile was gone and replaced with pure rage, “Get the fuck out of my safe zone before I blow your brains out and feed you to the zombies out there.”

You locked your jaw, gripping the barrel of Jay’s gun and forcing him to drop it, “Let’s fucking go!!” You snapped at him, fingers gripping the sleeve of his shirt, and pulling him away.

“You’re going to regret your choices, Jongseong Park!” Huening Kai yelled, his voice echoing into the woods, “ROT IN FUCKING HELL!!”

Jay stopped listening as he was now the one gripping your waist and leading you into the dark dangerous woods, the sounds of Kai’s screams and yelps becoming a distant noise.

Once Jay felt like it was safer, he removed his hand from your waist, and quickly walked ahead of you, “What the fuck was that, Jay?” You asked harshly, moving your legs to keep up at his pace.

“I told them to not take another step, and he did. He’ll suffer for his actions.” Jay didn’t know what you wanted to tell you, he did what he had to to get you out of there and he didn’t care if you agreed or not.

“You could have killed him!!” Jay just shrugs and keeps on walking. You clenched your fists at your side, digging your fingers into the fabric of your jeans.

“This is life as a smuggler,” Jay finally said after a few moments of silence, “You sometimes have to pull the trigger to survive.”

“We could have just run out!!”

“No,” he hissed, “They wouldn’t have allowed that! I did what I had to!”

“And it was wrong!”

Jay stopped to turn and face you, the clear desperation and anger still on his face, “I don’t regret doing what needed to be done in order to protect you. I wasn’t going to let those assholes hurt you.”

You tried to read his face and look for any signs of the truth. There was more to this than him just protecting you for the money. You were filled with more confusion as you looked at him, trying to read his cold eyes, but still found nothing. Jay quickly turned away from you and continued walking. You tried multiple more times to get him to explain his actions, but he kept ignoring you. And you eventually gave up for the night.

—

To say over the next few days you’ve wanted nothing more than to bash Jay’s skull into the next tree you see would be an understatement. His attitude towards you got worse. He started to ignore you even more and only spoke to you to ask and make sure you were okay, if you were hungry, tired, or needed any rest. Outside of that? It’s like you didn’t exist.

You tried asking a few times about his actions at the previous safe zone, to see what even prompted him to make such a choice when you could have just run out. The gate was already open, so shooting Kai wasn’t needed to survive. There could have been another way.

Jay tried to fight off every feeling he felt. Specifically towards you and the other five back at the zone. Half of him wanted to go back and kill them all for so much thinking about using you, the other half of him wished he didn’t have to pull that trigger. He struggled to understand his feelings for you, the protectiveness he felt, the need to hold you close to him and keep you in his eyesight the entire time, the want to kiss you again, to feel your warmth. Everything mixed so deeply within him and confused him. Where did the lines blur? And where did they not? Is he wanting to protect you for that fat paycheck he’ll receive? Or is it because he actually wants to protect you? Does he want to keep you close because he wants to close or because to make sure you’re safe and unharmed once you’re handed off to the capital? Does he want to kiss you again because he hasn’t felt that sort of affection in a while, or because he actually wants to? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Or maybe he just wanted to shove the feelings away.

Jay was still deep in thought when something wet landed on his face. He stopped walking to glance up at the sky. You also looked up, a sigh leaving his lips, “Looks like it’s fixing to downpour.”

“We need to get somewhere safe,” you said, looking back at the man in front of you, still trying to read his face.

Jay just nods, then looks at the surrounding area, “There should be a cave around here. Let's go.”

You wanted to ask him how he just knows that there is a cave nearby. It makes you question how many smuggling missions he’s gone on. How many times he risked his life out there time and time again? From his attitude and cold demeanor, it’s obvious he’s done this more times than he probably wanted to even count.

You followed him nonetheless, followed alongside a mountain that eventually a tall chain-linked fence got attached to, leading to a gate that was already opened with vines and grass growing around it.

“Was this a safe zone?” you asked, “it looks abandoned.”

“Because it is,” Jay sighs, “It was a smaller one, could only fit a couple hundred. It’s a shame what happened to it.”

You followed him past the gate and slowly to the hole in the mountain where a massive steel door stood at the entrance of the cave, “What happened?”

There was a panel on the wall beside the door, showing that it needed a code for the door to open. You were about to lose hope, thinking you’d have to find another place, but Jay reached his hand to the panel, pressing 0428, and the door slowly opened.

“How do you know the code?”

“Used to make smuggling runs here when it was still an active zone,” he doesn’t so much even glance at you as he walks inside, “The people who aren’t a part of zones, who are against the government and zones altogether, a band of them came through here, tearing the place apart and left no survivors.”

Your eyes dropped to the cave floor, “How could humans do such a thing.”

Jay sighs, “I wish I knew. I’m not any better, being a smuggler and doing my fair share of…anyways, what happened to these people, to this zone, it haunted other smaller zones, forcing them to leave and join the bigger ones or flee to the capital.”

You watched as the cave floor turned from rough stone to polished stone, your eyes lifting back up to take in your sleeping stop for the night. Jay hovered to the right of the wall, finding the power box and flipping the switch. Small lanterns covered the walls and ceiling. Multiple areas of the cave held beds lined to the wall along with showers, tubs, toilets, and kitchen appliances. There were a few areas that were for the children, toys lying on the floor and tables, and some of the beds.

Children were murdered here.

You grasped your hand over your chest, feeling how your heart clenched at the sight.

Jay turns back to look at you, his cold eyes softening, “It was terrible. Heeseung and I got here just in time to see the bandits leave. It took everything for us not to fight them ourselves,” the look in your eyes told him enough how badly this place affected you already.

You took more glances around, “Why does it not look like—“

“Like it was torn apart?” Jay finished for you, dropping his backpack to the floor in front of one of the beds lined to the wall and setting his weapons onto the bed, “Because my team came here and cleaned it up, hoping someday it can be lived in again. We come back every so often to make sure everything is fine and clean.”

You watched as he sat on the bed, dropping his face into his palms. The rain finally touched down and thunder sounded, the lanterns flickering softly. Jay sighs and quickly stands back up, digging through a drawer to light a couple of candles in case the power does indeed go out. You continued to watch his every move. How can this person be so confusing? So cold and so selfless and full of love all at the same time. You could see it in his eyes how it hurt talking about what happened here. Jay was barely able to sit back down on the bed before you started talking.

“Why did you shoot Kai?”

Jay rolled his eyes, “Can you shut up about it? There’s that cold again.

You shook your head, “No! I need to understand!”

“What is there to understand, YN? I warned them what would happen if they took a step closer, and look what happened.” Pure rage filled his eyes once again, his jaw locking tight.

“There had to have been another way! We could have just left!” You took a deep breath, clenching your fists, “You could have killed them!”

Jay scoffed with a smirk, shaking his head, “I could have, should have.”

Now you were pissed off, “Why? Huh? Explain that to me. I am NOT worth killing over!”

Jay shot to his feet, pointing a finger at you, “Don’t you fucking say that! You’re worth—“

“Four million dollars, I fucking get it, Jay. All I am worth is that four million,” he swallowed, not saying a word and he flexed his fists at his sides. It was your turn to scoff and smirk, “Not worth anything more than just to get your damned money.”

“STOP talking like that,” he snapped.

“Why should I?” You scoff again, “You’ve done nothing—NOTHING—but tell me and everyone else how much money I am worth. All you fucking care about is the mon—“

Jay couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t think straight as his feet dashed to you, hands cupping your face and lips attaching to yours, slamming his body into yours with such force that it startled you. His lips moved quickly against yours, brows furrowing and eyes closed tightly as he was trying his damndest to slow his heart rate, to not take out every emotion he had into kissing you, but his body failed him as he stayed connected to you, your hands slowly reaching up to touch his wrists, and it was enough to send him over the edge.

“You’re worth so, so, so much more,” he said between kisses, his hands dropping to your waist, “I can’t hold myself back when it comes to you, I want you near me all the time. It’s taken everything in me to not jump your bones every second of every single day.”

You leaned more into him, accepting him and his truth that he was finally spilling to you after so long.

“I don’t give a fucking shit about that money, the capital can fucking keep it. You’re worth everything to me and I am so fucking crazy about you.” Jay slid his mouth from yours and down to your neck, leaving small bites as he trailed down to your shoulder, his hands now under your shirt and quickly lifting it up and over your head. Your hands rushed to pull his shirt from him, needing to feel him skin-to-skin.

You barely had his shirt on the floor when his chest connected to yours and lips back on yours, “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers, “I can’t stop feeling for you. I want you. All of you. Please give yourself to me.”

Jay never was able to call someone his own. He’s had girlfriends and flings, yeah, but never someone that was actually his. Someone he could protect and love with every ounce he had. And it took kissing you in that factory for everything to make sense. He met you for a reason, whether that was some wack chance of fate or luck. He was meant to go through the hell he did to find you. And he wasn’t going to let you go now.

“I’m yours,” you whispered back, “I am all yours.” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. That you longed to feel him kiss you again, to touch you, hold you, and everything in between. He’s driven you crazy since day one, you should have known how hard you would have fallen.

Jay deepened the kiss even more, slowly pulling you back with him until reaching one of the beds against the wall, one hand reaching back up to your neck, then the other wrapping behind your back as he swiftly turned you around and laid you on your back, “Say it again,” he asked, his fingers tracing down your shoulders, pulling the straps of your bra down then sliding his hands underneath to unclasp it and toss it off to the floor, “say it again please.”

You swallowed, staring up into his eyes. And for the first time, you were able to finally read him. He wanted you in every way, “I’m yours.”

He slides his hands down to your jeans, unbuttoning them and looping his fingers between the fabric of both your jeans and panties and your skin and pulling them down, “Again.”

You bit your button lip and smirked up at him, “Should I?”

Jay stood on his knees, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, “If you want this dick, I suggest you do.”

You watch him with lust in your eyes as he slides out of his pants and boxers, his hand wrapping around his cock as he leaned back to hover over you, pumping himself slowly, “I said again.”

“I am yours.”

Jay tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, hands going to your thighs and lifting them up, wrapping them around his waist and lining his cock up with your cunt.

“You’re mine?” he breathes.

“Yours.”

Jay slides his hands up your body, clasping his fingers around yours tightly, pushing his hips forward until his cock is buried deep within you, “Mine, all mine,” he whispers into your ear, slowly sliding out and pushing back in.

His lips kissed down to your neck as he picked up his pace, using your hands pressed into the mattress as his leverage to kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick, grinding into you hard. Your moans sent chills down his spine, edging him to fuck into you faster. God, you felt so good. He only dreamed what your pussy would feel like wrapped around him. It was as if your pussy was made for him, made to fit and take his cock so fucking good. His. All his.

“Jay,” you moaned out his name, your hands now tangled in his dyed hair as one of his hands grasped your thigh, and the other on your face, “Are you mine, too?”

“Oh, baby,” he groans into your neck, “I’ve been yours.”

Thunder crashed outside, flickering the lights a couple of times before shutting them off completely. The candles are the only source of light. But it couldn’t have been more perfect. Yours and Jay’s moans mixed with the sound of the rain. His cock works against your sweet spot and nails dig into the plush of your thighs. He was going dizzy at the feeling of you, of the emotions you’ve made him feel. Your sex felt like heaven, you felt like heaven in this hell.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he kisses your neck, “Won’t let anyone touch you,” kisses your jawline, “I’d kill for you,” finally kissing your lips, “You’re mine. All mine.”

You kissed him back harder, pulling him as close as possible to you as you reached your climax, squeezing your legs tighter around his waist.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “I’m gonna cum too,” he pumped into you faster, “call me yours, say my name, f-fuck, please say I’m yours.”

You tightened your legs around him, kissing from his lips to his ear, “Jay, you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine.”

He clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut as he cums, “Shit, baby,” he slowly lays on top of you gently, breathing in your scent, and wraps his arms underneath you to hold you against him. He took a couple of deep breaths and chuckled, “I am so glad you stole our drugs that day.”

—

you lay in his arms as he traced his fingers up and down your bare back, the rain still crashing down to the earth, it being the only sound you could hear besides the beating of Jay’s heart in your ear from laying against his chest.

Jay leaned against the wall the bed connected to, his eyes scanning the empty safe zone, trying to remember how much life was once held here. How life sits here now. Jay let his brain wonder about the different possibilities and outcomes of this zone, debating what to do and how to do it. His train of thought derailed when you shifted yourself up further, laying your head into his neck, “I thought you were asleep?”

You gently shook your head, “I don’t want to sleep and miss out on this moment.”

Jay chuckled and leaned his head against the top of yours, “You need some rest, I’m here and won’t leave you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, I just want to savor the moment for when you go back to being cold towards me once we leave here.”

Jay chuckles again, “Baby, I won’t. I was cold to keep the lines from blurring and my heart from feeling, but look how that turned out?”

You giggled when he slid his hands under the blanket you two shared and squeezed the fat of your ass, “Didn’t think you ever felt anything for me besides the money, you confused the hell out of me, Jay.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I know, I am sorry.” You shivered, so he pulled the blanket up higher on your naked body, running his hands up and down your back to help warm you.

Even though you’ve spent enough time with this man to know how he is, you still don’t know a lot about him besides the things he’s willingly shared with you. And since curiosity consumed you, mostly now that he’s accepted his feelings for you, maybe he’ll be more inclined to talk. Here goes nothing, “What did you do before the outbreak?” you softly asked while still treading on eggshells, “How was life for you before it?”

Jay takes a deep inhale, holding his breath for a couple of seconds before letting it out and wrapping his arms tighter around you, “Heeseung and I were best friends before all this. Grew up together actually. His family lived across the street from mine, and being the only child, I attached myself to Heeseung fairly quickly.”

You could see it. With how Heeseung and Jay relied on each other back in their home zone and even when they cornered you when you stole the drugs they were supposed to smuggle, the two of them stuck to each other.

“He became like my older brother, and I am a younger one for him. When the outbreak first happened, Heeseung and I…” he took another deep breath in, and you felt how tense his body became under you. So you reached a hand up to his chest, feeling that tension loosen, “We were fucking around with a few other kids in our town, shooting hoops at the court while passing a blunt between each of us. I was actually supposed to be grounded, I smart-mouthed off to my parents. I stuck out my bedroom window and jumped into Heeseung’s car and we went off to the basketball court. We were there for roughly thirty minutes before the first bomb dropped to take out the infected.”

You remembered the bombs very well. Remembered the sirens going off. People were going crazy to try and leave town to escape it. Only very few were lucky to get out. And since the two of you were lying here together, it was obvious you two were part of the lucky ones.

Jay continued, “Heeseung and I never ran back home so fast, only to see our street was completely…gone. We lost our families, and if we didn’t sneak out…we wouldn’t be here right now. The only thing that kept me alive to this very day was Heeseung. If I didn’t have him…”

“Jay,” you whispered, lifting yourself up to press the side of your face to his, “you have him, don’t think about what could have happened. You have him, and always will.”

He took a couple of deep breaths, leaning more into you, “I know. I’m lucky to have him as a brother. Same to Jake and Sunghoon.”

“How did you meet those two?”

Jay laughed, “We found them in an abandoned grocery store.”

You tried to not giggle, but let it out anyway, “Are you serious?”

“I am being so deadass,” he laughed more with you, you falling in love with how he smiles and the sound of his laugh. This Jay right here, this was his true self, “It was roughly about four months after the outbreak, so still before the safe zones. Heeseung and I were running low on food and we stumbled into a grocery store praying for food but finding Jake and Sunghoon with every food item possible shoved into the back corner of one of the offices hoarding it all for themselves.”

You just nodded, “Yeah from the small amount I know about them, that sounds about right.”

Jay agrees, “It was a sight to see that’s for sure. It took them everything to not kill us. They were held up there for a couple of weeks before we found them. But eventually, we got them to share their food and they just…followed us out of the grocery store when we left a day later. The four of us have been together since then.”

“Sounds like you guys found each other at the right times. They say you always find the people you need for your life at the right time regardless of the situation.” You slid back down, lying your head back on his neck, “Just like how you found me.”

Jay squeezed you tightly, “I have to agree with that statement. It’s like I am your god or something.”

You playfully slapped his bicep, “Oh shut up! You needed me just as much as I needed you.”

“I did, I needed you so bad and it took me meeting you to realize it.” Jay now slid down the bed, lying his head on the pillow and pulling you fully against him, resting his forehead against yours, “The four of us traveled for days to get to the safe zone we are at now. It was still newly built and just redeemed safe to let people in. Been there since, obviously, and eventually, we are where we are now. Being smugglers to keep our place and food in our bellies.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing all the hurt and pain he’s been through and even put himself through to continue to survive. To keep breathing. Jay kept fighting to stay alive for his brothers and kept going for someday finding more of a reason to keep his heart beating. He found that reason the moment he saw you. Even though you were pointing a gun to his head.

“You’ve fought long enough, Jay,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his, “Please take the money when you hand me over.”

Jay scoffs, “YN—“

“No,” you interrupted, “Take it. It would help you and the others. You all don’t need to fight anymore.”

Jay just looks back at you, wondering how the fuck could he just take that money and run. To leave you with the capital. He couldn’t do it. He won’t do it.

“I’ll find a way to get the money and bring you back home,” it sunk your heart hearing him call his safe zone your home. You had a home again. With him, “That way we can be set and I don’t have to leave you.”

You softly kissed him. Moving your lips so gently against his. His hands moved from your back to your waist and pressed your body against his.

Jay was home. Jay IS home. And you’d take up his mantle of fighting to protect him now. To keep him safe. Jay deserves it more than anything.

—

To both your and Jay’s surprise, the next three-month journey was actually really smooth. Jay didn’t know if he should be worried or relieved that everything had gone smoothly. He’s tried to keep a positive mind, to push out that smuggler mindset he’s been in for years, wanting to be a better man for you. But Jay knew even if he wanted to drop that life, he was going to have to keep up that fighter persona. That protectiveness. There’s no doubt Soobin and his dogs already ran their mouths about you being immune, spreading the word to anyone and everyone they could. Probably more than likely putting a bounty over Jay’s head because of him shooting Kai. Jay had to start thinking more clearly about his future, about yours, if he wanted to keep the both of you alive for that future. Because he can’t live without you now, and he refuses to let anyone take you from him.

You walked ahead of him, your palms facing outwards, brushing your fingers over the flowers and grass that grew tall, loving the way it tickled your hands. To say you’re happier than before would be an understatement. Jay finally confessing his deep feelings flipped a switch within you, like you have something more to live for besides just simply surviving for your fallen friends. At the start of this journey, you refused to let the capital take you, to use you as a curse for everyone else. But after meeting and falling in love with Jay…knowing that if he somehow gets bitten one of these days…the cure that would come from you would save him. You didn’t care about saving everyone else, just as long as you could save him, that’s all that mattered.

You glanced up ahead, and the building you assumed was the capital, came into view. It looked like an old hospital. Overgrown with vines and weeds. If you didn’t know what to look for, you would have assumed this was just like any other normal old abandoned building like the rest of the world. But Jay gave you details on what to look for.

“Looks like we finally made it,” You said, turning to look at Jay. He looks at you, then at the building, giving a nod. You started to shake, the fear of going inside taking over. You didn’t know what to expect. How will they treat you? Would it be filled with old doctors or politicians who think they know what is best for the world? Many more questions rolled through you and it took Jay taking your hand into his for your train to derail.

“It’s going to be okay, I won’t let them hurt you, I promise,” And Jay meant it. He will stand beside you every step of the way. Letting the capital take what was needed then getting the hell out of there and back home.

Jay leads you to the entrance, staring up at the camera that hangs from the ceiling above the door. Jay waved a hand at the camera, “Hello?? How do you expect to get people in and out if there’s no way to fucking knock??” Glad to see Jay didn’t completely go soft on you. You giggled at his straightforwardness, squeezing his hand.

The door sounded with a click and opened. Jay squeezed your hand back before taking a step in, leading you in behind him. The entrance was dimly lit halfway, completely colored gray with hospital signs hanging to the walls. If you didn’t know any better, you would have figured this place was a disaster waiting to happen, that no soul would be living here. But that changed once the entrance expanded out into what looked to be the lobby of the hospital. The gray turned to white and bright lights filled the room. You didn’t have time to process the new brightness when seven men appeared in front of you and Jay. Not like magic or anything, your eyes just couldn’t adjust to the bright lights in time to see them approach.

Jay gave each of them a nod, “Nice to see you again, Shotaro, Sungchan, Wonbin, Sohee, Seunghan, Eunseok, and Anton. Been awhile.”

You followed Jay’s head movement to each of the seven of them, taking in their names and faces before looking over at Jay confused for a solid few seconds before remembering that Jay has been to the capital a few times in his life, of course he knew the people here.

“Pleasure to see you, as always,” Shotaro said to him, giving a nod back, “See the trip here didn’t kill you.”

Jay just chuckles, releasing his hand from yours, “It’s going to take a lot more than some zombies to take me down.” Jay knew joking with these people would be the best way to fit in and get things done. Shotaro and his crew were different from Soobin and his. Two different types of personalities here.

“I am assuming this is the immune one?” Sungchan asked, tilting his head. His eyes scan your body up and down then stop at the bite mark on your wrist. You ditched the wrap and long-sleeve shirts back at the cave zone, the summer weather being too hot to keep up with it. Your bite was pretty much healed, no longer infected, and just looked like a normal wound in healing.

“I have a name,” you growled at him, “I’m not just some “immune one” or whatever.”

All seven of them smirked at you, making you cling to Jay’s arm, “Feisty one, isn’t she?” Wonbin chuckled with a raise of his brow, “You sure know how to pick’em, Jay.”

Jay just tried to give them his best smile, “This is YN. And yes she’s the one Jungkook called and talked to Namjoon about.”

Namjoon?

“Joon is busy in a meeting,” Sohee sighs, “He told us to apologize on his behalf and welcome you into the capital.”

Seunghan added, “He had to step in the moment you walked up to the door. He truly wants to meet you two here.”

“We were expecting seven more of you though…” Shotaro said with his eyes scanning the two of you, “Where are your other six?”

Jay shrugs, “They had other important matters to take care of, so I volunteered to make the trip myself.”

“Ahhh,” Eunseok cooed, “I sometimes forget the seven of you are the best smugglers down in the southwest.”

“Best of the best,” Jay awkwardly smiled, wanting to get this small talk over with, “Are we going to stand and wait for Namjoon to finish his meeting or???”

Shotaro bowed a bit, “My apologies, you two must be exhausted from your long trip,” He stood back upright, “Anton, please take our friends to their rooms.”

“We’ll share one, thanks for the thought though,” Jay was quick to say.

Shotaro just looked back and forth between the two of you, and then the realization hit, “Ahh! You two are a pair. That’s…interesting considering Jay was a lone wolf when it came to mating.”

Jay just rolls his eyes at the comment, “People can change. You’d know if you left the capital more.”

Shotaro just keeps his wide smile on display, “Anton.”

Anton nods, waving the two of you towards him, “We saved the best rooms possible for you,” Jay leads first, dragging you close behind him, “We’ve also given you badges with access to every floor and room in the building. Given as a thanks for your sacrifice, YN. You’re doing the world a massive favor by coming here.” You just nod, confident that you’re only doing this for Jay to protect him, “We have a meeting set up for you to keep with one of the doctors later this evening, to kinda help ease your mind about all this.”

You didn’t care and stopped listening to Anton explain everything. All you cared about was getting to the room to shower off the outside smell, dirt, and grime. To get in fresh clothing and get a much-needed nap before this place runs you left and right with tests.

Anton finally let you into the room, handing off the badges to Jay, and with a nod, he left, closing the door behind him. The room was obviously small, being that it was an old hospital room. But it was still cozy, very bedroom-like. Paintings hung on the walls along with a medium-sized dresser with a mirror atop sat in the middle with the queen-sized bed right beside it and the bathroom sitting off to the left of the room. You made your way to the dresser, opening the first drawer to see plenty of clean undergarments for all genders, the second drawer was sleepwear, and the third and fourth drawer was filled with normal everyday shirts and jeans. You pulled pieces of clothing from each drawer and rushed to the entrance of the bathroom but stopped.

“Can I shower first?” you asked, turning to look at Jay who was sitting at the edge of the bed, holding an envelope, “Jay? What’s that?”

He looks up at you, “It was slipped under the door after we walked in. It’s the money they owe me for bringing you here.”

You swallowed, watching as he opened the envelope and pulled out the cash. Jay felt like his heart nearly stopped at the amount of money he held in his hands, fingers slipping through each bill to make sure it was real and the actual amount they said they would give. And sure enough, it was.

Jay looked at the cash and slowly put it back in the envelope. You could see the gears turning, “Don’t you even dare think about not taking it.”

He looks at you, was he that obvious? “YN, baby, I can’t take it.”

You quickly rushed to him, grabbing the envelope and shoving it deep into his backpack, “You came all this way for this, don’t back out of it now.”

Jay stood to his feet and pulled you to him, “I don’t care about the money! I’ve told you before that you’re worth so much more than money.”

You cupped his face, “You and the six back at home need this money, think about the life you can give them once we go back. Please don’t give it up.” Jay knew you were right. He made this trip in the first place all for his brothers and the money that would help give them a better life. So he nods, giving you a soft smile and picking you up into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom.

“We’re both stinky, let’s wash off, ya?” He said, placing kisses all over your face and kicking the bathroom door shut.

—

The rest of your day was filled with following around one of the seven boys to multiple different stops with Jay close on your heels. The first stop was the cafeteria for lunch, eating the best chicken sandwich you think you ever had. The second stop was to one of the labs for some doctors to draw your blood and give you some juice and five minutes of sitting before sending you on the way. The third stop was the meeting with the doctor who explained the procedure of the blood being drawn from the first stop and how taking from the bone marrow during the procedure and then talking about somehow mixing other things to create the cure? You were no scientist nor a doctor and you couldn’t remember how they find cures in all the horror and survival movies you’ve seen in your life to even get close to knowing how it would work. Jay looked just as confused as you did. At least you all were on the same page. Somewhat. The fourth stop was back at the room, where you and Jay cuddled and took a good hour nap before Sungchan knocked on the door saying it was time for dinner.

You two ate with the seven boys, them explaining how Namjoon was once again tied up and couldn’t make it to the meal to greet us. Jay just waved it off. He didn’t care about any more meetings, he just wanted to eat and go back to the room. The day was tiring, the whole trip was tiring. Tomorrow would more than likely be another busy day and all you wanted to do was change into your pajamas and hit the sack. The seven of the boys talked a lot, made a lot of jokes, and continuously teased Jay for being in a relationship as if it was such a hard thing for their minds to process. You tried to laugh at everything, to understand the jokes. You weren’t sure if it was the nerves or your exhaustion making it hard to play along. Thankfully dinner finally ended and you found yourself back in the comfort of your temporary room.

“There’s only silk lace gowns in here?” You sigh, digging through the whole drawer to find a pair of pajama pants and a shirt, “Why are there ONLY silk lace gowns???”

Jay peeked over your shoulder, his hands reaching around you to pull an emerald green gown out of the drawer, “I mean this is the capital, everything here is probably fancy in some form.”

You take the gown from his hands with a sigh, “It’ll have to do I suppose.” Jay just gives you a small smile and nods as he backs away and sits on the bed, untying the laces to his boots.

You glanced back at the silk gown on your hands and up to Jay. Maybe you were reading a bit into it, but why did he choose this color? Out of all the pretty colors in that drawer, his eyes went to this one. You tried to push down the thoughts, remembering the time back at the safe zone when he said your naked body was just skin. How he didn’t have time to deal with these types of things. But he was also in a relationship with you now? The two of you never discussed what you were after sex that one night. He’s made love to you multiple times since then but still never once said what you both were. Maybe he was just bullshitting when he saw you naked the very first time, but then again he didn’t see you in that light before. Maybe again you were just overthinking it. He’s never seen you in such clothing, so maybe that’s why he chose this color, maybe he wanted to see you in it.

You decided to stop thinking too much about it and slowly stripped out of your clothes, dropping them down to the floor with a thud, causing Jay’s eyes to lift up to you as he started on his second boot. You kept eye contact with him as you slid the straps of your bra down your shoulders and unclasped the back, holding the bra in place on your breast as you pulled your arms through the loops. Jay’s eyes left yours and went to your breasts, watching as you dropped the bra to the floor. His body tensed. You had him wrapped around your finger. His eyes shot back up to yours, his face still so calm and collected. You finally pulled the laced emerald silk gown over your head and onto your body, fitting strangely well to your frame and tight in the right places.

You slowly crawled into the bed and laid down, his body shifted to face you as you got comfortable on the bed. Jay was losing his mind and was fighting his demons to keep from jumping you and ripping that pretty little gown off your body. His mind wanders to all the things he wants to do, where he wants his hands, and where he wants his mouth. He stood from the bed, sliding his feet out of his boots, and pulling his shirt from his body. You bit your lip at the sight of his torso, how his tan muscular skin moved as he reached for the button on his jeans, the tint in his pants was enough to tell you that you did affect him. That this color was chosen on purpose.

Jay dropped the jeans to the floor then crawled onto the bed and hovered over you, “You look way too damn good in green, you should wear it more often, baby,” all you could do was nod and rub your thighs together. Jay glanced down at your legs, a smirk falling to his lips, “Want me so bad you can’t form a sentence?”

“Jay,” you whispered, “Please.”

He bent down and kissed you, his right hand already touching the ends of the gown, “You’re so sexy,” he breathed between kisses, “You know that?” You didn’t have time to respond as his lips left yours to trail down your neck and then to your shoulder, biting softly at your skin, loving the way you squirmed underneath him. His hand was now under the gown, slowly riding up your thigh. His moved down lower, leaving opened-mouth kisses down to your collarbone, between your breasts, and down your stomach, both his hands were now under the gown and sliding up and up, bunching the gown at your waist, “I’m craving dessert, and you look just like something I want to eat.”

You gasp at his words, feeling your slick pool in your panties. Jay slid down to your heat, spreading your legs apart, clicking his tongue at the wet spot, “Already so wet for me? I haven’t even touched you yet.” It was driving him crazy seeing you already soaked for him. How much more perfect could you get?? He rubs his knuckle against your folds, pushing the lips apart as he digs his knuckle further in, “So wet for me, baby,” he coos, licking at his bottom lip. Jay didn’t think he could wait much longer, he needed your taste in his mouth. To devour you. To make you cum against his tongue. God, it’s all he wanted at this moment. Jay looped his fingers at the hems of your panties and you lifted your hips up as he slid them down and threw them to the floor to be completely forgotten about.

Jay lifted your legs onto his shoulders as he settled back between your legs, using his index and ring fingers to spread your cunts lips, “fuccckk,” he groaned, loving how some of your slick was slowly dripping out of your cunt. Your hands flew to his hair when you felt his tongue press flat to your heat, licking up and stopping at your clit and wrapping his lips and tongue around the sensitive bud.

“Shit, Jay!” you moaned, gripping his hair tight between your fingers. His hum of pleasure vibrated against you, making your toes curl into the sheets. With his other hand, he slid two fingers into your hole, pumping in and out of you slowly. Jay could get lost in your pussy, could stay here for hours if he didn’t need oxygen to continue breathing, licking up every ounce of your juices you could offer to him. You clenched around his fingers and gripped his hair even tighter, letting out soft moans at the feeling of him on your clit and cunt.

“Be louder, baby, I want to hear you,” he breathes, taking a few deep breaths in before attaching himself back to your clit, sucking on it softly and pushing his fingers in and out faster, keeping your lips spread with his other fingers. You were getting dizzy at the sensation, brain clouding and his fingers and lips being the only thing you could focus on as you chanted out his name over and over. It was magic to his ears, truly. The best sound he’s ever heard next to your normal voice.

He detached from your clit and replaced his fingers in your hole with his tongue, reaching so far into you that his nose was now rubbing your clit along with his middle finger. The knot of your climax was about to snap. You tried to hold on for as long as you could, waiting to savor this feeling but also wanting the sweet release it would give you. Jay wasn’t giving you much of a choice, not with how he worked his tongue in your cunt and his finger on your clit. His whole job here was making you cum on his tongue, and he wasn’t going to stop until he got what he desired. So you gave in, letting the knot snap in two and your body shuddered. Jay moaned against your cunt, licking up every last drop of your cum with his tongue, “Fuck you taste so good.”

He left soft kisses on your heat and both your inner thighs before hovering back over you completely, “You’re such a good girl for me, my sweet, continue being good and take this cock, ya?” you quickly nodded, reaching for his boxers to slide them off him. He chuckled as he helped you remove the last bit of his clothing, “impatient are we?”

“Jay, just please fuck me already, I need you.”

He clicks his tongue, smirking at you, “Gotta give the lady what she wants, right?”

Not another word was said as he slides into you, fucking you already so hard and fast it made your overstimulation way worse. But it was so—so—good. He kisses you, forcing his tongue down your throat, getting a taste of yourself as you sucked on his tongue, wrapping your muscle around him in a perfect dance. Jay wrapped your legs around him and pinned your hands above your head, squeezing them tightly as he continued to rock his hips against yours, kissing down from your lips to your ear, “You’re stuck with me, understand?” he breathes, his breath sending chills down your body, “I love you, YN. I am so in love with you.”

Tears filled your eyes as you wrapped your legs and released your hands from his and wrapped your arms tightly around him, squeezing him so tight against your body, wanting to feel every inch of him against you, “I love you too. Oh god, I love you too.”

Jay moved faster, “Say it again, tell me you love me again.”

You did, you chanted how much you loved him over and over until he was spilling his seed deep within you. So out of breath but continued to kiss all over your face and slowly rock his hips against yours to chase out his high. If this is what it felt like to be in love with Jay and be loved by him, you didn’t need any other emotion ever again.

—

Jay rolled over, stretching his arm out on your side of the bed, surprise took him when he didn’t feel you there, running his hand up and down the spot you should be in. He fluttered his eyes open, the early morning sunlight shining against the paintings on the wall and the gray wallpaper. Jay lifted himself on his forearms and elbows, the cool air sending chills down his bare back as the blanket slid down to his waist. He looked at the spot you slept in, tracing his hand back over it and realizing the sheets were cold. You’ve been gone for a while.

“YN?” Jay calls, thinking maybe you were in the bathroom, seeing that the door was closed, “Baby?”

No answer. Jay lets out an uneasy sigh, clearly not liking the silence of the room. He sits up and pushes himself to the edge of the bed, pulling his boxers off from the floor and stepping into them, and snapping them at his hips, “Baby?” He tried calling again, walking to the bathroom door and carefully knocking, “YN, this isn’t funny.” Jay quickly opened the door, seeing the bathroom was empty.

Panic started to settle in.

Jay tried to keep calm, hoping you were just at the other labs the doctors and other officials of the capital have said. But all the hope was gone when Jay turned around, barely catching his naked top half in the mirror, seeing the red and irritated skin at the edge of his back right under the shoulder, the small puncture wound still clear and visible. He was drugged. And you were taken.

Jay quickly rushed back into the room, pulling his clothes onto his body and picking up his backpack from the floor, noticing yours was still sitting in the same spot. Jay felt the panic deep in his core. You wouldn’t have just walked out of the room without telling him or bringing him with you. Jay’s suspicions only got confirmed after seeing the weapons from your and his backpack was missing.

“Shit,” he mumbles, looking in the corner to see his shotgun was also missing from where he placed it against the wall. Jay dumped out everything from the backpacks and drawers, trying to find any weapon possible that they might have overlooked. But everything was gone. The only thing he found was the snacks and other foods and water the two of you had been carrying the whole trip and the white envelope with the money in it. Jay wanted to tear the money into pieces, to burn this whole place down from them taking you from him. He was going crazy and needed to find you, and fast. He pulled everything back into the backpack, combining your stuff with his. Jay took one last look at the envelope and then shoved it into the backpack.

It was one problem after the other when he tried to walk out of the room to find the door was locked from the outside, “FUCK!” he screamed, taking multiple steps back and rushing to the door, connecting his shoulder to the wood. Step back, ram the door, step back, ram the door. repeat. repeat. repeat. Jay shook out his hands and arms, giving it one last final shove and the door pushed open, the locks and doorknobs falling to the floor.

The hallway was dark except for the sunlight peeking through the windows. Not a damn soul was around. It was so silent you could probably hear the tectonic plates shifting within the earth. Jay treaded lightly, locking his jaw and clenching his fists as he slowly walked down the hall. This hospital was so full of life just yesterday, and now it’s like everyone is gone. This place once again looked abandoned before the capital officials took over. Jay figured it was before everyone knew the minute he woke up and saw you gone, all hell would break loose. Jay should have known. Should have listened to everyone who told them what would happen once he got you here. They were going to kill you. And he needed to stop it.

First, he needed his weapons back. Following the signs on the walls leading him to the armory. There were two guards on watch when he reached it, “Fucking typical,” he whispered to himself, “All for little ole me?” Jay knew Namjoon was more than likely on high alert, knowing what moves Jay would be making and how he’d make them. Jay and his team aren’t the best smugglers around for nothing. He crouches down, slowly inching himself to the guards, assessing them before making another move. They both had knives and pistols attached to their hips with rifles in hand. Jay didn’t have a lot of time to come up with a solid plan and acted quickly. All the years of surviving had led to this. All the years of killing before getting killed. Learning how to be sneaky and how to lie through his teeth as he stole and picked pocketed his enemies. The person he had to become because of this apocalypse. All led him here. Once Jay was close enough, he quickly stood and broke out into a sprint. The first guard didn’t know what was happening by the time Jay reached him. His hands wrapped around his head and twisted, his body going limp at the crack of his neck. Jay worked fast before the guard's body hit the floor, stealing his knife and shoving it into the other guard's side between his ribs.

“Now you will give me the information I seek out, got it?” he hisses, “Or you will end up like your friend over there, ya?”

The guard trembled in Jay’s hands, his eyes darting to his now-dead friend on the cold hospital floor, “What do you want?” he tried to snap back, but it was not having any effect on Jay whatsoever.

“Where is she?” Jay growled against the man’s ear, “Where. Is. YN?” Silence. Jay pushed the knife in further, the guard gritting his teeth to not scream at the pain, “Where the fuck is my girlfriend?!” Jay was yelling now, no longer playing these games.

“Second floor, last room on the right side,” the man grunted out, “But it’s too fucking late,” Jay’s heart stopped, “They already began the procedure before sunlight even came, busted in right after you two slept,” you’ve been gone a lot longer than he thought. His panic sank further, “They took from her blood until she passed out and drugged her to stay asleep,” the guard chuckled, “She was a walking cure factory.”

Jay shoved the knife deeper, “Is she alive?” The man groans in pain, “I SAID IS SHE STILL ALIVE!?”

“YES!” he hissed, “But not for long. Her blood was only doing so much. They are going to go for her bone marrow now. Going to use every last drop she can give until she’s no longer breathing.”

The man started to chuckle, but those chuckles changed into gurgles and he gasped for air before tipping over to the floor. Jay’s hands were trembling as he looked down at them, seeing the dark red tint staining his skin and the pool of it now covering the floor where Jay shoved the knife into the side of his neck. Jay swallowed and released a few deep breaths, recollecting himself and noticing his clothes now stained red. Jay sized up the first guard, thank god he looked to be about the same size as him.

Jay was quick at changing into the guard's uniform, stealing his pistol, knife, rifle, and keycards. Always take the keycards, you never know when you’ll need them. He rushes into the armory, finding your pistol, his shotgun, and both your knives, shoving the smaller items into the backpack, and sliding his shotgun over his shoulder. Before Jay realized, he was stepping over the two dead guards and was up the stairs, making his way to the second floor. His legs shook all the way down into his boots. Trying to push out the images of the two lives he just ended. Jay has killed before during smuggling runs, but it never will get easier or something he’d get used to. This world created all this chaos and turned everyone into monsters. No one had a spot in heaven. Hell was the only final destination.

The jitters left once both feet touched the second floor, and the rifle pointed upwards. The only thing on his mind now was you and praying he wasn’t too late. The floor was silent until he reached the corner of the building, where four guards were stationed outside the room. This was it. You were just behind those doors, hopefully still breathing. Jay didn’t want to think about what would happen if he went in there and saw you dead. The things he’d do…

You barely blinked in and out of consciousness, the bright lights shining on you from the ceiling were blinding, only being able to see white and the blue of the two doctors' lab coats. They talked between each other, not being able to make out any of the words they spoke. Your body hurts. Your head spun. Were you fixing to die? Where was Jay? Why did you feel so cold? Why did they take you from him the way they did? So many questions piled up in your brain. Jay is the main source of the questions. The main one was that he was safe. That he takes the money and runs so far away from here. That you died for this fucking cure in hopes if anything happened to him he wouldn’t turn into the undead outside. He could survive and have a better life than before. Your thought process was interrupted when both doctors looked down at you and asked a question. You didn’t know if you answered them or not, or couldn’t remember if you did. There was a poke on your wrist, and everything went fuzzy and your eyes closed.

“She’s asleep again,” one said, setting the syringe down on the table behind him and checking your vital signs on the monitor, “Vitals are normal and steady, we can—“ the doctor stopped speaking, whipping his head to the entrance of the room.

The other doctor looked at the one across from him, then turned to look at the door, then back to him, “What's wrong?”

“You didn’t hear that?” he asked, his eyes widening.

“I think you’re being paranoid, let’s continue.”

He didn’t take his eyes off the door. Nor did he even have time to think about what happened next as Jay kicked the door open, his rifling pointing directly ahead. The doctor barely had time to see the dead bodies as the door closed behind Jay. Blood coated Jay’s face, hair, and clothes.

“Joon said he’d be out the whole fucking day!” the doctor closer to Jay shouts, reaching for the surgical knife on the small tray table.

“Don’t fucking move!” Jay snapped, “Back away from her!”

The two doctors moved, their hands raised above their heads. Jay looked at you. Your skin was pale and your lips purple. Bruises covered your arms and bare legs, proof enough that you didn’t go down without a fight. You were hooked up to multiple different types of IVs. Jay tried to find any sign that you were breathing, eyes whipping to the monitor, watching as your vitals dropped. All Jay saw then was red. You were dying. He was losing you by the second. He couldn’t waste any more time. So he pulled the trigger. Their screams and voices were muffled out by the buzzing in his ears from the anger and the fear of losing you. He can’t lose you.

He dropped the rifle to the floor once the room stopped spinning, his legs dragging him to your side, hands immediately grabbing for you. Your skin was cold to the touch. He hissed out from the pain in his chest, the pain of his heart clenching thinking you already were between the lines of life and death. Praying you weren’t.

“Baby,” he whimpered, tears swelling his eyes, “Come on, YN, please wake up.” Jay softly shook you, placing his ear over your mouth, feeling your breath push out. It was weak. So, so very weak. “Baby don’t leave me, please.” Both his hands cupped your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks, “I can’t live without you, please.” Jay searched the room, removing himself from you to pull open all the cabinets and drawers in search of some drug to get your heart pumping normally again. Anything to get your vitals back up. He found what he needed and rushed back to you, with an empty syringe, “Forgive me, please,” he begged, pulling out the drug with the syringe needle, and filling it up, “Forgive me for bringing you here. For gambling your life like this. I am so so so sorry.” With shaky hands, he finds a vein in your wrist, “I love you,” and gently pushes it into your skin, injecting the clear liquid into your body. Jay whips his head to the monitor, watching your heart rate pick up and your vitals start to normalize. He drops the syringe and falls to his knees, running his crusted red-stained hands through his blonde hair.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there like that. It wasn’t until you shifted on the table that he jumped back to his feet, coming back to reality and needing to get you out of there. Jay removed the IVs from your arms, bandaging them up and brushing your hair from your face, “Baby?” you fluttered your eyes, still too out of it to really open them. You knew Jay was finally with you, or that you were dreaming. Or even dead. You felt the warmth of his touch, heard his voice, and were barely able to make out his face. But he was here, nevertheless. Jay pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, “Let’s get you out of here.” Jay found your clothes and redressed you with them, tossing the hospital gown across the room. Jay took a final look at the room, seeing the vials filled with your blood and other chemicals. There were at least thirty of them. All were marked with tape that said “cure”. “Those bastards.” he hissed in his brain. But the longer he stared at them, the angrier he got.

He carried you in his arms, rushing down to the ground level of the hospital, looking for a quick and easy way out. It was easy. A bit too easy. It was unsettling for Jay, something was off. It shouldn’t be this easy.

“Jay?” you softly whisper, feeling his strong arms squeeze you tighter. Finally becoming more aware of the drugs slowly wearing off.

“Shhh, It’s okay baby, I’m right here,” he whispers back, eyes darting in every direction, waiting for something to happen. And then it did.

“Leaving without so much as a goodbye?”

Jay stopped walking, his jaw clenching. You both were almost to the door, so close to leaving. But he turned anyway, seeing Namjoon standing there with his dimpled smile and hand folded behind his back. Shotaro, Eunseok, Sungchan, Seunghan, Wonbin, Sohee, and Anton standing directly behind him with guns pointing at Jay and you. Jay gritted his teeth, “Nice to see you finally made your appearance.”

Namjoon chuckled, “I am a busy man, what can I say? Being the leader of this operation is very time-consuming. My apologies for not being there sooner.” Jay just stared at him, holding you tighter to his chest, “I believe you have something of mine,” Namjoon said with a sigh, stepping forward, “Give it back, please.”

Jay barked out a laugh, “She doesn’t belong to you. Or anyone for that matter. And we’re leaving.”

Namjoon inhaled, held his breath for a few seconds, and then released it, “You don’t understand what’s going on here, Jay.”

“Oh like the fuck I don’t!” Jay yelled, taking a few steps back, “You’re killing her!!”

“A sacrifice that I am willing to make,” Jay hated the straight face Joon was making. Hated how he seemed to be okay with ending your life, “She is special, Jay. She is so important to finding a cure.”

“Then go find someone else that’s immune!” Jay snapped, “Leave her out of it!”

Namjoon smiles, “She can save so many lives. Think about the people we can save, at her sacrifice. Think how the world can and will heal because of the sacrifice. Everything can go back to normal and she will be so worth it.”

Jay clenched you tighter, “The world can fucking burn. She’s worth more than whatever righteousness you think you have by doing this to someone innocent.”

“We aren’t innocent,” Joon sighs again, “This world made us into hunters, killers, and survivors. No one is innocent.” Jay didn’t want to hear it anymore. He wanted out, now. So he took more steps back, giving his glare locked on Namjoon and the seven guys behind him, “You’re making a mistake,” Joon said, following Jay, “Just give her back…”

Jay quickly shifted your body to his side, pulling out the pistol at his hip, “Take one more step and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Like you did to my guards?”

Jay said nothing, his fingers going numb from the grin he had on your belt loop to keep you pressed against him. You whimpered, the pain finally settling into you as the drugs wore off more. You clenched your arms around his neck and wrapped your legs around his leg, trying to hold yourself up against his hold, “I’ll kill who I have to to keep her safe.”

Namjoon could see the desperation on Jay’s face, and just gave him another smile, “Go then. Just know you’re a wanted man the minute you walk out of those doors.”

“Joon!” Shotaro quickly said, earning Namjoon to hold his hand up to silence him, then waving Jay to go forward. He slowly took the steps back, waiting until his back touched against the doors, and pushed it open, the pistol still pointing directly forward. Namjoon continues smiling even after Jay closes the door, leaving them in the lobby alone. Namjoon had enough samples of your blood to create copies. He also knew Jay would be heading back to his safe zone quickly. Namjoon will get you back. But this time by force.

—

Jay slid the open window carefully, using his strength to push and pull himself up through the kitchen window, carefully climbing his way into the house. Jay barely touched his feet to the floor and turned around to see Heeseung pointing a gun in his direction, “What the fuck! It’s just me!” he whispers, “Watch where you point that thing!”

Heeseung groans, “Why the fuck are you climbing through the window!!” He snaps, pointing to the front door, “You know how to use that right!!”

Jay just looks at his brother up and down, being able to tell he’s lost weight since he’s been gone. The three of them all probably lost weight. Heeseung’s red hair was now completely washed out, leaving some patches of a soft pink color and some blonde streaks. Cuts and bruises covered Heeseung’s arms. He looked rough, and Jay could only imagine how the other two looked, “You’ve been struggling, haven’t you?”

Heeseung scoffed, “Yeah, no thanks to you, Mr. Wanted man,” Jay raised a brow and Heeseung just sighed, “We know what happened at the capitol. I’m sorry for what they did to YN. We all should have gone with you.”

Jay just shakes his head, “No. I almost lost her. I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost her AND you three.” Jay didn’t want to think about what could have happened. He was back home and was safe and that’s all that matters. Jay asked Heeseung how they found out. Namjoon apparently wasted no time in radioing to Jungkook. Which Jay already figured, hint why he climbed through the window. But Jungkook was furious. The whole safe zone went on lockdown for a few months, but when Jay didn’t return directly after five months, everyone assumed he was either dead or not coming back. Jungkook limited the access Hee, Hoon, and Jake got to outside the zone. Not giving them many smuggler missions and even halving their paydown. The three of them struggled all in terms of punishing Jay.

Heeseung sat at the table and Jay sat across from him, “Where is YN?”

Jay took in a breath, “At the caved safe zone.”

“That’s where you’ve been for half a year?” Heeseung didn’t mean to add the venom that came out when he snapped at Jay, “You settled down with your girlfriend and decided we weren’t worth it?”

Jay slapped his hands on the table, “That’s NOT what happened!” Jay looks over to Sunghoon and Jake’s bed, seeing them still sleeping, and relaxed in his chair, “I knew they’d be coming for me. And I needed to protect her. Needed to give it time before leaving to come back to get you three.”

“Get us?” Heeseung asked, folding his arms over his chest.

Jay nods, “I already figured this place would be on a tougher lockdown. Had to find our other secret way that even JK doesn’t know about. Mostly after I saw our main hole was drilled shut,” he sat back, “I kept the money they gave me to take her there. And I stole all the vials they filled with her blood for the cure. I have plans, but I need you guys with me. Those two months in that cave were only to help YN recover better. The three months of getting her to that cave were hell on her. After what they did.”

Heeseung nodded, only being able to imagine what you went through, “So you want us to leave and go back to the cave with you?” Jay nodded, “Why did you even leave her alone?! What if Namjoon finds her?”

“She knows how to use a gun,” Jay quickly said, “We both know that. I showed her all the exits and safe places to run to just in case. It was a bigger risk bringing her with me than leaving her.”

Heeseung thinned his lips in a line, staring at the table and weighing out the options, “What’s this plan?”

“We sell her cure blood to those in need. Sell all we have and keep our refuge in the abandoned zone a secret. We use the money we have from the capital and from selling her blood to use for goods, clothing, weapons, and whatever we need. We find another zone to smuggle for, probably with Soobin and his team, and just survive.”

“Just like we always have,” Heeseung softly says, looking at Jay, taking a few more seconds to think it over, “When are we leaving?”

“Right now,” Sunghoon said, dropping his backpack to the table, “You guys really don’t know how to fucking whisper.”

Jay chuckles, seeing Jake right behind him with his backpack, “About time we spread our wings from this hellhole,” Jake joked.

You stood outside the metal door, rocking back and forth on your feet, it’s been months, they should have arrived already. You walked in circles, then went back inside just to walk in more circles around the cave. You cleaned up a bit and laid down to take a nap, just to barely close your eyes but not fully being able to sleep.

You stood back up with a sigh and walked back outside. Standing there for what feels like forever until you see them. You couldn’t hold back the smile as Jay, Heeseung, Sunghoon, and Jake walked past the gate. You broke out into a sprint. Jay dropped his weapons and backpack to the ground, bending his knees and spreading his arms out, catching you as you jumped onto him. His arms squeeze you tightly and his lips connect to yours.

The smile his brothers gave you two makes your heart feel warm. Jay sets you down and pulls his three friends into a big hug before snapping orders for everyone to get inside.

These people were your home now. Your family. Jay gives you a smile as he tangles his fingers with yours, after everything you two have been through, he was worth it and more. It was just your luck that you stumbled into his world.

—tags: @alvojake @simpjaes @itachisloverlol @minseongsworld @heeseungshim @allysluvsworld @nyxtwixx @jjaeyunist @in-somnias-world @zeeloveshee @sunpov @xiaoderrrr @butterflywonie @sundoie @cmoundiamante @jentlecoeur @reign-reads @parksunghoonsgf @sparklovespink @wannieepisod @crimnalseung @ilikekpop-c @capri-cuntz @jwnghyuns @kimsunoops @blackhairandbangs @jjongswannabebae @lazy-miya @m3chigo @en-happiness @wonniethepoo @ikeuverse @woninluv @desistay @erehkinnie30 @peachystels @jinspinkflipphone @abysofsteel @randommmmmmvheusbs @minjaexvz @soobywiththebooty @wonryllis @shinrjj @star4rin @iheartjayke @0ctav1asstuff @jakeswifey @hanjisunginc @jinspinkflipphone @jungwonsbabygirl

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#jay bae #jay x reader #reader x jay #park jay #reader x jongseong #jongseong x reader #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #park jongseong smut #jay smut #yeonzzzn writing

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