#for the most part sex w him is very light and playful and sweet!!!!!

[petrichorium]

I think when shanks is like rlly into sex he’s actually kinda quiet btw

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

NSFT Alphabet: Weeping Clown

I didn't forget! Hereeeeee Weepy! (someone pls hug him). Btw idk much about his lore so most of this is based on vibes (i want to kiss him vibes)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If this man is not out like a light (poor stamina), he beaming like a bright af light bulb. He is very exhausted and can't do much but he is very cuddly after. Definitely needy.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself, not much. Poor guy has low self-esteem and only likes what you like about him. On you, your face. You are his sun, so bright in his eyes and painfully aware others bask in your radiance (help him).

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Weepy matches what you like about him. Do you want it inside? Okay! Outside? Okay! Want him to clean up his mess with his mouth? Okay!

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Pegging, no I will not explain.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Weepy is a virgin. He knows only the barest minimum from listening in on conversations but other than he knows nothing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Oh this sweet summer boy only will do missionary unless told otherwise.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

I think he is very serious in a romantic way, he is trying really hard to be perfect. You gotta help him loosen up. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I think it is a bush, he never thought to groom it down or shave it— Unless you tell him too, he will do anything for you (god help him). Ngl i love the idea of his red hair being from him dying it and that his natural hair is either a light brown or dark brown so the drapes might not match the carpet.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

A wet dog looking at you with sad eyes and a slowly wagging tail (he is trying)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He has a lot 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Love (if he was into kink it would be puppy play, yall not ready for that convo lol)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His room he needs the lights off too (help this guy)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

So weepy does not come off to me as someone who is often turned on. He will naturally want attention then believes maybe sex is the response he so have. I think he just matches your mood though after a while

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Anything painful, he probably won't do bdsm related things (he is vanilla)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving, not even joking he wants to go down on you as many times as he possibly can. Giving that hot pathetic face (noice)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Due to him being inexperienced, he is slow and has no rhythm. So you need to set the pace

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He will do a quickie but only if you start it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Again, bdsm probably will scare him. However, because he lacks self esteem, he bends to whatever you want. So… he is vanilla, it is what it is. No for this.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Low, he apologetic about it too

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has no idea what this is but definitely use it if you want to train him to last longer

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You gotta be a bit unfair with him, he begs pretty 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Weepy is very embarrassed, he tries hard to be quiet but it is so hot how he sounds so lol sing baby!

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is not Mike who is playful and funny or Margaretha who is naturally seductive and playful, because of his self esteem and lack of confidence he looks to you heavily for guidance. Weepy is the sort of partner you need to have prior relationship experience with. He comes off needy and desperate to please, it is very much mental health issues related and you need to both be ready for that and in a good place to be ready to put a lot of work into this. Yeah you are playing therapist, parent, and lover; there will be struggles— Weepy will try though to the best of his ability. Again you gotta be ready to walk into this relationship with him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

… bet you think it's big huh sorry smol cock king here

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Oh this guy you think it would be high with how desperate he is but nope, he needy for intimacy but intimacy does not mean sex (teach him that omg)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Fast af he out, gone to the world with a light snoring 

[jlepixie]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ I'll never get used to being alive. it's a mystery ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

╰ ୨ Bill nsfw alphabet ୧ ╯ 

༶⋆˙⊹｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ ✩ ˛˚.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Bill definitely would wipe you off and clean you up while whispering in your ear about how good you did and how much he loves you, but we have to accept that he would take a short nap after that, he did said he is a lazy person.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partners)

He adores his hands because he knows how much pleasure can give you with only that. By chocking you, pulling you closer, fingering you or holding your hand, he loves the size difference.

When it comes to you, I would say he loves your waist because can pull you closer to him by it, and if its squishy its better, he rests his hands on it when you ride it and you definitely have some marks on it by how hard he is squeezing it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

He knows that wearing a condom is the best thing he can do, although he dreams a lot of cumming deeply inside you. And another place would be when he pulls off he likes to see it on your stomach.

D = Dirty secret (self explanatory, a secret of theirs)

He loves the idea of having a quickie in a public space. Finding a risky place to fuck, probably a bathroom or even the couch under the stage after performing. Keeping you quiet, or seeing how quickly he can make you cum. ("be silent now, we don't want the others to hear you now, do we love?")

E = Experience (how experienced are they)

Bill is a star, and that means he had many sexual partners, but with you it would be different because he knows you are his truly love. We all know that he is shy and timid. He always asks how you feel, and if he’s doing good, sometimes he’s so worried about making sure you cum that he doesn’t, he’s very giving when it comes to sex.

F = Favorite position

Cowgirl. the feeling that he can still dominate you even if you’re on top, whispering dirty words in your ear and even controlling the pace with his hands on your hips.

G = Goofy (are they more serious or goofy at the moment?)

He would stay serious most of the time. He keeps the playfulness for aftercare. But when he drinks he gets a little goofy during it, manifesting it by showering you with silly compliments. For him sex is something serious but tries to keep the air light and fun by admiring you. When you two have quickies, the atmosphere is very different, is full of laughs, trying to fit in the small bathrooms, closets and joking about getting caught.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they)

Bill doesn't fully shaves, mostly just trims it. but he likes to keeps it in a small area, you wouldn't see hair on his abdomen or chest.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment?)

We all know Bill is a romantic! He showers you with compliments, taking his sweet time with foreplay, his full attention is on you, no matter how tired he is. He wants to show you how much he admires and adores you. He is so deeply in love with you, that he even takes his time to learn everything you like and don't. Bill is really affectionate and needy, wanting to please you and show his gratitude anytime.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

The first time he thought of you while masturbating was before you two were even together, and when you popped on his mind he got surprised and guilty. Even after getting together it didn't felt right but with all his tours around the world, and your help by sending pics and having calls, your body and sweet mind is all he can think of.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink would be a main, but also seeing the marks he leaves on you. Sex with Bill would be filled with compliments and sweet nothings whispered in your ear. He loves leaving marks on you and admiring them during the day would make him hornier.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

The bathroom or changing room under the stage is making his mind going crazy while you two do it there.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Sex after every concert. He still has that adrenaline in him after it and he can't wait to get to you. But when he doesn't have a concert his motivation would be you. he can't take his mind off you, every time he sees you, wearing anything, he just wants to take you there. His hands have to be on you 24/7

N = No (something they wouldn’t do)

Bill would definitely want to try everything with you. But of course he wouldn't put your life at risk.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill)

He wouldn't be into receiving it too much, maybe just once in while. Bill loves going down on you multiple times. He knows exactly what he is doing and would make sure you cum more than once.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

He is a slow lover, he wants to enjoy every moment of it, to take his time to admire and feel you. Bill is the type of guy that would stay and kiss every part of your body and stop every time to give a compliment and tell you how much he adores you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often)

Quickies happen a lot, especially after a concert. But he would make sure to give you extra attention when it gets in a more private place.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks)

yes! there’s a lot of ways to make you pleased and Bill wants to learn them all.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

He did said he is a lazy person but he does have a lot of stamina especially because he practice a lot for their concerts. He does love when you are on his lap riding it so it does takes longer for him and you would be the first one to tap out.

T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them?)

He likes the traditional way more but he would use toys to tease you and probably on an event you both participate he would leave a toy there to see how needy you get.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves teasing but not as much as giving you the pleasure you deserve. But be sure on events, interviews, concerts, hang outs with others, he is the master of teasing just to get you more needy for him when you get to a room.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

He loves loud girls, that's for sure. Bill loves hearing how much he pleasures you. He is not a as loud, his shy personality wouldn't let him, he more whimpers but be sure he would get out some moans here and there.

W = Wild Card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Fucking in the mirror! He loves watching the side view of himself towering above you, thrusting into you slowly, your eyes watching him as well.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

This man is 1,92cm. Be sure he is packing down there too. He is back every where.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It's definitely very high. Being away from you is the hardest thing. He is always thinking of your body, and not only.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Quickly, because he feels really safe around you. he makes sure that you fall asleep first tho, playing with your hair and whispering sweet things to make you even more sleepy.

© 2023 jlepixie.  ─  please do not copy,  repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission. 

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

Guess We Belong to Each Other

🩸Previous Parts Here🩸

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: ABO dynamics (knots, slick, heats, mpreg), alpha serial killer/hitman Dom, omega mob boss Kells, urges, nervous boys, boys fussing (not a lot don't worry), d/s undertones, baby talks, graphic description of Dom bottoming, dirty talk, cursing, fingering, anal fingering, slight edging, slick as lube, name calling, past abuse, trauma, negotiating kinks (sort of), sex, rough sex, nipple play, sweet moments, firsts, playful boys, spanking, cliffhanger, enemies to lovers 💣 Rating: explicit (AF)

All ideas helped by @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

The Alpha was close to breaking, he couldn't help it. He had urges he was having trouble controlling and he knew it would be oh so easy to take the step he wanted. It was like an itch under his skin. A thorn in his mind. He could barely make himself stop focusing on it. It was driving him absolutely mental. He was close to doing exactly what he wanted and as he stared into the darkness he thought he'd finally made a decision.

“Don't you fucking dare.” The voice of his mate startled him but Colson's arms wrapping around his shoulders soothed the surprise.

He laid his hands over the inked skin of his lover and grumbled, resting his head back against the taller man though the position was getting awkward the larger Col’s bump grew. “But we need a bloody nursery! We only got a few monfs left.”

Kells reached over and flicked on the light switch and they stared into the spare room together. It was just across from their bedroom while Tom had the room down the hall. He very well knew it was perfect for the child he barely admitted existed but… “It's too soon.” He sighed before pulling away to turn for their bedroom.

“Bollocks it is! Look atcha!” Dom was rushing to catch up with his partner and so caught up in his dreams of hot pink paint he barely realized what he said until the omega spun on his foot and glared.

Dom stumbled almost comically to keep from hitting him but the boss couldn't laugh. How fucking dare he even imply something so… correct. Fuck. “Look at me? What about me?” He wouldn't admit it so easily though. He wasn't even that big, not really. If he wore a hoodie no could tell anything was different.

The Alpha chewed the inside of his cheek and pushed his fingers through his hair. He hadn't meant to have his foot in his mouth so early in the day. “Wha’ ya meeeean?” He tried for his patent pout but they both knew he was a sociopath. He was the bunny on Monty Python- adorable but deadly. Red eyes included.

“Don't even psycho. We have time. Plenty of it. Focus on literally anything else, you're not touching that damn room.” The omega tossed up his hands in frustration and took a seat on their bed. Weekends almost always sucked because they had free time and all he wanted was to stay in bed but his need for control made him get up, he always had to find something to do. He used to spend weekends in his clubs but not anymore.

“Ya know tha' if we don't get it ready in time the baby will ‘ave to stay wiv us. In ‘ere. Where we sleep. And fuck.” The boy tried a new tactic as he dropped to his knees and crawled to his mate.

“Don't worry about that.”

“Oh?” Had he won so easily?

“I'm not fucking you ever again once it's out.” The grin the man gave him was withering.

“Wha’ the fuck did I do? And stop calling our whelp an it. If you'd let The Doc tell us-”

“If you know the sex you'll get attached.”

“I'm already attached! Sos you!”

“Besides, Tom will take it if we need.”

Dom laid his palms on his lover's thighs and hung his head between the man's knees. They'd had some version of most of this conversation a few times already and were constantly talking over each other. “So middle of the night and you get ‘orny you jus’ gonna toss our baby to Tom before you crawl on me dick?” He tried to ask as their eyes met again and Colson shrugged. “Ain't gonna ‘appen.”

“It should stay with us anyway. It's not safe out there.” It was the first real thing Kells added to the conversation and it made them both pause. He wasn't even sure he realized that's what had been stopping him but once he started talking… “I can see them right now and I know they're safe. I can feel it. I hate those fluttery things but I know it means they're okay. I can keep them safe. When they're out? If I can't see them…”

“Okay. Alright. We won't worry about it.” Dom soothed, resting his forehead against his lover's as his palms found purchase against the swell of their child. “You'll keep ‘em safe. I know you will. We still need to get shite for ‘em. And… maybe we make tha’ a closet for ‘em? Eventually it can be a room but for now we need space for baby shite. Babies need so fucking much.”

“A closet could work.” Col agreed. He liked that idea. Their baby didn't just need stuff- they would get the best stuff around. He had standards of course. “And if they're in a cot we can still fuck. You just have to keep your mouth shut.”

Dom couldn't help but laugh at that, they both damn well knew the Alpha wasn't the loud one of the two but he nodded just to make his baby mumma happy. “You right. Daft of me. Fhought ya said you weren't fucking me again?” He hummed, pressing kisses to his omega's bare thigh. They'd only made it to underwear and t-shirts that morning and he was thankful, it gave him so much skin to explore.

“Not when you can do this shit to me again. Fuck that. I'll top.” Col sighed as he leaned back on his elbows, offering more of his body to the boy.

“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.” Dom purred, nipping at Colson's cloth covered cock playfully.

“Oh fuck um-” He lifted up his hips when the killer tugged his boxers down and his head fell back when the boy parted his thighs and kissed skin so close to his core he could feel his breath. He pulled his feet up on the mattress and let his knees fall wider, if his partner wanted to treat him he wouldn't say no. At least his brain took sex as something to do. “I'd lay you out on your stomach, a pillow under that monster dick of yours, and I'd spread your legs so I could lick that tight little hole open.”

“Mmm yeah?” The Alpha sounded strained already and it made a fresh wave of slick warm Col’s thighs. He was waiting for his bitch to lick it up but it seemed Dom was listening first.

“I should probably try before actually. I've got a big dick and your ass is virgin. Should probably tease you a little over time. Use my mouth on you. My fingers. Get you used to being full.” His voice felt deeper, raspier as he talked. His aforementioned big dick was aching but even that was untouched. He couldn't see well enough over his stomach to know what his mate was up to but before long he was going to get pissed.

“Wanna feel yas. Wha' else?”

“When that pretty pink hole is finally stretched enough for me and you're begging like the bitch you are-”

“Yeah?” The killer's voice was breathy as hell and that wasn't the only sound Kells heard.

His brows furrowed as he pushed himself up to look for his lover who was on the floor staring at him and jacking off with Col’s boxers wrapped around his cock. “And nothing. You really gonna start with your hormonal mate and then fuck yourself?”

“Shite. No. Wait- I jus’ were really into wha' ya said! Ain't me fault.” The Brit tossed the boxers away and went to his knees, trying to fit himself back between his man's thighs.

“Yeah you're a needy fucking whore who thinks about himself first! Look at yourself!” He was teasing of course, Dom always took care of him first. Sometimes the Alpha didn't even cum as long as he brought Col pleasure. This was the first time he'd done anything like that and it made Kells even hotter for his plush ass. If only he could get inside him soon.

“I'm sorry! I know, I'm a needy wanking whore for yas but you so fucking ‘ot when ya talk like tha'!” Dom tried to explain and his lover answered him by spitting in his face. The boy blinked once. Twice- and something inside him snapped as he stood up and pulled his shirt off one handed. He knew his gaze was crimson as it fell on his omega who watched him with a confused stare. He wasn't sure if he felt more sub or Alpha in the moment and his two sides had never warred so hard. Part of him wanted to demand the other present while the other half wanted to roll over and offer his own ass. Which he couldn't yet do. Bloody hell.

Kells moved slowly because he couldn't yet tell which way his lover was heading. His red eyes said the boss was about to get fucked but his trembling form made him wonder. He gently pulled his top off and scooted backwards to the pillows. “If you want me to try fingering you there's lube in the drawer. If you want my pussy instead…” He trailed off, spreading his legs. He was getting more comfortable with parts of himself because of how much Dom loved them. Even now he was staring like the man was all he'd ever desired. A kid in a candy store that neither of them ever really got to be.

“Wha’ if we finger each over?” The Alpha finally asked, he was overwhelmed with choices and that could always lead to more.

Colson smiled and patted the bed but Dominic didn't move for the lube. “Babe-”

“Use ya slick on me.”

“Oh- yeah? Okay shit.” The omega took a shaking breath as he watched his mate crawl in bed, he didn't realize how excited he would be for this. As the boy got in place against him they shared a soft look. He knew had to be careful with their next steps. “Hike your leg up. Get close. Give me that thick ass.” He teased, completely ignoring his cautious thought. He hoped if he kept Dom preoccupied the Alpha side of him wouldn't get too aggressive.

He was surprised when the killer giggled and blushed, something more soft and sweet that he expected with that red gaze on him. When their cocks slot together they both gasped and he tried to kiss his mate into a level of calm that would help him open up. Dom's left arm that was pressed against the bed moved between them, his fingers exploring the omega's wet folds. “One?” Dom hummed, dipping a fingertip inside him to the first knuckle before pulling out and scissoring two deep. “Or two?”

“Shit- uh…” He couldn't think, not when the boy was spreading his walls open and sliding his touch out slow. He knew he was supposed to be doing something but his mind went blank for a moment. “G-give me some?” Right. He was on a mission.

The killer grinned and pumped three fingers deep before hooking them on the draw out. The bastard pressed against his spot so hard he shook but he kept his palm mostly steady as his lover wiped slick on his skin. The air in the room shifted when he reached his long inked arm around the boy. When his mate started to shake before he even touched him he tried a different way. “Here.” He offered, closing his legs tight and gently pushing on Dom’s hip until he got the hint. “Fuck my thighs?” He offered like it was completely normal and he locked his knees for an extra clench. The kid just stared at him for a moment before swallowing hard.

“Ya know I'll just end up inside yas.”

“Risk I'm willing to take.”

“But you can't get off like tha’ unless I do.”

“You don't know what the hell I can do, and this ain't about me. Get your dick where I tell you and be a good bitch.” Colson huffed, slapping wetly against the boy's ass. He knew this was something that could go terribly wrong and he needed to stay the dominant one. He still wasn't sure exactly what the 'test' had entailed that the asshole doctor had done to the Alpha as a kid but he had a feeling they were about to risk some flashbacks and if he went too soft Dom might break. They both wanted this to be part of their relationship and he'd help his mate through anything he could.

“Oh fuck-” Of course the killer obeyed after that but he was trembling so hard it took a second to get his cockhead between Col's drenched thighs. When he finally slipped against his core they both groaned. He groped roughly at Dom's plush cheek, right over the probably pink skin to spurn him on, one finger teasing softly over his hole.

“Did I say I'd do the work? Or did I tell you to fuck-” He didn't have to finish his question. Dom started rocking his hips, at first almost carefully but it didn't take long before he was pressing back and chasing his omega's touch but Kells kept teasing, circling the tight ring of muscle as he clenched.

Of course Dom's dick caught against his own needy hole, every thrust had his crown popping against where they both needed him, but for once the man found control to keep himself focused on the psycho who always gave him everything. He felt his lover's knot swelling but he knew it wouldn't be full when they couldn't lock together. He normally hated edging himself but watching his mate's pleasure was almost as good as his own. He was more selfish than Dom and they both knew and accepted that, it couldn't be completely overcome but he was trying. The boy was pink and glowing with sweat, his wild hair in his face. Those pretty DSL’s were parted on a harsh gasp and he knew- “Cum for me.” would work.

The Alpha's hips stuttered as he spilled hot between his mate's legs. He couldn't help the pride at painting the other man in his scent but he was confused. When the next peak of his rapture hit and his dick jerked out another load, his partner gave him a soft bite to his bottom lip and slid a finger deep inside him. “Bloody fuck oh-”

Colson's eyes went wide at the mouth on his mate. He'd never heard him be so expressive or loud and it just kept going through more he explored. “Please? Oh fuck- yes! Right- bloodyfuckdaddyright’ere-” The omega was pretty sure he got a new nickname in the mix of desperate curses and needy moans. The moment he found the boy's spot he stayed on it, giving back the same Dom had done to him. The killer trembled in his hold, his hips bucking between the two points of pleasure and it didn't take him long to bust again. No need for a command.

The control was overwhelming and he was sure his partner was overstimulated as hell but as he watched rapture roll through him he knew he wasn't done yet. He couldn't be. He had his own pressing needs. “Suck your fingers clean, you mouthy whore.” He demanded of the panting boy. He loved the sounds he was making but he knew it would help calm him. Dom obeyed, he couldn't seem to help it anymore and he sucked his own digits as masterfully as he took Col's cock. Their gazes stayed locked as he slipped his own free and when he eased his hips back the Alpha whimpered. “Don't worry. Not done with you yet.” It was harder to maneuver with his belly between them but the next time Dom’s cockhead caught against his cunt he angled and drove him deep inside.

“Cols?” The already spent killer whimpered but his omega just smirked at him.

“Lay back. Help me up. Wanna ride you.” Kells rasped. The feeling of Dom’s dick still jerking inside his tight walls made him more desperate for release than he'd realized he was. His thighs were drenched in cum and slick but it barely mattered anymore if the other could get off again. That coil of pleasure was tight in his guts and he needed his mate to fuck it out.

The Alpha blinked but moved to obey, it didn't matter how sensitive he felt, his omega needed him. His hands gripped sweat wet skin and he pushed until Col was above him. He choked on air when the man dropped hard and he hit home deeper than he'd been in a while. His baby mumma went wild above him, his body thrusting so hard he bounced off the mattress. Dom had to grab for him, he had a lot of dick to cover, but he didn't want the other falling off.

Big hands slapped hard over pale skin, nails made half moon marks in blood, they hadn't fucked like this in months but Kells was lost to need. Dom's fingers caressed every inch of him, groping over his ass, his hips, eventually even his chest. When his head fell back and he moaned at the feel the predator stayed locked on. He'd been sensitive for months but it felt overwhelming, as if he had nerves from his nipples to his spot. He felt swollen in both places and over abused but he knew if his mate stopped he'd lash out.

“Can't- fucking- knot-” Dom stuttered out and Colson couldn't care less. He wanted to warn he was close but he couldn't get air enough to talk. Between one breath and the next pleasure shot down his spine and the pressure building in his core released. He came so hard some pearly drops landed on his bitch’s face and he drenched them both in slick.

Eventually Dom had to stop his body from grinding, his hips seemed to have a mind of their own. He laid his omega gently back how they were before and eased his overspent dick free. Their sticky bodies pressed together and they panted each other's air. Dom would need his inhaler at some point but he didn't want to move. He hadn't been that nervous but a few times before in their relationship. The first time they fucked, the second when their minds were clear, and when his lover had presented for him. Each time Colson knew how to handle him and this was no different. His trauma wasn't gone of course but bad memories were helped with new and better ones. He couldn't thank Col enough but he knew not to say a word. Instead he whispered what he hoped was safe. “I love you.”

“Of course you do. I'm fucking awesome.” Kells grinned, kissing his bitch gently. He knew how much was in that one sentence and he tried to take it to heart. “I love you too. Am I hearing shit or did our door slam at some point?” He chuckled, trying to keep the mood light.

“Fink we left it open again.” Dom laughed back.

“Oops. Poor Tom.” They giggled together and hoped their friend didn't divorce them. They just got too wrapped up in each other sometimes. As their breathing calmed the omega realized their roommate wasn't the only one annoyed with them. “Shit. Got a black belt in there I swear.” Their post-coital cuddly moments were the safest feeling times that he could admit their child existed enough to talk about them. He blamed the fucking oxytocin soaking his brain.

“Aye? Being a brat to mumma today?” Dom hummed as Col rolled to his back. He reached for his baby to try and help soothe them but was surprised when he thought he felt something back. It was barely there like butterfly kisses but he was sure of it. His lover was so thin even with the swell he wasn't surprised. He honestly kept expecting to see through him like some alien moving around. He wouldn't say that of course and he tried not to make a big deal in the moment but the omega caught his misty eyes.

For once Kells was at peace enough he just laid his head back and closed his eyes, giving his partner room and permission to connect with their child. He even moved his palm to cover Dom’s to help him follow the flutters he felt from inside. “Probably no shit kicker boots.” He joked and the boy snorted he laughed so hard. He could tell his boy was tearing up but they didn't mention it. He knew as a father the Alpha had urges he needed to let him work out. He hoped as a couple they could work their way through it all together without letting fear get in the way. “They like you.” He hummed softly and he peaked his eye open to see Dom smiling.

“I'd bloody well ‘ope so.”

“I like you.” Colson sighed happily and the boy grinned wider, leaning in for a lingering kiss.

“I like you more.”

“Well that's obvious as fuck. But I like having a little bitch boy.” He teased. He didn't mean the first part of course, he wasn't sure if their love was equal because he didn't think anyone could adore someone more than he did his mate but he hoped their affection was the same. “Such a good bitch too. Even called me Daddy.” He knew he shouldn't bring it up but he wanted to let his mate know it was okay.

Dom flushed red and hid his face against Col’s shoulder. Even now he was laying more in the bitch position he guessed, his leg thrown over the man's thighs, his head on Colson's shoulder. It was comforting for him and it worked between them. “Ya caught tha’ aye?” He mumbled back.

“Hard to miss. Made me wet as fuck.” He offered, trying to ease any nerves and Dom swallowed hard before their eyes met again.

“I like making ya wet. Probably wouldn't work all the time but… When ya top?”

“When I top yeah. I can be your Daddy.” He didn't mean for his voice to drop to a near growl but it did anyway. Fuck, shouldn't they both be spent?

“You spanked me.”

“You liked it.”

“Aye.” They inched closer, their breath coming faster as Dom slid up over his omega.

When Colson's phone went off he thought to ignore it, it was a weekend and everything should be taken care of. Their lips met in a hungry kiss but Dom's phone went off next and they both cursed. He moved to pick it up off the bedside table and it took him a moment to come down to earth enough to read. It was from The Doctor, the omega boy he'd saved a few weeks before had gone missing. In fact, all the omegas that she had been helping heal were gone. What the fuck?

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @fenoy7 @cole-way-iero28 if anyone wants tagged let me know 🖤

Have some more smut, I can't seem to get away from it 🤭 I'm guessing y'all don't mind. I love the equality with these boys and it's nice to see Kells adjusting. I hope you're all enjoying it 💣🖤

[inkykeiji]

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: okay FINALLY!! very loosely inspired by tag you’re it by melanie martinez!! uhh dabi’s a drug dealer, keigo’s in his third year of university and a track star, reader’s in her first year of university. please, please pay attention to the warnings below! if keigo’s your comfort character and you cannot handle him being physically abusive and a drug addict, then you might wanna sit this one out! promise he’ll be painted in a more sympathetic light in part two. | aaah dedicating this to @rat-suki​, because ur the only one who’s actually known the details of this fic since november, and because i put a lil something inspired by new moon in there for u ehehe <333 | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+, noncon/dubcon, physical abuse, drug use & abuse + graphic depictions of addiction, mindbreak, overstimulation, manipulation, lowkey yandere vibes (which will get worse), daddy kink, a brother a lil too obsessed with his sister + questionably close sibling relationship, generally toxic relationships (possessiveness, jealousy), rough sex, semi-public sex, cumplay/cum feeding, minimal prep, degradation/dumbification, choking, kinda brat taming???

words: 14.8k

synopsis: 

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to. But you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, and allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

It’s well past midnight, but the moon is still hanging high in the sky, illuminating the dingy shopping mall parking lot, its reflection gleaming on the wet, cracked concrete. Breathless little laughs and squeals of surprise and pleasure ring out among the vast empty space, your own voice echoing around you.

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

He’s chasing after you, legs longer than yours, faster than yours, mischievous little growls getting caught in his chest as you daintily leap away from him, just out his grasp again, the tips of his fingers grazing the soft linin of your dress.

“No!” you giggle, pushing your burning thighs to keep running just a bit longer, propelling you forward.

But he’s getting closer and closer with each pound of his boots against the pavement, encroaching on you more and more with each tiny gasp exhaled through your parted lips.

Eventually, he catches you, like he always does, large hands wrapping around your hips as strong arms pull you backwards against a solid chest. You’re both panting, chests heaving with exertion, bubbles of laughter escaping your throats.

“Tag,” he breathes, hot breath curling around the shell of your ear. “You’re it,”

His arms encircle you, holding you tightly, your own arms covering his, little fingers digging into the skin of his forearms almost possessively as he uses his strength and bodyweight to guide you towards the car—a 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz that runs like shit and guzzles gas like no tomorrow. But it’s pretty, and he loves it, with all its chrome and argyle blue, glittering in the moonlight.

“You’re being bad, princess,” the words are mumbled against the skin behind your ear, and you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Good girls don’t run away from their Daddies like that,”

And he says the word with so much disdain, cruel and mocking, making you feel sick for liking it.

“Baaad girl,” he whispers, dragging the word out.

A tiny pout settles on your face, eyebrows knitting. “Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

“You are,” he chuckles, pressing you against the damp metal of his car as you finally reach it, his body still draped over yours. “What? You gonna fight me on it?”

Squirming a little in his grasp, you turn to face him, a playful glint shining in your glassy eyes as you nudge your nose against his. “I just might!”

“Hah,” the breath of air washes over your face, scorching and sweet, a stark contrast to the humid, cool air surrounding you, causing your exposed flesh to break out into chills. “I’d like to see you try, dollface,”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” you murmur, yelping when his fingers dig into the supple flesh of your ass through your dress, grabbing a healthy handful and squeezing in retaliation.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, pushing his forehead against yours, eyes nothing but gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of sapphire. “You gonna show me?” his rough voice fades into a whisper, unblinking eyes holding yours steadily. Calloused hands are sliding up your thighs now, slipping underneath the thin material of your dress and taking the hem with them.

“N-Not here,” you breathe, trying and failing to pull back from him, eyes widening in alarm as you feel his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties.

“Yes, here,” he responds, voice smooth as velvet as soft lips drag along your neck, sharp teeth sinking into your flesh like a hot knife slicing through butter.

Panic is beginning to rise in your chest, your throat closing up, and you choke a little on your words, shaking your head frantically. “Please, Dabi, no, we could just—”

“Wow, you really want me to bruise that pretty ass of yours,” he smirks, cutting you off and pulling back to gaze at you lazily, lips glimmering with saliva.

“No, I—”

“Especially with how much you’re saying no today,” he tuts his tongue in disapproval. “Such a bad girl; a silly, little, stupid, bad girl,”

Each word is punctuated with a sharp slap to your scantily clad ass, each bringing with them a sharp sting that you can hear, echoing out among the parking lot.

“Not bad,” you whimper, eyes shutting tightly against the familiar burn of tears. “Not bad, j-just wanna—”  

“Wanna what?” he teases, voice mocking yours as his palm collides with your ass again. “Huh?”

“W-Wanna—Want you to fuck me right,” you rush to say, the words exhaled as a singular huff of breath.

“Oh?” he pulls back slightly, eyes searching your face, his own features contorted with false concern. “Is that so?”

You nod quickly, eagerly, and he can see it in your eyes, how desperately you want him to buy your lie.

But you know he hasn’t the moment that trademark smirk returns to his face, mouth curling up at the edges as he leans forward, lips moving against your ear. “I think that’s a boldfaced lie, babygirl,” his voice is low, sinister, dangerous, traces of amusement sown into his tone. “I think it’s because you don’t want anyone to see how much of a little whore you truly are,”

“D-Dabi, please,” you whimper, vision blurry with tears as you paw at his jacket, pleading with him.

He thinks it’s so cute when you beg, his silence imploring you to continue, urgently rambling on in your quest to convince him.

“I-I want you to really fuck me; I want you to leave b-bruises all over my body, I want to feel you in my tummy, I want you t-to stuff me so full of cum that it goes to my brain and makes me stupid, please Daddy, I want—”  

Slim fingers wrap around your neck and squeeze, forcing a cry of surprise from your lips and effectively cutting you off. “I’m gonna make sure you remember those words, sweetheart,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

The thump of your own heart echoes in your ears as the Cadillac Eldorado thrums under your body, the leather sticking to the bare skin of your thighs.

“Open,” he demands, delivering a harsh slap to the thigh nearest to him, eyes never leaving the road as his foot presses down, car accelerating. Your thighs obey immediately, spreading as far as they possibly can in the cramped space, knees knocking against the door and center console box.

A rough hand, decorated with callouses and scabs, kneads the flesh once before sliding up, up, up, and then hooking in the elastic of your panties, Dabi spitting out a curse as he lets it snap back against your skin.

“Take those off,” he seethes, aggressively ripping his hand away from you as if he’s aggravated that you’re even wearing them at all. Your dress hitches up around your waist in your haste to obey, little fingers catching in the lacy material as your hips squirm, seatbelt cutting into your flesh, wiggling a little as you pull the dainty material down your legs.

He’s already holding his hand out expectantly and you press them into it, waiting for his fingers to close around the garment before taking your hand back. He feels them, rolling the fabric around in his palm, between his fingers, chuckling darkly as he chucks them over his shoulder a moment later, onto the dirty ground of the backseat.

Those were your favourite, but you know better than to say anything, forcing your expression to stay neutral, to keep your nose from wrinkling up in distaste.

“They’re wet, but not nearly wet enough,” he tsks as if he’s disappointed, hand finding your thigh again. This time, they part instantly, without any verbal prompting, hips pushing towards his palm as it skims the skin of your inner thigh.

“Now, I’m gonna play with this cute lil clit of yours,” he begins, fingers brushing the sensitive nub, words tumbling from his lips slowly, lazily, unhurried, as if you’re stupid, as if you need an ample amount of time for each word to sink in.

It makes your pussy throb, and the borderline malicious smirk that spreads across his face tells you that he felt it, too.

Speaking through his smirk, he continues in the same patronizing voice. “And you—you’re going to be Daddy’s good little girl and get nice and wet for him, so he doesn’t hurt his cock when he fucks you. Do you think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

Yes Daddy, of course Daddy, anything for you, Daddy.

It’s torture in the most delightful way, coarse pads of his fingers just barely grazing your clit, just enough for you to feel it, just enough for you to want—no, need—more. Heat, thick and sticky, pools in the pit of your stomach, thighs straining to open impossibly wider, edges of the car’s interior digging into your knees as you desperately try to shift your hips, to press further into his touch, to evoke anything harder than these teasing, feathery touches.

Blunt nails sink into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, hard enough to make you yelp, entire body flinching from the sudden pain. “Big girls use their words,” he chastises, voice fading from a growl into a pleasant, light tone.

“Please, Daddy, I-I want more,” you whimper, hips still trying to catch your clit on his fingers, on his palm. “Touch me more,”

The hum that vibrates in his throat has your heart sinking, corners of your mouth tugging down as you blink against the sting of disappointment—you know that hum, know it all too well, know all of Dabi’s bizarre mannerisms at this point and what they mean for you. And that hum, the one that only lasts for a moment, the one that’s barely a noise at all, the one that doesn’t even sound like he’s considering anything, means no.

His eyes don’t leave the road in front of him, despite the fact that his car is going faster, and faster, and faster, whipping through the empty city streets, neon buildings and harsh florescent lights becoming nothing but a blur. And if it weren’t for the hard lump straining against the black denim of his jeans, you’d figure him disinterested; facial features relaxed, breathing normal, entirely unresponsive to the pathetic little noises he’s so effortlessly pulling from you.

It ignites a fire in your chest, blazing with the need to make him react, to make him pay attention to you.

Wearing your best pout, you arch your back a little, the action shoving your hips towards his hand again. “Daddy, Daddy,” you whine, low and needy in the back of your throat, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, touch me more? Please, Daddy, I want it so bad, want your cock so bad, please, help me get wetter? Wanna be dripping for you, Daddy, I wanna be soaking for you,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, smirk growing into a full grin as he glances at you from the side of his eye. “Such a brat,” he shakes his head, through the grin is still present on his face as he finally presses two fingers against the swollen bud, rubbing slow, hard circles into it. “You better be drenched for me by the time we get home, you little bitch,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Large hands are on your body as the two of you stumble up the stairs, nimble fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, obscene sucking and slurping amplified by the stairwell, bouncing back to your own ears, saliva slicked lips slipping and sliding together messily as teeth clack together, practically tripping over each other’s feet and fucking Christ he needs you, he needs you now, his cock hurts, goddamn it.

And you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, all clingy and needy and desperate, hushed little whines catching in the back of his throat, fading from deep, rumbling growls as rough hands paw at you.

A sharp gasp is knocked from your chest as he slams you against the wall on the landing of floor three with such force that your head ricochets off the concrete, your resounding cry silenced by Dabi’s lips, tongue invading your mouth as he swallows your beautiful little noises of pain.

You can feel his cock pressed up against your hip, hot and hard and throbbing through the denim that conceals it as he grinds against you, fervent, eager, impatient.

That panic is bubbling up in your throat again, bitter and acidic and eroding, rendering your voice weak and frail as scabbed knuckles drag across your bare thighs, inching higher and higher.

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

“No,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to break the skin. “I’m done waiting,” hands are rucking up your dress. “You made me wait that whole fucking car ride,” sharp hipbones keep your thighs spread. “I can’t wait any longer,” the clinking of his heavy belt buckle echoes throughout the stairwell, sending chills pebbling across your skin.

And then he’s forcing himself into you, shoving his cock into your tight little hole, a choked cry bouncing off the dirty white walls as your eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking from the edges.

The stretch is magnificent, little cunt aching as it sucks in his thick cock, and you swear you can feel the burning in your belly, little pinpricks of pain shooting through your gut.

“G-Gonna tear me in half,” you wail, head falling forward, forehead bumping against his.

“Shh, baby, Daddy’s got you,” a callous laugh leaves his lips after he spits out the nickname, the singular word filled with such derision it must sting his tongue. Large hands hoist you up, and your legs immediately latch around his waist, seeking comfort in the monster that hurt you.

“Daddy, Daddy,” Tears drip down your cheeks as you bury your face in his shoulder, the word escaping your lips in tiny half-sobs catching in your throat, little fingers curling against the worn leather of his jacket.

And he can’t help but soften a little as you weep into his neck, thinks it’s so cute that you need him so bad, your little stuttered breaths hot against his neck as you cling to him, reminding him that he is the only man that can make you feel like this; he is the only man that can make you cry while simultaneously finding solace in his embrace. It makes his blood surge, sends cinders searing up his spine, gives him a high better than any other drug every could, and he finds himself hushing you gently, twitching cock buried in your cute lil cunt, snugly pressed against your cervix.

“Okay, okay,” he’s saying as his hips begin to pump, slow and languid. “Quiet, Daddy’s gonna make it feel good, alright? Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it go away,”

The sweetest, airiest little mewls of Daddy, yes, Daddy, soak into the inky skin of his neck, sandwiched between uneven hitched breaths. He’s gaining speed with each thrust, though, working up a steady rhythm that has you practically bouncing on his cock, little wails of pain fading into whimpers of pleasure. The combination is dizzying, infecting your mind with a haze that is only Dabi, surrounded by him, immersed in him—glowing sapphire and burning hickory and spicy nicotine—unable to quell the little noises spilling from your throat, each one louder than the next with each bump against your cervix and drag against that spot.  

“That feel better, princess?” he breathes out, pausing just to readjust his grip on your ass—to angle your hips just right, chuckling at your selfish, needy whine—and then he’s drilling his cock into you, head pounding against the spot that has his name escaping your lips in high pitched squeals that break in your throat, heavy belt buckle clanking against the wall with each of his thrusts.

It sends sparks of mind-numbing pleasure burning through your abdomen, your chest, straight to your very core and collecting there, each spark adding to the growing fire that’s beginning to blaze, followed by intense spears of pain, slicing through your gut and down the muscles of your thighs, legs beginning to quiver as ankles hook tighter, tighter, tighter, the heels of your sneakers digging into his back dimples, trying to get him closer, closer, closer, desperately begging for more, more, more.

Yet it’s all so much, too much, please, Daddy—the harsh sound of metal colliding with concrete mingling with your pathetic whines and his panted breaths, rough whimpers catching deep in his chest, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard a more beautiful sound.

“C’mon, babygirl,” he gasps, pace never slowing, never faltering once, even though there’s glistening dewdrops of sweat decorating his hairline, inky strands beginning to stick to the skin of his forehead. “Be a good girl and cum for Daddy, cum before someone catches you being such a sweet little—God, Christ—a sweet little slut for me,”

And your cunt submits, would never dare to disobey a direct command from its master, from its owner, clenching around him as you cream all over his cock, a sharp cry ripping up your throat as your nails scrabble against leather clad shoulders.

A growl rumbles, deep and dark and dangerous in his chest, as his hips piston a few more times before they still, tips of his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, branding his name in tiny blotches of navy and violet as his cock throbs, coating your insides with spurts of thick cum.

Head falling forward, his forehead collides with yours, chests heaving and breathing laboured. And he can’t help the little chuckle he huffs out as you wiggle your hips a little, eyes still closed as you rock in little motions against him, clit catching on his pubic bone.

Needy little bitch.

But he isn’t nearly done with you yet, because that desire, thick and sticky in the very pit of his stomach, only wants more, insatiable and voracious, desperate for more of your whines, more of your tears, more of your cunt.

You’re gonna make good on all those words you spewed in the parking lot, baby, he’s nearly snarling at you, cutting off your whiny complaints as he drags you up the final flight of stairs, stopping halfway to haul you over his shoulder with a huff and a deft slap to your ass, carrying you the rest of the way to his apartment.

“Dress, off. Now.” He orders as he throws you onto his mattress, pulling his shirt over his head, belt buckle jingling as he walks, still hanging undone.

And then he’s crawling over your naked body, lips attacking yours, smashing and smacking and slurping, a large hand wrapping around your wrists as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, laving over yours in slow, deliberate drags, pinning your wrists against the cold cracked drywall behind his nearly bare, minimalistic bed, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones together between a singular rough palm—a silent warning—and forcing a yelp from your throat into his.

“Don’t move them,” his lips mumble the command against yours before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, between sharp gleaming teeth that bite down hard, sinking into the soft flesh and refusing to release until he tastes copper, the tip of his tongue tracing the harsh indents left behind, licking at your lip once more before pulling away completely.

“I want you to leave bruises all over my body!” he mimics, voice absurdly high as lips skim the curve of your neck, tongue darting out to trace along your collarbones. “Isn’t that what you said, baby?”

But you can’t answer, too busy sucking on your now swollen lip, trying to soothe the incessant throbbing as metal stains your tongue. That’s disrespectful, you think you hear him growl into your unmarred skin before something sharp pierces your nipple, clamping down around it and tugging. A resounding cry tears through your throat as your body instinctually bows off the bed, pressing further into him, a muffled snicker vibrating against your chest before his tongue flicks, licks, slobbers, thick strings of saliva glimmering in the dim light as he pulls away, breaking and slapping against his chin.

“Answer me next time I ask you a fucking question,” The words are spit so harshly they slice into your skin, head nodding fervently before he’s even finished speaking, blinking the bleariness from your eyes. Smoldering sapphire holds your gaze for a moment, burning into your very soul—digging, prying, searching, scrutinizing, his breathing slow, calm, controlled with each deep rise and fall of his bare chest.

You aren’t sure what it is he’s looking for as he peers into the depths of your eyes, but you don’t dare let your gaze stray from his, don’t dare blink, don’t dare breathe until he breaks the spell, blinking once as his lips curl up into a wicked smirk.

“I’m gonna turn your body into a work of art,” he promises you, voice low and guttural, forcing thorns of ice up your spine as lips drag across your jaw.

And he does, paints little galaxies across your skin with his tongue and his lips, asymmetrical blotches of blues and greys and purples, ivory bones scraping against your flesh, signing his name into his masterpiece in deep, dark indents of crimson and violet.

It aches and it pulses and it stings, glittery trails of salt water staining your cheeks, tiny shimmering droplets clinging to your clumped, spiky lashes, adding the finishing touches on the greatest piece he’s ever created.

And it’s so pretty, you’re so pretty when you’re like this, baby, covered in navy and plum and carmine, and, fuck, it’s a shame you won’t stay like this.  

It seems he’s in a trance for a moment, in awe of his craftsmanship, of what he’s produced, breathing laboured as shining azure eyes drift over your body, slowly, purposefully, as if he’s memorizing every single nick, bite, scrape, bruise, burning the image into his brain forever.

His gaze floats back up to yours, holding it for a moment, pupils big and gaping and swallowing you whole—before something snaps, breaks, and he comes back to himself, remembers why he did it.

Narrowing slightly, his eyes darken, that sadistic smirk returning to his lips. And then he’s shoving his cock into you again, hard and leaking and the prettiest red you’ve ever seen, cute little cunt stretching around him for the second time tonight.

But little girls who act like brats deserve to get fucked like brats, he tells you in a snarl, slender fingers collaring your neck and squeezing slowly, slowly, slowly, crushing the column of your throat.

Everything’s beginning to grow hazy, vision sliding in and out of focus as those calloused hands continue to tighten, and tighten, and tighten. He looks like some sort of sick angel as he looms above you, nothing more than a shadow of sharp edges and smooth curves, inky spikes and glowing sapphire, haloed by the weak neon light that spills in through grimy windows. Jutting bones prod the soft flesh of your inner thighs, carving out a space just for them as his hips snap viciously, relentlessly, obstinately.

And it’s all overwhelming, overstimulating on every front, uncontrollable tears streaming from your eyes as you choke roughly on your own sobs, each one being forced from your chest by your Daddy’s harsh thrusts, only to get caught on the palm pressed to your airway, ears ringing from the slap of skin against skin overlapping those harsh words spit at you in his falsely saccharine voice.  

Aw, no, baby, wispy words caressing your cheek as they float by, eyes starting to roll back in your head. Don’t pass out on me, dollface. I want you awake when I fill your cunt with cum.

The pressure around your throat lets up just a hint, and you wheeze in air, a rush of cold flooding your body. You can feel it, that contrasting, familiar heat scorching the pit of your stomach, beginning to curl in on itself more, and more, and more with each pump of his hips, until it explodes, your body arching off the mattress, unintentionally pressing into the hand adorning your neck, restricting your air entirely.

The chuckle that leaves his lips as you choke yourself is dark, would send spears of ice slicing through your veins if you weren’t otherwise focused on trying to fill your lungs with air. Nothing leaves your mouth other than a few choked whines, barely more than a huff of light breath.

But his hips don’t slow, and he’s glaring down at you with parted lips and lidded eyes, pupils gaping, so large you’re unable to detect even the slightest hint of blue outlining them—nothing but big black orbs, absorbing everything in their vision, sucking everything from you, every hitched sob and soft whine and gorgeous wince, each time he pounds against your cervix.

And it’s how your looking up at him—with those gleaming, adoring eyes and that blissful, fucked out grin—that has him cumming with a shuddered f-fuck, forcing his eyes to stay open as he pumps you full of thick cum, desperate to catalogue every little expression that crosses your face, the way your eyes flutter slightly, the way your neck arches, the tiniest little moan slipping through chapped lips as his cock pulses inside of you.

You must pass out for a second, Dabi’s calloused palm lightly tapping against your cheek as he murmurs to you in that sinful, silky voice, sugared sentiments twining around your exhausted body.

Wake up, princess. Daddy isn’t done playing with you yet.

Words tumble past your lips in a mumble, though you aren’t quite sure what you’re saying—everything feels hazy, like you’re gazing through a thin cloud of smoke, and despite the fact that you can barely move, your body feels light, almost floaty in a way, entirely numb to the immense pain it has endured thus far.

Two fingers, coated in thick, gleaming cream, are thrust into your gasping mouth, tongue met with the salty, bitter taste of his cum. You cough around the sudden intrusion, immediately obey when he orders you to clean, sluggish tongue sliding up and lapping at and slipping between them, sucking the digits free of cum.

Good girl, he leans away and your heart flutters weakly at the praise, saliva slicked fingers dipping into your hole again to gather more.

“C’mon,” he breathes as he brings his fingers to your mouth again, sticky viscous glops collected on his fingers. They catch in the dim light streaming through the window, a unique mixture of pale moonbeams and hazy neon, cum almost glittering, almost pretty. “You wanted me so bad, didn’t you?” your head’s moving—nodding, you think, you can’t really tell, breathing shallow as your eyes belatedly follow his glistening fingers—and he smirks down at you. “Then eat my fucking cum,”

Lips part instantly, mouth falling open as your tongue lolls out, eyes drifting up to his and pleading mutely, begging for the substance—the very essence of him—and nearly moaning when he drags his fingers across the saliva coated muscle, curling and sucking his digits back into the heat of your mouth.

And he’s fucking high off of it all, pupils blown to hell, outlined by the thinnest ring of cobalt, barely detectable, visible only when it catches in the moonlight.

A lumpy pile of denim sits abandoned and bunched up near the end of the bed—he must’ve kicked his pants off at some point, though you don’t remember when—and his cock’s hard again, head brushing your inner thigh. It’s hard for you to tear your gaze from it, fleeting thoughts of stamina and impressive grazing through your mind, turning to smoke the moment you try to latch onto them.

He notices, of course—you’ve been staring at it for nearly a minute now, glazed eyes unblinking, soft little pants passing through barely parted lips. But it’s the way you’re staring at it—in the purest, unadulterated form of desire—that makes it jump, twitching a little against your thigh. You think you hear your Daddy breathe out a curse, think his rough fingers brush some hair back from your drenched forehead, think he says something along the lines of how much he fucking loves you, but in your dreamlike state, you can’t be sure.

Because then rough hands are on you, manhandling you as whatever trance he had fallen into yet again snaps once more.

“We’re gonna put that pretty, empty head of yours to good use!” he’s saying almost enthusiastically as he hoists your boneless body up, propping you up against his chest and securing you with a strong arm wrapped around your waist. “Whaddya think about that, hmm, princess? Want Daddy to use your little skull as his own personal cumdump? Huh?” lithe fingers squeeze your cheeks so hard your lips pucker up, a high-pitched whine getting caught in your throat. “That’s all it’s good for anyway, isn’t it?”

You try to nod, but all your head wants to do is flop back against his shoulder.

“Oh baby,” he cooks mockingly, jutting his inky bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “I thought that was what you wanted?”

“T’is!” you mumble through his grip, drool beginning to collect in the corners of your scrunched mouth, dribbling down your chin. Gazing at him through the corner of your watery eyes, your resolve hardens, doing your best to hold your exhausted body up on your own, expression steeling as you force your woozy head to nod as best you can in his bruising grasp.

“Yeah?” he breathes, mouth curving into a dangerous smirk before his lips are at your ear, voice dropping an octave lower. “You’re fucking stubborn, y’know that? Stubborn little brat, just like your bullheaded brute of a brother,”

And then he’s pushing you down, shoving your head into the mattress and pulling your hips up, a hiss spit through your teeth as he purposefully presses into the fresh bruises.

Your poor little pussy aches, fucked open and raw by his cock, but you are stubborn—you can’t help it, it runs in your blood—exhilarated by the challenge and pushing your hips back weakly towards him.

Your Daddy chuckles behind you, but it’s one of those annoyed chuckles, one of those disbelieving chuckles, one of those chuckles that consists of an audacious smirk, quick short nodding that’s more to himself than anyone else, and a tongue running along his top teeth, sucking on the bones, before it fades from his face completely, replaced with scorn in an instant, eyes cold and jaw clenched as he delivers a harsh backhand to your ass.

Then his body’s blanketing yours, chest hot and heavy against your back, lips moving against the shell of your ear.

“Oh, you really want me to break you, don’t you?”

No, truly, you don’t, but you grit your teeth, eyes shut tightly against the sting of a fresh wave of tears, trying to stop your head from involuntarily shaking no.

He laughs again, this time mean and sharp and full of malice, as he straightens up, lining his cock up with your hole.

“Nah, nah,” he’s saying as he pushes in, and God, it still hurts, it still stretches you, reopening little sutures created in the stairwell. “I think you do—Actually, I know you do. And Daddy knows best, right?”

Yes, of course, Daddy knows best, Daddy always knows best.

And it burns, that relentless snap of his hips, driving his cock into you with deep growls and grunts, with such force that it’s jostling you up the mattress, little hands planting themselves in a pitiful attempt to press back against him, to keep yourself in one place. Every muscle in your arms screams at the effort, stiff and rigid from being held, kept, still and obedient against the wall for an extended period of time.

The dreaminess has faded again, leaving behind a dull haze, and it all just hurts. It seems to come in bouts, inexplicable waves of numbness and pain, alternating sporadically and sprinkled with spikes of intense pleasure, a potent mix of chemicals swirling in your brain, lust and desire and terror and anguish burning through your veins.

You’re sobbing into the mattress now, fingers curling tightly in his soft black sheets as your bleary vision begins to darken at the edges, mumbling out something almost in a chant—his name, you think, though you’re not sure, it all sounds muffled to your ringing ears—vibrations of your voice getting caught in your throat, hitching with your sobs and the rough piston of his hips.

It’s building again, licks of fire scalding hot against the walls of your stomach, the temperature rising with each drag of his cock against that spot, until you’re sure the flames are going to engulf you from the inside out.

Little squeaks, poor imitations of moans, escape your lips, interspersed with your pathetic wails. He’s speaking once more—you can feel it, his chest reverberating against yours, lips moving against your ear again. Something rumbles, rattles, deep and dark and dangerous at the very core of his body, and then he’s tangling a hand in your hair and tugging, hauling you up, a choked cry slipping from your lips.

It pulls you from unconsciousness’s grasp, just for a moment, clears the mist from your mind as he snarls against your ear, taking the cartilage between his teeth and biting down, hard.

“Thought I told you to answer me the next time I ask you a fucking question,” he breathes, and he almost sounds gleeful, contradicting his voice, so rough, so hoarse, so hot.

You did, Daddy, you did, you’re trying to say, trying to nod in the vice grip he has on your strands, the words jumbled and muddled and near incomprehensible, wet and messy and coated in spit.

“But I guess my—Christ—my cock makes you too stupid to do that, huh?” he’s panting now, in time with his thrusts, huffs of breath sweltering against your already sticky skin. “What would your goody-two-shoes brother say if he could see you, hmm? If he could see how fucking dumb his little slut of a baby sister goes from my cum,”

It’s too much, too much, Daddy, too much, the brutal pounding of his cockhead against your swollen cervix and the continuous stream of strained, husky, filthy words he’s spewing in your ear and the sting in your scalp and that spot, that spot, that spot—

It hits you so hard it’s painful, knocks what little breath you had right out of you as your entire body convulses on his cock, little cunt clenching and gushing as you weep Da-Daddy! over and over and over, the only word your soupy brain is capable of conceiving, body going pliant in his arms as your head lolls back against his shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open while he continues to drive his cock into you, hard and fast and messy.

He cums with the prettiest broken whine you’ve ever heard—or at least, you think he does, entire body gone numb once again, think you feel his hips juddering and his cock pulsing, think you feel that familiar, thick substance filling you to the brim. Everything is still for a moment, his chest heaving against your arched back, and then he laughs malevolently, though it sounds far away, even though you can feel the sound vibrating against you.

“That ought’a teach you to say no to me again,” he spits harshly in your ear, giving one more hard yank on your hair before letting go completely, your abused body collapsing in a heap on his mattress.

It feels like you’re more Dabi than yourself now, with his name written all over your body, signed by his mouth, his teeth, his fingers, and his cum leaking out of you, drying hard and sticky on your thighs, his scent being all you can smell, all you can taste, heady and fiery. And as you crawl into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness—finally, finally—you think about just how much can change, and how fast it does, in a mere 92 days.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Three months earlier

The air is hazy with thick smoke, heavy enough to dilute the already dim yellow light shining from the bare lightbulbs overhead. The stench of cheap beer, weed and sweat stings your nose, and it wrinkles reflexively.

You aren’t supposed to be here.

Throbbing music radiates through the house, causing the structure to tremble in time with the beat, the dirty drywall you’re currently pressed up against quivering in response. It’s so loud it hurts, vibrating through the warped linoleum floors and through your body. It makes you shiver in disgust, as if it’s some sort of parasite worming it’s way through your veins in timed intervals.

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

You’ve been backed into a corner—literally, surrounded by three college boys you’ve never seen before as they drunkenly leer at you. They’re a year or two older than you, glassy half-lidded eyes scanning your body in a way that makes you feel filthy, in a way that makes you want to scrub your skin raw to rid it of their slimy gazes.

They’re mumbling out something, speaking amongst themselves in low voices, peppered with raspy snickers that make your skin crawl. Pressing further into the corner, you quickly wrack your mind for something—anything—that will get them to part just a little, that’ll crack the wall of bodies you’re now surrounded by just enough for you to barrel through. Adrenaline begins to surge through your veins as you gear up, drawing in a deep breath, and—

“Whadda we have here?”

The men part immediately at the sound of that low voice, smooth as melted chocolate, revealing a figure with spiky onyx hair, an involuntary gasp escaping your lips the moment your eyes collide with sapphire.

“Ah, I thought it was you,” he smirks, peering down at you with a gaze so intense it feels like your body’s been set aflame. “What’s a good little girl like you doing in a place like this, hmm?”

Dabi.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen him, remembering the man with the pretty cobalt eyes and inky hair standing under a singular flickering lamp post outside of the tiny house you and your brother share, or lingering on the threshold of the front door, eyes lazily darting around the space as he waits.

He never comes inside. Your brother doesn’t allow it.

You’ve barely spoken any words to him, always responding to his polite greetings with shy nods or little waves.

But this is the first time you’re meeting him properly.

Feet bolted to the floor, you try to respond, only able to emit a pathetic little squeak.

He huffs out a condescending chuckle, gazing down the bridge of his nose at you, head tilted up just a touch, lidded crystal eyes glittering in the dim light. That trademark smirk spreads into something darker, something almost ominous in nature, something that whispers in your ear that it knows something you don’t, sending sharp spikes of ice shooting up your spine.

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

You shake your head quickly, eyes widening in panic as anxiety begins to rise in your throat. He isn’t about to rat you out, is he?

“Thought so. Dunno why I asked,” he heaves a heavy sigh, chest rising with the force of it, as if he’s extremely exasperated, as if you’re some sort of child lost at a supermarket and he’s bringing you back to your parents. “Alright, let’s go,”

A hand extends, hanging limp in the smoky air for a moment, waiting, before Dabi sighs again with a roll of his eyes, latching onto your wrist and all but dragging you out of the corner, maneuvering through the mass of sweaty bodies crowding the dingy living room.

“We’re leaving?” you ask dumbly as Dabi approaches the back door, hand still wrapped in a firm grasp around your arm.

“Yep. My work here is done, and you,” he tuts his tongue with a slow shake of his head, hidden smile on his face. “Your work here is done, too,”

“W-Where are we going?” you ask as the two of you stumble outside, shivering a little as the cool, fresh air hits your heated skin.

“No idea. Away from this place,” he looks back at your briefly, giving your wrist a soft squeeze before dropping it. “You tryna put your brother in an early grave or somethin’?”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips as you shake your head again. “No, I just—”

“You shouldn’t have been there,” his words echo your thoughts from before. “You were in some real danger for a second, y’know that?”

“I-I know. Thank you for, uh, s-saving me, Sir,”

“Sir?” his eyes are bright with mirth, shining despite the weak light provided by the waxing moon. The smirk returns, and you feel it again—like he’s plotting something, like he’s got some big secret he’s hiding, a plan, something up his sleeve. “Sir is nice, but I think there’s another name you’d rather call me,”

Eyebrows knit in confusion, your eyes drift to the ground, mulling over his words. Something else you’d rather call him? Like what? You’ve only seen the guy a few—

“Still have no idea why you haven’t fucked him yet,” one of your friends muses as Dabi’s exiting his car, eyes watching him lazily from where you’re both seated on the front lawn.

“Keigo would murder me, literally,” you giggle a little, glancing over at the man with inky hair before looking away again, down at your lap as little fingers thread through the grass beneath you and shaking your head.

“Shame,” she sighs, twirling her sticky pink lollipop idly, the candy catching in the sun. “He’s Daddy as hell,”

A sharp gasp leaves your parted lips, eyes snapping back to her face and holding them for a moment before the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, your fingers tapping her bare knee in a silent warning that he’s approaching.

Heavy black boots collide with the front stone path, buckles jingling daintily, his head perking up in a catlike manner, trademark smirk forming on his lips as you both urgently try to calm your laughter.

“Ladies,” he nods with a wink as he passes, little giggles cutting off instantaneously, the two of you mumbling shy greetings in response.

That was the only time you had ever spoken to him, until now.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. He did hear.

He chuckles slightly, dropping the subject with a shake of his head.

“So. Where to?” he asks expectantly, feet slowing to a stop on the cracked sidewalk as he taps out a cigarette. He whips a silver Zippo open, sharp twinge of metal swiping against metal cutting though the silent nighttime air. “Home?”

A shrill bubble of incredulous laughter escapes your throat. Dabi glances over at you, amused, raising an eyebrow in question as he cups the flame and brings it to his lips.

“Do you want to put my brother in an early grave?” you snort.

“I could just walk you to the street, you know,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. “Precious niisan wouldn’t even need to see me,”

You shake your head, idly kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe as you begin walking again. The campus is beginning to bleed into the city now, engulfing the two of you in familiar florescent light. “No, I can’t go home,”

“Why?”

“I…” you trail off, heat flooding your cheeks. “I, um, told him I’d be staying at a friend’s place tonight,”

Dabi gasps mockingly. “Baby, you lied to your niisan?”

Knocking your shoulder against his arm, you scoff, trying to hide the stupid smile the nickname conjures. “Oh, shut up,”

“Getting bold now, I see,” he hums to himself. “Could’a swore just a few minutes ago you were scared of me,”

“N-Not scared, just—uh, just surprised, that’s all,”

“Uh-huh, sure. Tell me again why you can’t just go to this friend’s house?”

“Well, she’s—she’s, like, y’know—” you shrug as a form of explanation, deflating a little at his unimpressed stare as he blows smoke out his nose. “She’s going home with some guy,” you mumble. “A-And I was supposed to too, but…”

Dabi tsks, shaking his head in false sympathy. “Sweetheart, you’re a teenage movie cliché,”

“Shut up,”

“You tell me to shut up one more time and I’m gonna have to do something about it,” he singsongs, a thinly veiled threat coated in sugar. Swallowing thickly, you glance up at him, blinking twice. His eyes tell you that he’s not fucking around, despite the relaxed features of his face, smile easygoing and gaze lidded.

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

“Don’t you know? Good little girls don’t speak like that to Daddy,”

He spits the word out, almost patronizing in his tone, but that fails to stop the way your stomach flutters when it falls from his lips, fails to prevent the choked little gasp that escapes yours. He laughs loudly, your cheeks burning with shame.

Sapphire eyes glint in the pale moonlight, as if he’s just discovered the most valuable treasure, as if he’s just been given the key to the universe—a predator who’s just ensnared it’s prey, and the smirk that slowly etches itself across his face is nothing short of sinister.

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

“Hmm?”

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to, but you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

He only has one bed and no couch, he informs you as he leads you up four flights of stairs, explaining that the elevator’s been broken for a few months now, panting out the words just a little.

A soft giggle slips from your lips, amplified by the empty stairwell and echoing off the concrete walls, and Dabi looks back at you, amused.

“Something funny, princess?”

And although there’s a friendly grin on his face and mirth in his eyes, something in his voice makes you tremble, shoots scorching sparks up your spine and sends them rushing through your veins, and your laughter immediately cuts off.

“No,” you say simply, shaking your head and hoping that he didn’t catch the full body shiver that coursed through your figure just a second ago, all thanks to his voice. “Just laughing at the absurdity of it, s’all,”

“Ah,” he says sagely, nodding once. “Well, here we are,”

A tattooed hand gestures vaguely to a white door with a large, black 4 painted on it, the paint beginning to chip away, worn down and faded in some spots.

Dabi’s apartment is small, but you like it. He’s surprised, he tells you, expected someone like you—someone brought up with luxury, someone who’s never had to ask for or want anything in their life, because they always already had it—would hate it.

“Or maybe, that’s exactly why you like it,”

It’s a little snarky, the way those words flow out of his mouth, biting your cheek as they pass, and you wince a little.

“I think it’s homey,” you say quietly, tiny voice raw and honest, deciding to omit the fact that you’ve never really had a space that felt homey yourself. “It’s very you. I really do like it.”

His eyes soften at your gentle confession, features relaxing a little as calloused fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then, I’m glad,”

For a moment, you’re positive he’s going to kiss you, staring down at you so intently with that look in his eyes as they slowly sweep across your face. But he turns on his heel a moment later, stalking into the tiny bachelor and beckoning for you to follow with a wave of his hand, flicking on a lamp as he passes.

“You hungry?” he’s asking as he walks. “I know this kickass noodle place that delivers 24/7,” he collapses on his bed, outfitted in black sheets, looking up at you expectantly when you stop hesitantly a few feet away. “You should probably eat something,” he continues, pushing himself up on his elbows, legs dangling off the end of the mattress. “Especially if there’s still alcohol in your—”

“Oh no, I don’t drink,” you cut him off without thinking, the words etched into your permanent vocabulary, sitting down next to him, just a hint too close.

“No, no, of course you don’t,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head, sitting up fully. “Let me guess; niisan doesn’t allow it,”

A frown forms on your lips, brows knitting together. “Well I—”

“Ah! Stop,” he cuts you off with a disinterested wave and a roll of his eyes. “I’ve heard enough,”

Normally, you’d scoff at someone speaking to you so rudely. But with Dabi, with Dabi, it’s different. A little giggle escapes your lips without your permission, the bubbly noise surprising you, and Dabi chuckles in response, a genuine grin spreading across his face, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“So. Food?”

The takeout arrives at 1:56am, Dabi bringing the bag full of noodles and other appetizers—too much food for only two people, if you’re being honest—back to his bed, placing it in front of you and then crawling onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged.

The action surprises you—he doesn’t have a table, but you had been expecting him to bring the food to the small breakfast bar, complete with two mismatched stools, not his bed.

Old Hammer Horror films flicker on the TV as the two of you pick through the food together, Styrofoam containers littering the bedspread. And it’s…fun—it’s the most fun you’ve had in a long time, a strange, unfamiliar giddiness fizzing in your tummy every time you make him laugh, every time his eye catches yours, every time he shoves your knee and calls you dollface, despite the deep, honey-coated voice echoing in your head telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this and he’s dangerous.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

“Bedtime,” Dabi says simply as he returns from the little kitchenette after storing the leftover takeout in the fridge, using a hand to tug at the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

“Wha—”

The material hits you square in the face and an involuntary, entirely unsolicited giggle bubbles past your lips, pulling the garment from your head.

“Pajamas,” he nods at the fabric now bunched in your hands, but you can’t seem to find your voice to respond.

Teeth bite into your tongue hard enough to make you wince in an effort to keep a gasp within your chest when he comes into view. He’s lean—toner than you expected, muscles gliding smoothly under his skin as he moves—and you’re unsurprised to find his chest and back decorated with vibrant, intricate tattoos.

Of course, you knew Dabi had tattoos—they’re on his face, his neck, his collarbone, disappearing under the neckline of his shirt and resurfacing under his short sleeves, curling around his arms, brilliant flowing ink telling stories across his skin. They’re beautiful—they’re mesmerizing, inquisitive eyes slowly roaming the expanse of his chest.

But you had never noticed the soft, slightly puckered skin they hid. Scars, your mind provides dimly.

“Do you want to touch them?”

The rumble of his deep voice snaps you out of your revere, heat flooding your cheeks when you realize you were staring. There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you can’t quite tell if his offer is serious or not, your eyes floating up to his.

“Here,” he chuckles a little as he sits down, offering you his forearm, flipping it over and resting it on the bed.

He lets you trace every single one. He won’t tell you where or how he got the scars, and you don’t push, even as curiosity erodes your chest. It’s impolite to pry, Keigo’s voice echoes through your mind, and you nod once to yourself.

You don’t have sex that night. He doesn’t force you. You nearly tell him that you’re surprised, what, a man of his stature, of his reputation, has a pretty girl in his bed and he doesn’t fuck her?, petty retaliation for what he had said to you when you entered the apartment hours ago, but you chicken out at the last minute. You’d soon come to find that some things are better left unsaid.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Spring has just arrived, bringing with it cool, gentle breezes and swaying blades of grass decorated with glistening dewdrops that sparkle when the sun catches them in just the right way. The smell of freshly battered cinnamon sugar donuts and cheap coffee wafts in through the open window, drifting over your bodies and embracing you.

It rouses you, and your eyes flutter open to be met with Dabi’s face. And, God, he’s so damn pretty, with thick dark eyelashes fanned out delicately across inked skin and tousled onyx hair, breathing deep and calm, sharp jaw on display. Reaching out, you daintily trace over his relaxed features—circling defined cheekbones, sliding down the slope of his nose, trailing along his jaw—allowing yourself a moment to admire him before thick guilt begins to strangle you.

You should go. Keigo still thinks that you’re at a friend’s house, and doesn’t expect you to be home until late afternoon, but that belated bitter guilt finally brands the back of your tongue, face souring a little at the idea of deceiving your big brother. And after all he’s done for you, niisan tsks in your head, voice sweet and syrupy, and you can almost see the disappointment in his eyes as he shakes his head. We’re all each other has, you know. And you do, really, you do know, head nodding routinely, instinctual at this point, as you begin to push yourself up.

“Stay,” Dabi says softly, eyes still closed as a hand catches your wrist. You stop immediately, allowing him to pull you back down to the mattress as lids lift to reveal the most brilliant sapphires. Fingers trace down the curve of your neck and you hum, arching into his touch.

“Keigo—”

“Doesn’t have to know,” he cuts you off, his voice still quiet, rough around the edges and heavy with sleep. “C’mon. We’ll go get pie for breakfast, and I’ll have you home to niisan by dinner, promise,”

Giggling a little, you roll into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you atop his chest as he flops onto his back.

“Pie,” you laugh, resting your chin on his toned muscles and gazing up at him. “For breakfast?”

“Why not?” He asks, and that smile is back again, the boyish one that looks like he’s hiding something, a little amusing secret just for him, the one that induces a whole flock of butterflies in your chest. “It’s Saturday,” he shrugs as best he can, then squeezes you to his chest. “You don’t got anything to do, I don’t got anything to do...”

Crystal eyes glitter in the morning sun as they gaze at you, golden rays creeping through the small gaps in his thick purple curtains, swaying gently in the wind.

Molars sink into the inside flesh of your cheek as you think, and Dabi tuts his tongue softly, a hand coming to gently pull the skin from between your teeth.

“Okay,”

His lips curl into a smirk, something sharp flashing in his cobalt eyes. “Okay,”

That’s how it begins—with deceptively bright, youthful smiles and cherry pie for breakfast— and five days later, in the backseat of his Cadillac Eldorado while James Cagney flickers on a worn out, off-white screen and two of his fingers are three knuckles deep in you, he asks you to be his, digits curling in your pretty little pussy as he breathes the words against the shell of your ear.

You’re whimpering out yes as you cum, nodding almost frantically against his shoulder as your hips roll towards his palm.

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

But it progresses faster than you ever thought it would—faster than you ever thought possible—like a shot of morphine straight to your bloodstream, pupils gaping as DabiDabiDabi surges through your veins, becoming all you can think about—all you want to think about, all you want to do, eat, feel, breathe.

Midnight double-features of old Hollywood films at the local rundown drive-in become one of the many staples of your relationship, finding comfort in the sharp smell of buttersalt popcorn stinging your nose, in the way the film’s sound cracks and pops as it travels through the car radio, staticky like an old record, in the way Dabi forces a cherry Jolly Rancher from his mouth into yours, the hard candy clacking against your teeth.

This is how you spend most of your weeknights for the next month or so—passing candy through kisses in the backseat of the Eldorado, tongues shoved down each other’s throats, stained red and purple and blue from the cheap artificial dye, hands wandering up dresses and little fingers tugging at beltloops and buckles.

On Saturday mornings—sometimes Sundays, too, if you’ve been a really good girl—you find yourself in a familiar red booth at The League—a little diner tucked away on one of the city side streets not too far from Dabi’s apartment—cheap speckled plastic glittering in the sunlight and sticking to your thighs as your favourite waitress, a young woman by the name of Himiko who insists that you call her Mimi, takes your order. She seems to know your Daddy—your Dabi—somehow, but you don’t press, because it’s impolite to pry, you know and niisan raised you better than this.

He always lets you pick what you want for breakfast, but Daddy always orders it for you, always reminds you the mornings you decide on pancakes that if you get those, you aren’t allowed any sundaes or a slice of pie, because too much sugar is bad for his babygirl, and he knows how much syrup you drown those things in, dollface.

But there’s one staple of your relationship that you love more than all the others.

Joyrides.

That’s what he calls them, those drives through the bad parts of the city, the parts with cracked concrete sidewalks and shattered glass and needles littered in the dying grass.

Dabi takes you along frequently, tells you that you have an important job to do, that you play a crucial role in this whole operation, because the police—including your father—have been cracking down especially hard on dealing in this area. But nobody bothers to question a seemingly innocent young woman delivering inconspicuous brown paper bags—bags full of pretty little pills and tiny baggies of white powder—to shop owners and crumbling apartment complexes, eerily reminiscent of a Girl Scout selling cream filled cookies and thin-mints.

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

It’s an instantaneous rush, though, being allowed to participate in Dabi’s business ventures, being allowed to help. It’s a privilege, you think, makes you feel like he trusts you, and you absolutely live for the praise, for that gorgeous smile he gives you after you deliver the sweets to the client, for the passionate kisses he rewards you with for being such a good little helper.

Joyrides are the best. Because it’s just you and him, the Eldorado’s radio struggling to play whatever station it’s picking up on—usually some sort of sixties rock—as you cruise the streets in his absurdly large car, the sky smeared with strokes of faded pinks and oranges, peppered with wispy clouds that look like loose strands of white cotton candy.

And sometimes, after his work is all finished, he’ll drive you to one of those cliffs you’ve come to know so well and let you ride him in the drivers seat—precious little whines and pathetic broken whimpers spilling from your lips as you rest your head against his shoulder, gyrating your hips in fast, shallow little circles, using his cock like it’s a toy, just like he told you to—before taking you back home to fuck you properly, to fuck you right.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

It’s quaint, the little house you and your niisan live in, with its perfectly trimmed hedges and well-manicured grass, a stone walkway leading up to the front door, which is painted white. White windowsills, white brick, white, white, white, the whole thing is white—bright, pure, untarnished.

It’s just enough space for the two of you, your adoptive father, an absurdly large man by the name of Toshinori Yagi, had stated proudly, the first day he showed it to you.

And it’s only a short walk from the university, his wife chimed in with a smile too wide for her face, nodding excessively.

It’s convenient, they had said, the day you received your acceptance letter and scholarship offer from the university your brother attended. It’ll be good for you to stay with your older brother for a little, before going off into the world on your own, they had promised.

You hadn’t really wanted to go to this university—would’ve much preferred to go away to school in another country—but you didn’t. Keigo knew it, too, knew your desire to leave, to see more of the world, to experience it on your own without that hulking shadow with the wild hair. But he coaxed you into it, convinced you to stay, just like he always does, begging you softly not to leave your poor niisan all alone as gentle fingers pushed locks of hair from your face, trailing down your cheek and coming to cup your jaw, reminding you that you’re all each other has.

And you had nodded, nuzzled your face against his palm, sought comfort and relief in the presence of your big brother, just as you always do. He was right; you had your entire life to travel the world, what’s the rush? Why leave now? Stay with him, just for a little longer.

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. Keigo has always had a penchant for living fast, after all, seems to somehow incorporate conceptual and literal speed into all aspects of his life—his marks in school, his record-breaking track races, and now, his personal life, too.

It started in high school. He was in twelfth grade. You still don’t know who gave him his first taste, still don’t know why he decided to shoot up that night, but he did.

And it made him feel invincible. It made him feel like he could fly.

He hid it well, didn’t look like a heroin addict—at least, not what the words ‘heroin addict’ usually conjure up. His topaz eyes were bright as ever, even if his pupils were just a pinprick; nails cut so short it looked painful, to keep from scratching and scabbing his body; was always sure to keep his track marks well hidden, methodical in choosing his injection sites, and kept up with regular hygiene, even if his wild, windswept hair did get a little messier.

Yes, he hid it well.

But he couldn’t hide it from you for long, didn’t hide it from you well enough, becoming increasingly careless the deeper he spiralled into the addiction.

And it takes a while for you to truly acknowledge it. You didn’t want to—not at first, anyway—didn’t want to believe that your all-star, top-of-his-class, golden-child of a big brother was a junkie.

So you ignored it. You ignored the way he began recklessly disposing of the needles in the small trash can under his desk instead of hiding them in the kitchen trash whenever your mother asked him to take it out, ignored the burnt spoon you found in the sink and the bloody Q-tips you found littering the counter of the bathroom the two of you shared, ignored the way those tiny orange syringe caps had begun appearing in odd places, seeming to pop up more and more frequently.

Yes, you ignored it, until he stole one of the shoelaces off of your sneakers. And you still can’t explain it, exactly, can’t explain why that was the final straw, why that had you gripping a laceless shoe in a trembling hand as you stormed into the washroom uninvited and unannounced, catching him with the string between his teeth, just as the last of that disgusting orangish-brown liquid sunk into his veins.

The words disintegrate on your tongue, escaping in a pitiful little squeak, all of the fury you felt towards him for his behaviour melting the instant your eyes catch the end of the injection, wide and unblinking as they stare at the needle stuck in his forearm.

For a moment, neither of you are able to speak, Keigo’s mouth opening and closing a few times as his eyes flood with tears, the prettiest topaz shining in the warm washroom light as they frenetically search your face.

“Sit,” you tell him, finally breaking the silence, your voice not your own. His eyebrows knit together, and he shakes his head a little in misunderstanding, but you persist. “Sit,”

Shoulders deflating, he holds your gaze for a moment longer before nodding once and obeying, sitting on the closed toilet.

“We have to—” you stop as your chin begins to wobble, swallowing thickly against the sob crawling up your throat, quivering hands rooting haphazardly through a first-aid kit. “W-We have to clean those, so they don’t get infected,”

Glassy golden eyes watch you intently, his chest hiccupping just a little as he wordlessly holds his arms out to you, armed with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, the scent stinging your nose.

There aren’t many—only a few little pinpricks on each arm, some decorated with dark blooms of periwinkle and violet, but they still cause your tongue to crumble to bitter, suffocating ash in your mouth.

Tiny fingers encircle his wrist, your touch always so soft, so gentle, as if you’re afraid to break him, and he chokes on a noise that sounds suspiciously similar to a sob.

“You don’t—You shouldn’t have to—” and he can’t even force the words out, breathing out forcefully through his nose as his tears finally overflow, glistening drops streaming down his cheeks, bleary eyes unblinking, focused on your little fingers as they continue their tender ministrations with so much care, with so much love it’s nearly stifling, and he can’t breathe, because he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it—

“I want to,” a knuckle catches one of his fresh tears, swiping it across his cheekbone and leaving a glimmering trail in its wake. “Alright? I want to,”

And this—this becomes a habit.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You don’t tell Keigo about your relationship. Not at first, at least, conjuring up flimsy excuses that become more ridiculous as the days pass, as your disappearances steadily increase. Dabi doesn’t want to, makes up some bullshit excuse about how he isn’t ready yet. But you buy it anyway, and you wait.

Until the morning of one of your niisan’s big races, the ones where multiple trainers and coaches come from all over the country to assess his performance, when Dabi shows up entirely unannounced and uninvited, makes sure he’s in Keigo’s line of sight as he bounces around at the starting line, and kisses the life out of you, right in front of him.  

That’s the only time he attends one of Keigo’s races.

The rest you continue attending by yourself. Dabi doesn’t like it, doesn’t like to have you out of his sight at all lately, but he knows it’s moot to argue with you. You’re going, you told him firmly, the night before Keigo’s next race, whether he likes it or not.

But, boy, was your niisan fuming by the time the two of you arrived home that day.

He hadn’t cared that he had, essentially, lost the race, hadn’t cared that he didn’t even manage to place in the top three for the first time in literal years, hadn’t cared that he just blew several chances with potential coaches and sponsors.

None of it mattered.

With a rough hand wrapped around your bicep, he all but yanks you out of the car, doesn’t care that you’re stumbling over your own feet as he drags you towards the front door, doesn’t care that he shoves you inside the house so hard you do trip, crying out as your hands and knees collide with the cold tiled floor.

And he’s yelling, yelling at the top of his lungs, the moment that white door slams shut, shut so hard the walls tremble.

“Fucking Touya Todoroki!? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You can barely see him through your tears as you quickly flip yourself over, beginning to inch away on your hands and feet as you stare up at him, breath hitching in your chest.

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

“Oh Jesus, don’t tell me—He didn’t tell you his fucking name?”

No, you shake your head quickly, chest stuttering as the name echoes through your mind, your big brother nothing but a blur of crimson and gold advancing towards you, mumbling to himself about how no, of course he didn’t, why would he? Of course not, as he drags nimble fingers through his messy hair.

“To-Todo—”

“Todoroki,” he spits, so harsh it makes you flinch.

“Your coa—”

“Yeah, I know his father,” Keigo rolls his eyes as he crouches down, catches your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger, and you cease all action immediately, freezing in his grip. “You know his brother,”

Your brow furrows as you belatedly search your memory for any instance of the name, gunmetal grey and snow white flashing through your mind, but everything’s too foggy, too hazy with the fear of disappointing your niisan more, eyes squeezing shut as you hiccup at the mere thought.

But then he’s sighing, always knows when he’s gone a little too far—you are very delicate, after all, so small and naïve and in desperate need of someone to take care of you, aren’t you?—collapsing back on his heels and pulling you into his lap as soft hands smooth down your hair, murmuring it’s alright, it’s alright and niisan’s got you, niisan’s got you.

“What’re you doin’ with a man like that, my little songbird?” his voice is gentle as he rocks your bodies back and forth, after your sobs have calmed a bit.

What are you? you want to ask, front teeth sinking into your tongue hard enough to make you wince, keeping those three tiny words inside of your mouth.

“I like him,” you mumble instead, nuzzling your face into his chest and hiding from those bright, inquisitive topaz eyes.

“You—You like him,” he snorts to himself in disbelief, shaking his head a little.

“I do,” you respond, a little firmer as you pull back to stare at your big brother’s face, eyebrows knit together in determination, sparks of fury igniting deep in your chest at the thought of Keigo thinking he knows better, when he’s just as bad.

“He isn’t good for you—”

“He isn’t good for you,” you shoot back, tone clipped as you level your gaze, squirming a little in his arms. His grasp tightens, like he’s terrified you’re going to leave, honey eyes holding yours for a beat before he lets out a breath, looking away, defeated.

“That doesn’t mean you should be allowed to see him,” he mutters, glancing at your tear-stained face for a moment before his eyes flit away again. “But…” his chest rises with a deep inhale, pressing against you. “I guess…I guess it isn’t very fair of me to, uh, judge you, is it?”

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

He huffs out a soft chuckle, gazing at you from the side of his eye, a tiny smirk spreading across his face. “Stop being so cute,” he grumbles, squeezing you against him just a bit too hard, giggles spilling from your lips as your fingers curl in the cotton of his hoodie. “I’m trying to be mad at you, y’know,”

“Kei-nii,” you whine with a roll of your eyes, shoving his shoulder weakly, though there’s a smile on your lips.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s saying as lithe fingers brush some hair back from your face, palm resting against your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw rhythmically. “Just—Promise me, if he ever hurts you…You’ll tell me immediately, yeah?”

Blinking a few times, your eyes search his face, sobering up as gold bores into you. There’s something in his stare, something you’ve never seen before, something that you can’t decipher, and it sends chills pebbling across your skin. Swallowing thickly, you nod, little jerky movements as your eyes hold his. “Y-Yeah, promise, niisan,”

“Good,” he whispers, chin resting atop the crown of your head as he cradles you to his chest. “We’re all we have. Never forget it.”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You only question Dabi about his name once, lounging around on his bed in the early hours of the morning, tangled in his sheets, wearing his t-shirt, with his large hand resting on your bare thigh. His head’s tipped back against the headboard as he exhales smoke in pretty little curls that disintegrate into hazy nothingness only a moment later.

“T-Touya?” Your hearts thudding against your ribcage as you almost whisper the name, barely audible at all, but his head snaps forward, sapphire eyes finding yours immediately.

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, that you’ve crossed some invisible line you hadn’t had a clue about, his glare scathing your skin; but then his features relax, and a little smirk spreads across his lips.

“Ah, so he finally told you,” his voice is quiet, and you can’t read his tone, eyes squinting a little as you lean towards him. “I don’t go by that name anymore,” he speaks up, voice ringing out clear and strong. “Don’t call me that again,”

The or else is implied, and you nod meekly, promising him softly that you’ll never utter it again.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

It’s been gnawing at you all week, sitting heavy like a block of lead in your stomach, the cuticles on your left thumb bitten raw in agitation. You need to tell him. You’re going to tell him, it’s just…

It just never seemed like the right time to tell him—then again, is there ever a right time to tell your older brother that you’re spending the entire weekend at his drug dealer’s place?

But now it’s Friday, and Dabi will be here in a few minutes, and you still have yet to let Keigo know.

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

You hadn’t been expecting to hear the tinny laughter of a woman when you entered the house, arriving home after your last class of the day, hadn’t been expecting to walk into the living room to find said girl splayed across your niisan’s lap, staring up at him dreamily as endless giggles spilled from her painted lips, hadn’t been expecting him to be so completely enamoured with her that he doesn’t even greet you.

It burns up all of the anxiety that had been building inside you in an instant, turns it into boiling rage that bubbles and pops, noxious as it rises up your throat.

And so, you decide that you won’t say anything at all. If he’s too busy to even acknowledge you like he normally does every single day, then surely he doesn’t care if you leave, right?

“I’m going out,” you toss airily over your shoulder as your halfway out the front door, a small grin spreading across you lips as you spot Dabi leaning lazily against his car. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, smug grin of his own forming on his lips.

Keigo shoots up immediately, nearly knocking the girl to the floor, moving faster than he ever has in his life as he catches your wrist and tugs, hard. A loud yelp sounds from the back of your throat and you stumble backwards, right into your big brother’s chest.

“Where? Huh? Where?” he growls out the word through clenched teeth, squeezing again. “With who? That—That fucking scumbag?”

At the sound of your yelp, Dabi straightens up instantly, usual lidded eyes now wide open and alert, zeroing in on where Keigo has ensnared you.

“Not like it matters to you, not when you have a whore to entertain,” you spit, and though your gaze is blazing, your eyes are filling with tears, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “Right?” you push, after a few moments of silence.

His grip loosens, although he doesn’t let go completely, fingers still clasped around you.

“Princess, I…”

“No,” you snap, viciously pulling yourself free of him. “Don’t princess me. Not after ignoring me like that,”

“You’re overreacting—”

“Then so are you,” you cut him off sharply, already beginning to back away and blinking hard to clear your eyes of stubborn tears. “I’m spending the weekend at Dabi’s. I’ll see you on Sunday,”

Dabi catches you the moment you’re within reach, drawing you close to his chest for a second before pulling back. Calloused hands gently raise your wrist, sapphire eyes assessing the damage. His thumb caresses the rapidly bruising area rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth, and he frowns deeply, his gaze finally meeting yours.

“Does he do this often? Hurt you like this?”

And it’s startling, shocking, to see the overflowing concern in his crystal eyes, studying your face intently as you try to find your voice. You don’t think he’s ever sounded that serious before.

“I—No, of course not,” you shake your head, tongue tripping over the words. “We—Y’know, siblings fight, and stuff, it’s—he doesn’t know his own strength, sometimes, uh, forgets it, a-and I bruise easily,” you shrug, wincing a little at the serious expression still etched deep into Dabi’s face.

“If he ever puts his hands on you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” Dabi says slowly, softly, as if he’s reciting the morning news to you, dark eyes drifting up to refocus on the figure still standing in the doorway. “Do you understand me?” he asks, though his stare does not leave Keigo’s, voice still calm, almost serene. “I’ll fucking kill him,”

He won’t, you reassure him, countless times over the next few weeks. Niisan’s never intentionally hurt me, Daddy, he won’t, I promise.

And they’re all true, those words you repeat to him, over and over and over again, while you comb fingers through his inky hair or press chaste kisses against his scarred skin. They’re all true.

Until they aren’t.

You should’ve known, really, not to talk about it. He doesn’t—not when you’re cleaning his track marks or wiping sweat from his forehead, not when he lays his head in your lap as he’s coming down, eyes fluttering as your fingers thread through his hair, not even when you’re feeding him teaspoons of water to keep him hydrated as his body forces him to throw up nothing, again, lips dry and cracked, skin clammy and cold—and you shouldn’t, either.

“Have you ever thought about switching to pills?” You ask one night, casually, as if this is mundane, normal, to discuss while washing dishes. “I heard oxy is like, heroin in a pill,”

His jaw clenches, you can see the motion out of the corner of your eye, quickly refocusing your gaze on the bowl in your hands, the same bowl you’ve been washing for about five minutes now.

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

“And I asked why not,” you spit, dropping the bowl from your hands. It cracks as it collides with the aluminum of the sink, the sound piercing through the tense air as you turn to glare at your brother, soapy hands on your hips. “It would be safer—”

“Marginally—”

“That’s still better than nothing, Keigo! Christ,” you sigh, running a sudsy hand through your hair. “They’re all fucking opioids, what’s the difference!? They’re all gonna get you high the same way, aren’t they?”

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

You wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to explain to you. You wouldn’t understand that he’s already attempted this, attempted to switch from heroin to pills, and that it wasn’t the same—isn’t the same. You wouldn’t understand that oxy doesn’t give the same instantaneous rush as heroin does, doesn’t take his breath away like heroin does, doesn’t warm his entire fucking body the way heroin does.

No, you wouldn’t understand how most of the time he feels like he can’t fucking breathe until he shoots up, wouldn’t understand how, at this point, heroin feels like an old friend, safe and cozy and more comforting than anything he’s ever felt before, than even your arms are, wouldn’t understand how heroin makes him feel like he’s fucking invincible, like he can take on the entire world in one day, like he can continue living.

It makes him feel whole again, full again, put back together with no cracks or missing pieces. It distracts him from how irrevocably shattered his insides truly are, providing him with quick, fleeting relief, just long enough for him to keep going, keep striving, keep breathing. But you wouldn’t understand any of that. How could you?

He’s sighing as he walks away from you, raking both hands through golden hair.

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t see what this shit is doing to you! It’s killing you, niisan!”

God, no, not the honorific. Not when you’re gazing at him with tears spilling from your eyes, little hands desperately pawing at his t-shirt, urgent just to make him understand, to get through to him for one instant.

“I-It’s killing you and all I can do is watch,” your voice fades into a whisper, breaking on the last word as more tears streak your cheeks, leaving small gleaming trails in their wake, fingers readjusting, knotting in his shirt and tugging, latching onto him as he keeps walking, jaw clenching again as he tries to ignore you. “Y-You have to stop—no, no, n-not stop, just—just slow down, yeah? Slow down a little, it’s—it’s too fast, niisan, you’re going too fast—”

But it’s building, and building, and his head is throbbing, and throbbing, and your voice is rising higher and higher, louder and louder, and it’s all just too much, and before he even knows what’s happening, his hand is cutting through the air, knuckles colliding with your cheek so hard it sends you stumbling backwards, tripping over your own feet as you fall on your ass.

He regrets it the moment it happens, the very moment his skin makes contact with yours.

But that doesn’t matter; the damage is already done.

He’s never hit you before. Sure, he may be a little rough sometimes, and his grip may leave a few bruises every once in a while, but he has never deliberately hit you, until today.

He never thought he would.

Golden eyes dart from his hand, still raised in the air from where it struck you, blood gleaming on his silver rings, to your face, small and terrified, crimson flowing down your cheek, mixing with your tears as it slowly drips off your jaw, and then back to his hand.

And for a moment, he swears, the whole world stops.

Then, a mere second later, his whole world shatters.

You’re trying to form words, staring up at him with impossibly wide, unblinking eyes, but they’re just escaping your lips in little mumbles, half-formed and coated in spit.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, nothing more than a pitiful huff of air formed in the shape of a curse leaving his lips.

It takes your mind a moment to register what’s happened, numb with dizzying shock, stupid with the most heartbreaking pain, dazed as tiny, trembling fingers raise to tenderly prod at the wound, wincing the moment they make contact. But the throbbing of your cheek brings you back quicker than Keigo would’ve liked, and then your eyebrows are knitting together, mouth settling in a wobbly line, blinking hard to clear your eyes of pesky tears.

And all he can do is watch, watch as you shakily push yourself to your feet, watch as your hand grips your phone like it’s a fucking lifeline—a lifeline he very briefly thinks about diving forward and snatching out of your grasp—watch as you turn on the balls of your feet and disappear down the hall, the slam of your bedroom door echoing a moment later.  

You barely make it into your bedroom before your collapsing on the floor, wheezing out uneven breaths, sharp, hard huffs of air that slice through your tight chest with each exhale, vision blurry with stinging tears as you stare down at your phone, cradled in quivering hands.

You know that if you make this phone call, Dabi will never let you come back. You know that if you make this phone call, this is it. Trembling fingers hesitate over his name, those four glowing letters staring back at you, an unnecessary amount of various heart emojis cushioning them.

He doesn’t pick up the first time. Maybe it’s a sign, you think to yourself, a sign that you shouldn’t leave just yet, that you should stay and rot away with him for a little bit longer, remain with him for a little more and give him another piece of your soul that he can add to his prized collection as he slowly steals your life force from you.

But then searing pain radiates through your entire face, along your jaw and to the back of your head, and the coppery smell of blood stings your nose, and you press on Dabi’s name again.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

If he’s being honest, he would’ve never picked up for anyone but you, probably would’ve killed the idiot that thought to interrupt him during one of the biggest deals of his career—of his life.

“What?” he snarls as he answers, pacing along the wall outside the warehouse like a rabid dog, anxious and eager. “This better be important, sweetheart. You knew I was meeting with one of the bosses today—”

“He hit me,”

It’s hard to understand you when you’re still sobbing, words all wet and garbled, and Dabi squints as he focuses his concentration, feet skidding to a stop as his heart begins to pound.

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

And then, his blood runs cold. His ears are ringing, vision fading in and out of focus as red tinges the edges, breathing beginning to accelerate, exhaled harshly through flared nostrils. The thin skin stretched taut across his bony knuckles has turned white as he grips his phone so tightly he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand.

“Pack your shit,” he tells you, voice oddly calm, cold and sterile and sending shivers skittering up your spine. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,”

[freakynct]

「𝒂-𝒛 𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔」

— wong kunhang

‏‏‎ ‎

a; aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

i feel like hendery is such a goofball after sex and loves to be playful after all the sexual seriousness. he likes to stay close to you, pulls you closer and kisses your cheeks and loves teasing you about how good he made you feel or about something particular you did to him so you both just end up laughing with each other and cuddling

b; body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

i  think he’s really proud of the abs he worked hard for so i would say that’s his favorite body part of his. on you however, it’s your smile, he just loves when your whole face lights up when you smile and how contagious it is

c; cum (anything to do with cum basically)

messy, messy, messy. he loves anything that has to do with cum and loves having fun with it, so he’s not concerned if things get a little dirty. but he loves especially when he gets you so turned on that you can’t stop dripping for him, it boosts his confidence and makes him so happy that he has that effect on you. and when it comes to him cumming, his favorite place is either over your tummy or inside your mouth and if you swallow everything that’s a plus for him

d; dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

hendery is shameless and he doesn’t care if anyone finds out the dirty things he’s doing with you but something that turns him on so much is having any type of sexual interaction in public, god he loves that. he once had your back pressed against him on a bus while you were on vacation as you reached around to jerk him off right there with people around you. he swore he fell in love with you a little bit more after that surprise but fucked you like he hated you right when you got back to the hotel room

e; experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

some people may say that he has been with a lot of people before due to the fact that he is a natural flirt but... no actually they’re right, he has. hendery has a good amount of experience, he has been with multiple people before because why not? he thinks it’s fun and everyone involved has a good time. he has had enough time to learn and practice and become really good at what he does in bed and he’s proud of it

f; favourite position (goes without saying)

 i don’t know if it’s really a surprise to anyone but his favorite position would have to be 69. a chance to eat you out at the same time as you suck him off with the perk of grabbing your ass? sign him in

g; goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

to me hendery is very versatile. yes he is a dork at heart but when it comes to sex he can be as serious as he can be playful, it really all depends on what his partner is more into and that’s important to him

h; hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

he likes to keep himself well groomed and has tried shaving everything off a couple times but he finds that he prefers having hair down there but trimmed to perfection, so everything is clean and is pleasant to his partner too

i; intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

hendery is more of a casual guy, he doesn’t like having too much preparation before having sex. he likes to let things happen casually and normally and likes living in the moment. however that doesn’t mean that he can’t be romantic at times if the occasion asks for it but i see him as the type to make that attempt and failing a little bit or being awkward or clumsy which is not always bad and can make both of you laugh. at the end of the day it’s the intention that counts

j; jack off (masturbation headcanon)

very regularly and only because his schedule doesn’t allow him to do it every single day, because trust me he would. his favorite place to do it is on his bed, he gets to lay down, close his eyes and take his time but when other people are around and he doesn’t have the luxury of having the room all to himself he prefers doing it in the shower. he even tried using the shower head on him since he heard it felt good on girls and he always needs to try out everything at least once and lets just say he wasn’t disappointed

k; kink (one or more of their kinks)

i think his main kinks are exhibitionism, voyeurism, pet play, sensory play, brat taming, spanking and sir/master kink

l; location (favourite places to do it)

hendery doesn’t like anything too boring so he always prefers to have sex in adventurous places and therefore his favorite places are anywhere where there’s a chance of both of you being caught

m; motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

teasing. he absolutely loves when you make the first move and you start to tease him. just your touch and your sweet words can make him hard in seconds

n; NO (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

hendery is pretty experimental so i see him being very open to try out anything he or his partner wants to do and for that reason i really don’t think there’s anything specific he absolutely would say no to

o; oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

loves both so much, i don’t think he can choose between tasting you or feel your mouth around him but when it comes to eating you out he knows exactly what he’s doing and what you like. there’s not one time that he won’t make you cum just with his tongue

p; pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

like i said before i think hendery is a very versatile guy and his partner's needs and wants are very important to him too so this aspect really depends on that. but i would say that his preference is rougher and faster sex. it’s definitely more exciting and fun for him that way so he tends to have that type of sex more often

q; quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

he is all for it, why not? he loves a challenge and he will take any opportunity to fuck you. i think he still prefers to have proper sex because it lasts longer and there’s a lot more he can do but quickies are exciting to him so he wouldn’t say no

r; risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

yes, yes and yes. i think that’s an obvious answer considering everything i’ve already said. hendery is basically up for everything and is super experimental and loves to take risks. the thought of being caught and doing something you’re not supposed to be doing turns him on so much

s; stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

i think most of the time sex with hendery would be only one round, except if he’s feeling extra horny that day or you beg very nicely for him to fuck you again. however i see him being able to have sex multiple times a day and he has the stamina for that. but one thing is for sure with him, sex doesn’t end until both of you are completely satisfied

t; toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

hendery loves the idea of using toys on you and if you’re in a relationship he would definitely have that talk with you and ask if that’s something you’re interested in and if he can buy some. he loves making you feel good, so the thought of you squirming as he uses a toy on you really turns him on but he would also really enjoy watching you use one on yourself, that’s for sure. i think he would be open to let you use one on him if you really wanted to try that but i don’t think that would be something he would ask himself

u; unfair (how much they like to tease)

in my opinion he likes when you tease him more than teasing you. but even tho he loves when you make the first move, he also really enjoys when you play hard to get and he has to resort to his teasing tactics to win you over and trust me, he’s a master at it

v; volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

hendery isn’t loud nor quiet. he simply doesn’t hold back and if he feels like moaning then he will, especially if his partner likes to hear him as well. he uses it to insantivate you as well when you’re the one taking over to show you how much he’s enjoying what you’re doing. he loves moaning or groaning in your ear because he knows how weak that gets you

w; wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

“where are you running to baby? i told you you have to stay still.” hendery looked up at you with the biggest smirk on his face knowing exactly that not moving was impossible for you. you whined as he tightened the grip on your thighs that were now straddling his head. “c’mon, i’m not done tasting you yet.” and right as he said that he was back at pulling your hips down, forcing you to sit on his face once again as you desperately tried to stay quiet, his tongue running between your folds, collecting every last bit of your wetness.

“kun-...” you didn’t even manage to say his whole name as a moan fell from your lips, the combination of his sweet lips on you and his hands exploring as much of your body as he could made your mind spiral, your hands involuntarily making their way to his hair, pulling on it and receiving a grunt from hendery in return.

“hm hurry up and cum on my tongue baby, i can't wait to fuck this pretty pussy."

x; x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

in my opinion i think hendery is on the average size, let’s say the perfect size because it’s not too big to the point of hurting you but not too small to the point of not feeling that much. i think he’s circumcised and more on the thinner side but barely

y; yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

another obvious answer based on everything i’ve said so far but very high sex drive and it’s very easy to turn him on. i would say he’s able to have sex everyday if it comes to it and he can go multiple times a day

z; zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

i would say pretty quickly if he’s really tired but he will make sure to clean up and check if you’re ok before dozing off. however i have a feeling that he can be a little less careful when it comes to one night stands and just fall asleep right after you’re done. he’s definitely the type to sleep over after a one night stand even if that was not the plan

[chibinekochan]

Loving you- ft Asmo

Asmo with an asexual reader

They are not aromantic. 

So everything goes except doing the do. 

They aren't sex-repulsed either but it's a super rare occasion option for them. 

If I got anything wrong I gladly fix it. I'm not ace or aro. Maybe a bit demisexual but that's neither here nor there. 

Gender-neutral reader insert.

  Words 2k

Falling for you was certainly something new. Completely unexpected. 

Of course, Asmo has his fair share of crushes and romances. 

Love on the other hand? Well, he thought that he experienced love. At least until he met you. Until he fell for you. 

He didn't see it coming at all. All it needed was a little human with empathy, just the right amount of flirting and care. 

Asmo can only chuckle about how fast and hard you made him fall for you. 

Even now, where he is about to confess his feelings for you, he is uncharacteristically nervous. Some might even say insecure.

  Asmo can only shake his head at himself. 

Finally, you knock on his door, much like a little boy. He nervously opens the door.

  You probably would never even be able to tell how much his heart is beating for you. "Welcome to my humble room. Please come in and feel all at home." Asmo looks at you with a wide smile, practically beaming at you. 

"Thank you Asmo. You look great today by the way." You smile at him, admiring his new outfit. 

Asmo smiles at you. "Thank you very much. I see you wear the outfit we got together last time we went out." His heart fills with a great sense of pride. 

Your cheeks grow a bit hot. "I dressed it thinking it would make you happy." It's very cute to him how you can act so shy sometimes. 

"It really does." Asmo closes his door behind you. You don't know how truly happy he is seeing you in this outfit. Especially since it's only the two of you today. "Sit wherever you want."

Asmo knows you like to sit in random places, depending on your mood.

  "I see you redecorated, it looks very nice. I love the fairy lights." You admire the small changes in his room. 

"I'm glad you like it. I did it thinking of you. When Satan was here the other day he didn't even notice. Can you believe that?" Asmo shakes his head.

"That's very sweet of you and I guess Satan just has not the eye for such things." You shrug and find yourself sitting on Asmos bed. 

It's pretty comfortable.

"Oh, I got some new products we just have to try today." Asmo spots the small basket of things he put aside to try with you. It's funny how many of these he collects. Within days the basket is always filled. 

Asmo brings the basket over. With great interest, you look at the products. "Wow, I can't even recognize any of these brands. How did you even find these?" Your eyes sparkle when you see the unfamiliar items with funny demon names. 

"Hehe, that's a secret but it wasn't easy. Now the question is what should we use first?" Asmo somehow always finds himself thinking more and more about what kind of products would boost your natural beauty or health. 

Funny how being in love changed his way of thinking completely. 

You look at the items."I don't even know where to start. They all sound interesting. Like this bath bomb that is supposed to smell like a strawberry field and makes your skin smooth." 

Asmo nods in agreement. "I agree. There are face masks too. They are made from mineral earth only found in volcanoes in the devildom. They will make any demon look at least a thousand years younger. Not that we need that, but it's supposedly best to revitalize your skin." Asmo proudly shows you the package. 

"I wonder if that works for humans too but it sounds great. You know I had this bit of dry skin on my arm the other day. Do you have anything for that?" You always happily ask Asmo for advice. 

"Of course. I got a great moisturizer just the other day. Let me get it for you." Asmo is glad he picked it up. He grabs the bottle for you and sits down right next to you. 

"I will apply it for you if you don't mind." Asmo uses every chance he can to be physically closer to you. 

"Sure, go right ahead." You completely trust Asmo, you don't see him as just a friend but you know how important sex is for him. So you have never broached the topic of a relationship with him. Being mostly content with being just friends. Even when it hurts.

  Asmo rolls up your sleeve up and sees a small spot of dry skin on your upper arm. "Looks like someone has not applied an equal amount of moisturizer everywhere." He playfully scolds you and then uses some of the moisturizer on your arm. He slowly and carefully applies the cream to your skin. He enjoys having physical contact with you. Getting lost in the sensation of being so close to you. It's somehow very intimate, despite it being just applying the cream. 

You notice that Asmo is slowly but surely using the moisturizer on your entire arm. His touch feels very good but it also makes you a bit nervous. 

You tried and failed before coming out as asexual to Asmo. It scares you, knowing how much he loves doing sexual acts. You don't want Asmo to judge you or make fun of your feelings. Mainly you fear that he won't understand you or even worse that he will take a huge step back from you. 

It's pretty clear to you that Asmo is sexually interested in you. He has asked you to sleep with him before. Asmo is always alright when you decline. He honestly doesn't seem to mind and isn't pushy about it at all either.

  "Asmo there is something I want to tell you." At this moment the words start to pour out of your mind. It's unfair not to tell him. He is very important to you as a friend and as someone you have a crush on. 

Asmo crocks his head. He wonders what you might want to say, you seem to be rather nervous. Could it possibly be that you might like him too? Asmo doubts that it's something like that, but he can always hope. Asmo braces himself for whatever it might be. "You know you can tell me everything." He is a bit wary of what you might want to confess.

"I hope this won't change anything between us but the truth is that I'm asexual." You feel great tension when you finally tell him. Asmo is surprised. 

He truly didn't expect this at all. "Wait so when you said no to sleeping with me that was because of that?" Somehow this is the first question on his mind. 

Your cheeks instantly heat up. "Yeah, I'm just not interested in that."

Asmo seems to just realize a few things. "So it wasn't because you weren't attracted to me?" He thought this was the actual reason why you weren't interested. Even when his own feelings were not changing. 

"You are certainly attractive to me. I mean we are flirting all the time after all." It's slightly embarrassing to admit but somehow it also feels nice to say it out loud. 

"That's true but I thought you were just being playful." Asmos head is racing with many different thoughts. "I have to confess something too and I hope this doesn't scare you away but I really really like you. I mean romantically." Asmo finally says what he wanted to tell you today. 

Now it's your turn to be surprised. "I had no idea. But with me being ace will a relationship between us even work out?" You feel happy but also afraid at the same time. 

'I've never had a purely romantic relationship before. I mean, you know me, I like doing these things. I like to flirt and I like the attention of others. I can't really pinpoint the reason why but with you it's different. Maybe it's because I have never felt this way before or it's because we are such close friends. I've never even been in a truly committed relationship before. All I know is that I want to be with you." Asmo seems open to it at least. 

"Even when I'm ace it doesn't mean we can't do many things together. I love to cuddle and I love all kinds of attention. I can still feel sexual attraction but it's extremely rare that I want to do it at all. If you think you can't live like this it's fine. I won't hold it against you. You are so important to me and I don't want to lose my best friend." You aren't sure how to say it right but your heart breaks by the thought of hurting Asmo. 

Asmo nods seemingly lost in thought. "I would never want to hurt you either." Suddenly he gently puts his hand on yours.

  You look at him with curious eyes. 

Then he gently looks you into your eyes. "Do you like me back?" 

"I do. I really like you." You say without a hint of doubt. 

Asmo smiles gently. "Do you want to be in a relationship with me?" 

"Yes but…" You start but Asmo interrupts you. 

"No buts about your sexuality." Asmo seems to know what you want to say. "Just answer yes or no."

You hesitate for a moment. "Yes." It surely will be difficult but it is also what you truly want. 

"Despite you knowing how I am?" Asmo can't seem to hold a giggle back. 

"Of course. I love even your bad sides." You smile at him teasingly. 

"Bad sides? I have no such thing." Asmo pouts playfully. 

You giggle. "Will you still be in relationships with other people?" This is an important question for you. 

'Honesty, I'm not sure if I will miss sleeping with someone. I never went without for a long time. I'm pretty content, just flirting for the most part. I mean, to be honest, I wasn't fooling around for a while now. I think you are to blame for that one." Asmo puts a lot of thought into his words.

  It makes you smile to see how much he truly cares about you. 

"I'm very sorry for making you fall for me." You giggle and act wounded. 

Asmo grins at you. "I forgive you."

"So does that mean you want to try a serious relationship with me? One where we cuddle, kiss, and maybe even hold hands?" Of course, there are many more things you can and will do together. 

"Holding hands? How scandalous!" Asmo laughs out loud. Then he takes your other hand and holds them both tightly. "It honestly sounds great to me. It won't be easy. We probably have to have some conversations about things. Maybe we will argue and make up. Maybe I will break your heart but maybe I will make you very happy. I have no guarantee that it will work out. Despite that, I want to be with you. I want to call you mine, and I want to be yours." Asmos words are very heartfelt. 

"Somehow this is crazy but it sounds pretty great to me." You can't help but smile at him. Even as friends you sometimes had some fights but always managed to come out stronger in the end. "I think we can make this work." 

"You are right, we can. How about a kiss now to celebrate?" Asmo is practically beaming. 

The atmosphere seems to be just right for this. "Yes." Suddenly you feel a bit nervous. It's not even your first kiss with Asmo. Your heart beats wildly.

  Asmo feels equally nervous. He doesn't even know why.

  He leans in, slightly parting his shaking lips. Your heart keeps beating faster, suddenly your lips feel strangely dry. 

Then your lips meet. Somehow the world suddenly feels right.

  It's natural and special at the same time. It lasts a few moments. A bit longer than a typical first kiss. 

When you lean in to kiss Asmo, your heads almost bump together. Causing both of you to chuckle. 

Asmo then hugs you. This also feels so right. Much more than either of you could ever expect. 

This first step into your relationship with Asmo is a good reflection of your future together. 

Sometimes you have a few bumps in the road, but there is also a lot of fun and love.

[hungryflowers]

You’re Different Backstage

Title: You’re Different Backstage

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

Continuity/Fandom: Balan Wonderworld

Character Relationship(s): “Balance” Balan/Lance

Character(s): Balan, Lance

A/N: This is going to be my FIRST NSFW submission for this fandom. Do not come at me with the torches, pitch forks, knives or shotguns. I, very recently, sent myself down the rabbit hole of Balance (Balan/Lance) and kept wondering: how nice would it be to see some good ol’ fashion sexy time with the two of them? Since no one has done it yet, I thought, why don’t I? What’s stopping me? Who can stop me? NOBODY!!! So I did this. And it took me 10 days to do, so please accept my thing!! Also, also, this will probably be the longest porn w/o plot I’ve ever written. Hence why it took nearly ten days. The editing alone was bananas!! Another thing, I’d like to apologize in advance if I offend anyone here who is Non-Binary or go by They/Them pronouns. Since Lance is canonically non-binary, I tried to keep it as close to the orientation as possible. This was real hard as I usually default to male pronouns for both of them. 

However, I didn’t do the same for Balan, as he does tend to go by more male pronouns than Lance does even though they are also androgynous in appearance. Maestro is a more masculine term even if neither of them actually are. Another big thing: Balan’s genitals here. Since they don’t have actual default genitalia, I like to think that he has the ability to oscillate his genitals. He can have male and female parts just not at the same time. With that out of the way, please indulge in this steamy lil’ fan fic. And yes, I take criticism.  

Other/Warning(s): Massive smut warning!! Penetrative sex, Oral and Cunnilingus, Some minor swearing, graphic depictions of sexual situations as well as multiple orgasms.  

Lance didn’t enjoy setting the ‘mood’ as others had assumed it. They weren’t  deeply inclined to romantic, or sappy gestures like the better half of themselves had been. Balan seemed better at the sentimental side of affirmations of love and adoration. Or of praises and well-wishes that devolved into lasting conversations of love and happiness. 

No. No such things came out of Lance. They never gave in the way Balan would crave it. All they have ever wished for in turn was the physical catharsis of those suppressed feelings. Lance never called it love. Far be it from them to say what it wasn’t, but call it what it is. For them, it was just sex. The debasing art form of it too; bed-rocking, sloppy and wet, body tingling sex. That kind one would have as a means to purge the physical, mental garbage of the day and get back to work. The sex that revolved around more the need to take and not deal in the emotional ramifications. Lance’s fangs would draw in a wicked grin, the idea of that perfect, lasting till the morning time sex rarely sounding so bad. They had raptured, fantasized of the feel of Balan’s more delicate, tender frame mashed into theirs as he was ridden to a mind-blowing high that could leave them both speechless for a long while. 

They would languish in these thoughts. The perverse nature of them driving him to do insane things in search of the release from the monstrous, bone-rattling ache. For now, Lance busied themselves to look away... their thoughts hazy and muddled with the resurfacing gnaw of pursuing pleasure. Their mouth ducked into their tattered caplet, hiding the baring growl that prickled at those lips. Soft, ocean-colored eyes hardened with shock, and some surprise as they locked with Balan’s. They must’ve been so entranced with the inner turmoil, Lance never registered the glance the maestro was giving them. The Maestro of Wonderworld’s presence did things to Lance. Things they acknowledged and didn’t like. Gods, who decided to torment them so by making this being so damned beautiful and siren-like? How dare he sit with an air so casual, it appeared nothing ever bothered him? Damn him. Damn his soft, luscious and devilish curves; feminine in some ways while masculine in others. But moreover, damn those goddamn large and intelligent yellow eyes.

Golden pools shimmered deliciously in the lamplight of the slow evening. The theater was always quiet at night. It was period of reflection, relaxation. Or maybe a time to finish some old project. Maybe begin anew. For Balan tonight however, it was his time to catch up on a few good reads. He hadn’t picked up a good novel in some time. Usually the only papers he read were his rough drafts of scripts and plans. But he loved to read. When he didn’t harass Lance with trivial tasks, or for the nuisance of conversation, Balan read. If not that, he wrote. He was a maestro of the craft; short stories, full-lengths, prompts and scenarios, or sometimes just a journal entry. On this night he didn’t busy himself with putting quill to parchment. 

Balan's mouth opened, a sound coming out but no words. He wasn’t entirely sure how to ask about Lance’s wellbeing with being snapped at. The other appearing to be in a dour mood tonight. Placing the book on the small, rounded oak table Balan unfolded his legs to stand. He stretched idly, rubbing at the back of his top hat before pulling it off his head to fluff out his bouncy mint-colored dreads. Humming a little tune, Balan rummaged through his showman jacket, pulling out a golden rubber band to tie his long dreads back. The tendrils folded down his shoulders neatly once they were out of the way, exposing the intricately made heart marking atop his dark forehead. 

His eyes fanned over the negati’s hidden features before he walked over to the bar on the far side of the room. Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out an aged bottle of wine; the label slightly tarnished and dusty read in calligraphic silver “Caraveét”. He grabbed gold-rimmed chalices, pouring the shimmering iris colored wine into each of the glasses. He grinned, smelling the sweet and tart flavors. He took a slow sip from his glass before tapping the bar table with his gloved fingers, the racketing bring Lance out of their stupor.

“Did you want some?”, He inquired, hoping the swirling liquid would ease the storm that ravaged the negati, “You seem a bit broody tonight. Perhaps, a couple of glasses should ease both our minds.” The maestro chuckled giddily raising his glass as it gleamed in the low light. 

Lance regarded the glass, then the maestro as he walked over to them. The tentacles on their back lashed so abruptly, Lance had to do a non-verbal apology when they knocked over a few chairs by accident. They weren’t brooding. Not even mad, but they were feeling something. Just not sure how to find the words for it. 

Balan’s eyes drifted to Lance’s, regarding them. Waiting for them to answer the question they most likely didn’t hear in the first place. 

“What?” The tone was not to be a biting, agitated type yet Lance couldn’t make themselves look at Balan, knowing full well the turmoil they were in.

“Nothing... I was just asking if you would like a glass of wine? You are more the brooding lot than usual. Drink with me.” Balan’s playful baritone voice felt like velvet as it caressed their ears. That voice caused Lance to sulk further more, hiding their face inside the caplet as the thoughts, seeming to feel more like whispers of temptation, dominated their rational thinking. 

He took the offered glass yet chose not to drink of any of it. Instead he loomed over the rim as Balan took a long swig of his. 

Lance licked at their lips, unknowing of the gesture. They would give more than anything to kiss the taste off of Balan’s lips. Or just to kiss them at all. They had wondered what it would be like to feel the maestro’s lips tentatively licking, caressing theirs in a heated lip-lock. The maddening thoughts came back tenfold, causing the other in audible snarl, attempting to shut them away. 

“Lance... are you okay?” They heard Balan on the bridge of their conscious, the other’s voice like a muddling hum as they stood up quickly to move in front of Balan. The other, not knowing how to judge the move, backed into the bar, his glass still in hand while he searched the eyes of Lance. They appeared to be wild, nearly frantic with an energy Lance never expressed. 

Lance leered at the other silently before pushing himself right into the maestro’s form; trapping him in front of the wood lacquer. Balan’s fleeing gaze made Lance smile. Not grin... smile. His mouth perking with something that could not be said as his hands went to Balan’s cravat, pulling the other slowly toward him. 

“No...”, Lance confessed, eyes lulling closed dreamily, “I am not okay. And you are to blame.” That smile showed off the fangs, the points flitting in the soft lamplight. 

Balan could not fully process what was going on before Lance leaned in fully to capture the other’s lips. Night after night, they had dreamt up this moment and even now they cannot believe they had gotten this far. It was far better than any dream or wish; light blue eyes sliding closed as a slender tongue went past the maestro’s parted, stunned mouth. That moment caused a ripple of shock to seize Balan, contents of his glass spilling onto the floor, no doubt leaving a stain that’ll have to be dealt with. He didn’t even have the knowledge of dropping it, yellow eyes staring at Lance’s softened face before he willed himself to kiss back. His hands, once frozen indecisively, pulled Lance in close.  

Neither were sure how it had come to this, but Balan didn’t have the heart in him to make Lance stop. A small purr rumbled the kiss as Lance began to pull off. They disconnected breathlessly, only the small tail of spittle between them. Their breaths were heavy and hot, burning like steam with each exhale. It took the maestro to gather his bearings before his mouth was able to work again. 

“W-Why am I to blame?? Lance what’s happened to you?” Balan felt as if he knew what was about to happen, and tried his best to make it all make sense. He was normally in a lot more control in surprise like situations; yet here... he was unable to predict the sheer tumbling force that Lance was portraying. 

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Lance whispered, deftly kissing down Balan’s neck, inky-black hair brushing amethyst sparkled cheeks, “I’ll make you understand.” They said louder with a growl that exposed fangs.

Purrs rumble through Lance as they fumbled with anything that would be able to get Balan’s ensemble off. Instantly they are met with resistance as Balan shoves at them, hands going to the sharp shoulders defensively. 

“Lance! What do you think you’re doing?!” Balan exclaimed, standing his ground before Lance doubles their efforts to expose the maestro. They are only slimly successful when get to expose Balan’s upper shoulder; the tear just big enough to reveal swirling lines of golden runes, “Have you lost your mind?!”

 The other refuses to answer him, bringing themselves flush against Balan to kiss down the exposed markings. 

Had they managed to lose their mind? Lance would have to give that some thought later on. In the afterglow. But first, they’d have to get down from the tantalizing high that has them under a spell. Their lips brushed softly down the exposed skin, running lightly over the maestro’s clothed arm. Gods, both of them just had on too many layers. Lance flared up, frustrated by the inability to firmly feel the decadent skin.

“Lance, let me go!” Balan demanded, the command in his voice barely swaying Lance to push off him. He was losing control of the situation. And the scary part of it was that was what he wanted. Balan would have been lying to himself if he said that he didn’t want this. Yet to get it from Lance this way was never a part of the plan. 

“You don’t want me to let you go.” Lance stated, eyes twinkling with more than just mischief behind them.

“Yes I do!” Balan choked out, his act and bravado beginning to fail him.

“Then why are you pulling yourself into me?” Lance chuckled, allowing their hands to wander down Balan’s waist.

“I’m-” He stammered not expecting to see or know that he had been pulling Lance closer the entire time. Forbid it all, he wanted this negati more than anything right now. And he was showing how badly. Damn his body for this. He was normally in better control of his reactions, this lapse should not have been tolerated. 

His be-speckled face shown with the brewing embarrassment of being caught before shoving himself a bit harder, finally escaping Lance’s grasp. The poor thing looked a fright; face flushing a deep violet, hair askew as it rolled down his shoulders and back, teeth clenched in discomfort as he attempted to steady his breathing. His chest must’ve rattled from the urge to scream at Lance. Instead he stamped off, refusing to let Lance see how flustered he became. He’ll have to be in his room for a while to work out the steam that began to build.

He didn’t get far as a few tendrils of inky black wrapped around the other’s waist. He could hardly make a verbal protest while being pulled back into the other’s form. Large claws going up his neck, arresting Balan’s smooth belly as the tendrils dipped further. The tentacles moved lively, squeezing and pulling on the other as Lance’s hands swept and groomed over the maestro’s suit. When one hand dipped between Balan’s legs, he seized up. 

Yellow eyes dilated, Lance’s touch freezing his mind. The groan that escaped him was not intended yet was enough to make Lance’s groin ache. He was going to force those sounds out of Balan. In one way or the other. Their night was going to be fulled with these delicious noises. The tendrils smoothed over him, probing the other perversely. 

“Lance...please.” Balan became unaware of what he was begging for. He wanted this to stop, but he also felt like he’d regret refusing. This Lance... was much different than the one he’d encountered previously. The change felt real jarring; since they never made moves into his personal space. For anything. Least of all... This! He wanted to see where this could go. How much better it could get. 

His own hands skimmed over Lance’s suit, prompting the other to loosen their grip as Balan slid away from the tendrils. Balan took one coil in between his fingers, golden eyes gazing into the blue ones. The heat behind the other’s eyes made Lance shudder, a harsh sigh coming from his mouth as Balan took the tip of Lance’s tendril into his. The look stayed as the tendril came from Balan’s mouth, his tongue connecting it. The appendage darted out to swipe at the excess spittle left behind, the maestro’s eyes still glowing with a renewed heat. 

The action prompted a sneer from Lance’s features, their hand waving for a portal to open up behind Balan. The maestro gasped, turning to the hazy violet-colored portal. The shout of shock was to be expected as he was shoved right through it, the residual tethers of Lance’s self control snapping audibly as it receded. 

The overwhelmed, unknowing audience of Tims sat, wiggled, waddled and creeped up to sit in the place both beings had been.

                           ______________________________

It was not the fall that left him breathless as he landed on the massive expanse of what felt like a lavish bed. It wasn’t the deep contrasting colors of purple and gold accents that were illuminated by rainbow-esque runes and paintings of Negati markings throughout the immense, intimate space. Nor was it the pulsating rivets of scarlet that blended salaciously with the black and purple blankets and amassing of huge, plumy pillows. 

Lance himself left him utter breathless; transfixing him, mesmerizing him with the oscillating negati runes that gleamed in the room. Lance had never done this display before. Their runes barely pulsed or shined vibrantly whenever they were around each other. Evermore rarer when he was alone. The runes gave him an ethereal hue that the nighttime sky couldn’t rival. He brushed that thought away as Lance struggled out of their wardrobe, hardly mindful of seams, buttons or zippers as the top half of his shorn cloak was disposed of somewhere in the low lit room. Balan flinched yet shuddered at the ferocity Lance had showcased in removing his own tunic and darker colored vest from underneath. With his chest exposed; the tapestry of rune lines and fuchsia gleaming in the violet backdrop of the room, he was on Balan.

The maestro’s bright color scheme contrasted a great deal with the whole room, snow white wrapped in gold and scarlet with the fettering of navy with his undershirt. The colors screamed obnoxiously in comparison, and Lance wanted them all off. Balan looked on, dazed by the negati while Lance’s -no longer gloved, dark- fingers delved to pull apart the top of the collar, effortlessly tearing it asunder, a low suffering sound coming from the maestro but not much else. He would figure that Lance would be like this. There was no such thing as intimacy or care with the negati. Everything he touched broke in his hands. Balan knows well that this time will be no different.

 Those warmed hands skimmed over the prone body, fingers probing through the opened seams of the tattered clothings. They tickled him, a warm and fuzzy sensation spreading throughout the squirming frame. Balan felt lips on his chest, hands assisting in the pleasing endeavor while the other arched and shook. His mouth opened in an exhalation of steaming desire. When Lance pinched a nipple, Balan shot upwards in heated rebellion, forcing Lance to restrain him with his tendrils. 

He was about to demand that Lance release him yet was cowed into silence by a startling growl, “This ends if you keep moving.” That voice, their voice had done something to the maestro. In other instances, Balan would have fought Lance until the other relented control, but during this... he went oddly still, placate as Lance continued to trace a trail of kisses down his chest. He brought his hips forward and up as the negati began kissing down his belly, stopping shy of the seam of his pants. Warm hands went into the other’s pants, the kindled heat coming off of Balan’s genitals enough to make Lance purr. 

The maestro struggled against the hold as Lance pulled his pants down, heeled boots joining them as pile on the floor; kissing trails down his waist and down his legs. When the teeth pricked his skin, Balan thrashed. His face aglow with purplish speckles that brightened with his flush. He sparkled everywhere; cheeks, chest, hips and down the markings of his illuminated, swirling markings. Even the tendrils of his hair began to glow a slight with the forbidden heat. The hold on the restraints doubled.

“What did I just say?” Lance growled, the reverberating making Balan tense.

“L-Lance! Lance...”, Balan was calling to him yet couldn’t reach him as the negati roughly rid him of his clothing. Nearly naked, Balan shivered in the cool of the room as well as under the heated gaze of the negati, whom crawled up his frame to, again, kiss and lick at his newly glowing speckles, “Please... don’t stop! Please, Lance.” The maestro whispered pleas were a shock to the negati’s ears. He still wanted to punish him for fighting but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was becoming so lost to the feelings. 

“Save your voice, pet...”, Lance whispered as his fingers slipped past the maestro’s brightly colored panties, feeling him for the first time, “It is too premature for you to be screaming for me now.” He chuckled more as his folds became reactive to the fingers smoothing them over, luscious wetness forming inside the panties. 

Balan’s eyes widened, the shock of Lance’s finger boldly touching him made him to squirm, his own palm moving atop the negati’s. Much to Lance’s surprise, he didn’t hinder him yet chose to guide his fingers even closer, near enough for them to breach the delectable, delicate walls. Sun-yellow eyes rolled back once he felt one fingertip push its way inside, stopping short of sinking in completely. The maestro’s moan was unabashedly loud, body rolling in venture of more fingers. Lance marveled with fascination at the other’s willingness; form softening as he shook his head to and fro in delirium. He couldn’t stop shaking, lithe body aroused as the finger came from his wet sex. He smelt utterly delicious, dripping the natural nectar like a perfectly ripe fruit. His tongue slipped out to have a taste of it... and it had been everything he had hoped for. 

The aroma of the finest wine with the scintillating notes of vanilla and lavender. His cock pulsed in his own pants, over eager for its own taste. 

In horny glee, Lance yanked off the maestro’s panties, tossing the last piece of clothing into the darkness of his chambers in order to marvel at the most succulent sight in between the other’s rune spiraled legs. The plump lips of the vulva were just perfect enough to kiss, the natural wetness dribbling onto the blankets, glittering a soft purple as it did. The negati locked eyes with the heated, glazed expression before moving to take Balan’s mouth in a heated, soft kiss. The other kissed back with more fervor than before, free hand going behind Lance’s head to drag him down. 

 They pulled away with a long, loud sigh. The other scoring hot in contrast to the sheets beneath. Balan splayed his legs more, allowing for more room.

Lance grabbed up his thighs roughly, pulling him to the end of the bed to comfortably rest on their knees. Without much warning, Lance dipped his mouth right onto the humming lips of his vulva. That tongue went right to work at lapping up the sticky juices in and around those lips, a soft chuckle coming out of Lance as Balan shouted in lewd desire. His giant hands went right to Lance’s head, twining his fingers in the other’s hair as he shook and shimmied to the lapping tongue, hips arching to bring those lips closer to his pussy. 

Lance focused on the luscious flavor of his cunt, dragging Balan closer to them as the maestro attempted to pull back. Their grasp got tighter the harder Balan fought against the hold.  He felt the other’s grip in his hair, the tugging just enough to keep Lance deep. He lost his mind to Lance’s teeth grazing the top of his clit before sucking hard on his folds.

“Gods! Uhh, huh, L-L-Lance!”, Balan stammered, the corner of his eyes prickling with unshed tears while he fought and screamed into Lance’s lips. He was in heaven, but damn him if he’d admit that to the Negati. Balan flailed his head, mint-colored dreads going all over as he lost all semblance of control, “Dear gods Lance! Please! I cannot take...!” Balan pleaded for him to stop, to show any mercy on him as an intense rush of savage, carnal desire shot through him. When the other didn’t heed him, he wept. A startled sob ripped from his gasping maw as he arched into Lance’s rippling tongue. 

Lance backed off in order to awe at the loss of self control Balan was beginning to display. He took in the panting, shaking mess of a maestro before his very eyes; mouth hanging open as he greedily swallowed gulps of air, body aquiver with mind melting lust, hands holding his head like a vice as those sinful thighs wrapped around him. The sight of him made the negati moan unintentionally, tongue plundering the maestro. The vibrations of it caused Balan to clench on him and scream, both hands abandoning Lance’s hair to slide against the cooler sheets. 

“Oh! Oh gods, please, please...” The maestro whimpered, body relishing in that feeling while his mind boiled in intensity. 

Lance, accounting for Balan’s behavior, moaned louder and longer against the lips of Balan’s clit, as well as kept their tongue inside with the intent to find his G-spot. They kept at it for sometime, their tongue buried deep as their hands massaged over Balan’s heated, dark thighs. They kept the maestro as close as they could as they tongued the bundle of nerves located far up the other’s pelvis. 

“Wait! Wait! Lance please... don’t...please-” He hardly could finish the plea as instant rapture shot through his frame, causing him to clench on Lance’s tongue in a spine-melting orgasm. His mouth hung open in a room-rocking cry as his body snapped rigid, arms behind him as he grasped tight on the sheets. His chest thudded rapidly to his erratic breathing. His flesh clenching and tingling around Lance’s tongue the climax continued through him. There would be no reprieve however as he became rigged again, legs snapping around Lance’s head suddenly with another powerful orgasm. 

Lance had not stopped even through the second climax. Not even with Balan wailing in what could be felt as pain. The silky walls gushed with his essence, the liquid sex simmering on the negati’s tongue as they drank it. A pleasured laugh rippled through them as they pressed hard kisses to the top of Balan’s pussy. Kissing it several more times as Balan screamed at them in another language. They still didn’t stop as he felt the other kicking at them with feverish intent. When he almost clambered away, Lance reinforced their hold to plunge their tongue into him again. 

“For gods sake Lance! I can’t take anymore! Stop, please! I beg of you!” He wailed as tears streamed down his face. 

An empathetic grimace came to Lance’s face as they finally relinquished his hold on the thoroughly ruined maestro. Their lips were deliciously wet with the slick of the other’s sex, the taste even better than the wine he captured on Balan’s lips only moments ago. He watched him roll on the sheets, finding some balance of his overheated body and the cold contrast of the dark sheets. Deliriously, he crooned and purred as he came down from the high. It took him about five minutes total to calm himself. And then he smacked Lance’s shoulder. Hard. 

“Bastard! I told you to stop! What in the hell would it have taken for you to listen to me?!” He hissed, eyes narrowing darkly as he sat up. He seemed the opposite of pleased at the moment. A contrast that Lance felt prepared to deal with. Can’t please some people. The sentiment literal in Balan’s case. 

“You were fine with me not a few minutes ago.” Lance jabbed as they groaned at the pressing of that erection against their tight pants. The glare Balan shot at Lance made the other’s ears pin low. 

“That was before I had two orgasms in a row, heathen! You should have more respect for me. And be more receptive Lance. This isn’t just about you!!” He snapped. Nope. None too pleased at all. 

Lance blinked, “This... wasn’t about me. Trust that if it were; I would’ve fucked you through this bed. The only reason I didn’t do that is because I want to see you cum. I’ve only ever heard that-”

“Wait, wait a minute. You’ve heard me climax?” Balan started, a touch confused. 

“In your bedroom, when you think you’re alone. True, there are no visitors around but someone was always in the theater,” Lance purred as soft as a breeze. The negati smiled at the brightening embarrassment on Balan’s face, wishing now he had his hat to hide it. It softened them so seeing the normally composed, bombastic maestro reduced to a shivering, blushing mess. Gingerly as allowed, Lance caught Balan’s face, causing the other to look at them, “I guess I just wanted to put the face to the voice. And I am not disappointed.”

Lance leaned over to kiss the still warm cheek of the maestro as the other side-eyed him, the smallest smile forming. 

“I’m... not used to this side of you. You’re normally so far away from me. In fact doing you’re very best to stay out of my sight. Even when I want you there. You know...”, A slow pause before Balan finished the thought, “You are different... too bad we both have to be backstage to see it.” 

“I’m different backstage?!”, Lance’s long ears perked at the comment, not ever having someone feel or compare the sentiment, “I’ll remember that then. Do you want me to continue then? Or would you rather sulk about how I never know about your needs and cues?” Lance’s eyes sparkled with a mischief that could rival Balan’s.

“Yes, damn you. That...was a genuine experience.” He giggled, the noise a delight to Lance’s ears, leaning back on the plushy pillows, tendrils sprawling out comfortably behind him. With a singular exhale Balan relaxed against the sheets, hands going in his hair, fiddling with and tossing a singular white sliver of his tendrils. Only... it wasn’t his hair, Lance noticed and then raised an unseen brow in suspicion. 

“Is that... an ear?” They breathed a laugh as Balan hid it in his hair again. When he sat up, it confirmed everything that Lance thought prior; he had the same ears as they did, a slight longer, floppier and appeared to be super soft. The negati’s eyes sparkled as they pulled out the hidden appendages, wondering why they hadn’t noticed them until now. 

“I-I-I never liked them. They’re long, cumbersome and don’t fit under my hat properly. So I just have been tying them back along with my dreadlocks. Wha? Why are you pulling them?!” Balan shrieked, his sensitive membranes folding as Lance fiddled with them. The stark white with the hue of light green made the ears stand out, the occasional flap picking up the slightest noise. 

“Why hide them? I think they’re absolutely wonderful.” Lance emphasized as they waggled their own long, dark ears. Their ears sat higher than the maestro’s and didn’t bend as much. He crawled over to the negati, aligning his hips in between the others legs with care. Their pulsing erection awoke his deepest desires, causing Lance to grind their clothed crotch into Balan’s exposed one. He gasps weakly, feeling the outline of the negati’s cock against his sensitive folds, gloved hands moving up Lance’s arms to bring them in for a deep kiss. 

Consumed by more the kiss than the passion behind it Lance drove their tongue deep into Balan’s mouth, tasting the other’s breath and intermingling the taste of his fluid sex. Balan’s tongue stuck out as Lance’s lips engulfed them, teeth grazing over the appendage while Balan groaned hotly. He brought his head higher, the expert work of that tongue making him drunker than any alcohol. The longer it went, the more impatient the maestro became; his hands going from Lance’s arms to dip into their pants to rip out the other’s cock. 

Lance’s eyes flew open as hands peeled off their pants and pulled out their cock, the member free from the strain at last. They’d never lie to themselves about not feeling relieved. The darker phallus was impressive at best; thick in girth and longer than Balan’s, some negati rune marks trailed on either sides of their crotch and lower hips, and the tip looked spire like yet appeared to be soft to the touch. Balan would find out soon enough. 

“I get it. This is moving too slow. But I thought that you’d appreciate it.” Lance inquired, chest rippling in steady laughter. It felt like a punishment for forcing Balan to ride out his first orgasms. 

Balan didn’t speak as he shoved Lance over, raising himself atop the other. Seated on their lap Balan took in the sight of his paramour, and just how dazzling they appeared. Chest rising and falling with softened breaths, the runes coming to life again in a brief flashes of multicolored lights, but he couldn’t stop looking at the other’s face. The heart marking atop his forehead blazing almost vermillion instead of the darker pink it usually was, their small fangs bared, glittering in the soft purple hue of the bed chambers. 

He leant down, kissing the long neck, chest, pressing his lips hard onto his ribs and trailed a heated kiss down their pelvis; stopping just short of that maleness. He spared them a coy heated glance before kissing the drooling tip, eyes going to Lance to see their reaction. The other tensed, mewling the moment they felt those lips, tip swelling on demand.  

“I’m going to suck the soul out of you. Just as you had did to me.” The heat in those words made it more fact than statement and Lance couldn’t wait long enough. They could have never imagined having the current maestro of Wonderworld’s mouth on their dick. To be honest, they could not imagine any of this happening right now. There was something so decadent and sinful about the way Balan talked dirty. Such things were just never heard from such an angelic mouth. 

He stopped thinking altogether as Balan removed his gloves, throwing them onto one bedside table to fist his thickness roughly, stroking the lengthy girth. Thumbing over the head, he gauged how steady Lance was, the swelling member making the maestro’s mouth drip with unshed spittle. From the way he opened his mouth and sucked in them in deeply, Lance could have sworn that he had done this before yet can never remember a time this would ever happen. 

“Ohhh yes! Balan...” Lance’s lungs stopped working the second Balan’s tongue encircled the head and bobbled repeatedly, his saliva silkening his hot length. Lance shuddered, moaning deeply as the tendrils on their back came back to life and spread across Balan’s pussy, massaging the outer vulva instead of the velvet walls. The sensation caused the maestro to moan around the dick in his mouth, a chain reactive shiver from Lance followed. 

Balan slowly rocked on the tentacles that fondled on his folds as he swallowed down more of Lance, lips almost resting on their crotch before pulling off. Soon the maestro began working his hands with his tongue, hands pulling at the medium sized balls as the underside of the long cock was stroked by Balan’s tongue. 

The tentacles worked Balan harder, the other groaning loudly with the near penetration on one tendril. The movement caused Lance to swear, hands digging into his hair, pushing the mint colored coils out of his face. 

“Don’t stop Balan! Please don’t stop!”, Lance cried as they got closer to an explosive release. The vision of seeing cum painting the maestro’s immaculate, lovely face caused a shudder to surge out unconsciously. The tentacles groped the silky vulva with an intensity that caused Balan to pull off the other’s cock to choke out a cry. 

“Lance!,” Balan called, drippings of drool falling onto the sheets as he shivered on the tentacles that never penetrated. He growled low as he pushed himself back on the largest of the tentacles, the bulb going right into his pussy, slicked with the welcomed wetness, “Ha, oh yess.” He crooned before stuffing the throbbing cock back into his mouth, pumping and sucking with the same vigor as the tentacle inside. 

Lance mumbled something in a different language, thrusting into Balan’s warm mouth, along with the tentacle slipping through the sticky mess seeping from his tightening walls. They could barely muster the maestro’s name as a ringing sound flushed through their ears, body going tight as a bow while Balan swallowed down the cock fully. Their hands dug into the other’s hair making sure Balan was close enough to swallow all of the rich, violet colored seed as it splashed down his throat. The tentacle widened inside of his pussy, pushing on the clit with the vibration of its master’s climax.

They thrashed in zeal as Balan continued to suck them dry, not worried about the veiny tentacle that fucked him deep. He was determined to live up to his statement; soft, warm hands smoothing over Lance’s sharp hips as he swallowed him down more, moaning and whimpering as the length sputtered more seed. When the tentacle pushed more into the G-spot, Balan cried out, forcing his hips down to rock with his new orgasm. He had to get the cock out of his mouth in order breathe a bit proper as his walls vibrated with the climax.

The room became blanketed in a contented silence as they both came from their highs; Lance’s chest heaving air as Balan sat on their hips to find his mind. He purred with fervor as the tentacle slipped out of his cunt.

“That was good, yes?” Balan inquired, eyes wide and soft, body just as soft and pliant as he awaited a reply. The poor darling was self-conscious. A trait he never displayed when performing for anyone, nor anything. 

Lance’s laugh brightened the maestro’s be-speckled face, ears twitching with the tenor of sound.

“That was the best head I’ve ever gotten, my lune-light. And you did what you said you would do.” Lance spoke breathlessly while they leant up to brush their forehead against Balan’s. The feathery kiss, as well as the compliment, drove the other to keen delightedly, ears flapping in exuberance. 

“Your... ears. They flap whenever you’re excited or praised don’t they?” Oh, Lance was about to be so evil now. The sly grin invited as much. 

Balan nodded his head, not even knowing he was acknowledging the question, smiling and flushing like mad as he did. 

“Look at you. Flushed, heated and so devilishly handsome. A most salacious siren you turned into,” Lance growled as they pulled himself up but kept Balan in his lap, “A gorgeous being like you deserves to be drenched in the most opulent of pleasures. The thickest form of desire. Do you want me to worship you?” That damning voice caused Balan to shudder and grasp them in desperation. 

“Yes! Worship me, worship my very body, revere it!”, He shouted, no longer bringing himself to care about anything other than the euphoria, “I want to feel you in me, on me, all over me!” Heat basked from his body as his ears flapped, mouth open in heavy pants. His naked cunt rocked on Lance’s cock, not sinking in fully. The movement caused Lance to spur into action, going on their knees to better to better position Balan, the maestro spreading his thighs eagerly on Lance’s lap. 

Lance’s fingers intertwined with Balan’s, his hands warm and only touch wet. They pressed their teeth into the skin, reveling in the dark wrists that glowed subtly with golden accents and swirling patterns. Lance repeated the motion, tongue lapping at both wrists, palms and fingers. Lance felt the smoothness of the maestro’s beautiful hands. Their eyes shimmering in reverence as they pressed sweet kisses to each fingertip slowly. Their own hands felt up his palms; still so warm and just as silky soft. That tongue continued to trace the long golden lines, taking his time to press his lips into his wrists. 

“Balan...” There weren’t enough words for Lance to say, or piece together for the time spent with each other. Nothing could prepare either of them for the sheer intensity of this new emotion. Melding of carnal lusts neither have the ability to describe. So for the first time tonight... Lance stopped talking. Letting only their bodies say so much more. 

Steadying him, Lance brought Balan down on the hard thickness slowly, agonizing slow. The maestro’s glint was hot and heady, hands going to Lance’s shoulders as support. Lance heaved a hot moan, aligning the next thrust directly into the maestro. There wasn’t a need to test if the other was ready for it or not; his tightness giving way subtly with each small piston. The fiery gaze of Balan soften into kindled embers once he was fully seated on the other’s cock. He was starting to perspire, a reaction that Balan never had to anything in his life. Rushing sweat beaded down his neck, his chest and around his waist glazing him in a hue of condensation that began to make his body slippery. 

They stayed in each other’s laps for a second before Lance thrust upwards, igniting Balan’s tongue again. He cried out in another language, most likely a swear considering the dialect. He groaned weakly, his body submitting to the roughness Lance invited with each movement. The moment Lance had worked out the rhythm the thrusts became harsher, more precise, pinpointing the exact spot to hammer him into a delectable frenzy. Lance’s breaths got rougher, louder, more of their teeth becoming exposed as they snarled in ecstasy. 

Balan could barely hold on. Literally. His grip on Lance’s shoulders loosened each time the negati impaled him, the motions making him too sensitive, body on fire. Though barely cognitive, Balan did his best to rock up to meet with his thorough pounding. Moving his hips at an angle, Balan caught the ribs of Lance’s spired phallus, screaming out as it stabbed him. 

The maestro’s screams did something primal to Lance, the sex-fueled fire warping and corrupting their licentious mind. 

“You like it?”, The negati spoke deeply, the baritone voice smokey and laced like a honey-tipped whiskey glass, “Look at yourself. Becoming undone with just my cock. You cannot comprehend how fucking devilish you are! Siren!” Lance dragged Balan down, further stabbing him with the rigged member. They were so close yet weren’t about to go if Balan didn’t first. They were going to see the maestro climax on his dick. There would be nothing to stop it now. Astoundingly, Balan replied to the question, voice much like Lance’s yet tremulous in its form.

“Yes! I love it, I love you!,” His gaze meets the others in an embrace that Lance cannot escape from, “I love you so much, don’t stop please.” The plea is whispered as the remainder of Balan’s self control is pounded out of him. His lanky legs surrounding the negati, forcing them to stay the course as his cunt devours them hungrily. 

It becomes too much for Lance; the fucking, the confession... just the sounds of Balan’s voice as they fuck. They snap forward hard, cock slamming the maestro’s pelvis as they climax, taking Balan right with them. The guttural snarl that surges from Lance actually scares Balan, those golden eyes wide with an erotic fear of the other before it fades with a deep-bodied orgasm that reverberates through his soul. He wails out, the pleasure so cavernous it eats him alive, body stiffening to the point of pain, absolution and exultation drowning him in high waves. His clit sucks Lance of everything; reason, sense, the will to stop. He trembles at the feeling of the other’s seed shooting inside of him, viscous ropes of cum shoot forth as Lance loses the rhythm of their own thrusts. 

They stop fully when Balan’s cunt loosens its hold, the negati falling forward atop the messy sheets. Balan makes a cry of something between pain and pleasure when he is flopped on his back with Lance atop him. Lance’s member has yet to soften inside the other’s creamy walls, the spired tip rubbing on Balan’s g-spot. 

The room falls silent again, save for the heavy pants and breathless laughs from the two. Neither recovering fast enough as the euphoria drains all other sensations from their bones. Lance’s spine is dexterous as wet spaghetti, mouth open in loud gulps of air. Balan fares no better, legs twitching uncontrollably. Bare chest dripping with sweat, golden markings along his arms and stomach gleaming and flickering in the contrasting violet lights. His coils are drenched as well, pouring over his eyes and messily over his face. Speckled markings aglow with the shades of amethyst make him look pulchritudinous. 

Lance raise themselves up, both of their hands going on either side of the exhausted maestro’s supine form, loins still burning from the near volcanic heat from their fucking. They readjust their position, body flush to the other, seeming to never be close enough. They smile softly as Balan smiled chastely at them. 

“That was fantastic... honestly the best sex I’ve ever had.” Balan complimented, his eyes not as glazed from before. 

“Good to know, but I hope you didn’t start thinking it was over?” Lance drawled, the tone eerily lustful.

Balan stares quizzically. How could anyone want another go after that?

“You want to go again?”

“Just one more?,” Lance breathily laughed as their hips rock gently, phallus a touch harder than prior, “If it helps, you can lie on your back and I’ll handle the rest.” They lean over Balan, kissing his cheeks and the heart on his forehead. 

Balan rolled his eyes. He wasn’t complaining about another time, but his body sure was. He internally decided one more bout wouldn’t cause too much strain. 

“Lancelot, the insatiable one. Who knew you’d be addicted to my cunt?” Balan chuckled; the nickname still an endearment to Lance. It would be rude to lie about how the name made them warm on the inside. And hearing that sugared voice utter it with a playful air softened the negati. 

“Not just your cunt... but you as well. I love you too.” The words came out before Lance knew. Their lips moved yet didn’t have any prior knowledge of it until seeing the way Balan stiffened, long ears swaying upwards at the words.

Both of their chests fluttered; Lance never expected to say those words during sex. This...this was not supposed to be about love. And yet, it was all Lance had on their mind. They had Balan now. All they would have to do is love him. In more than this way. With all of this joy they had felt in the confession, the familiar ick of something tar-like bubbled to the surface. Lance’s mind honed in on all the deprecating things the voice said.

‘What? You can love? Oh Lance... it will be ruined by you so soon.’

‘You once loved...and look at what it turned you into!’

‘This is sex Lance... that’s all it will. ever. be.’

‘He can only feel pity for loving a monster like you’.

The voices began to make Lance physically sick. No matter how hard Lance tried, they wouldn’t be willed quiet. They began to tremble uselessly, a sob retching from the negati as those thoughts and words; their own words swallowed them.

The maestro lunged forward, planting a kiss on the other’s lips. The cathartic heat that came from it brought Lance out of their head, focusing on the other below them. They both stayed lip-locked for a moment, Balan kissing as if Lance were about to drown any minute. The kiss saving them from themselves for a moment like this. The voices dissipated, barely a hum coming from the back of Lance’s mind. They didn’t matter. Only Balan did. The kiss ending when Balan pressed those lips to the fuchsia colored heart atop Lance’s brow.  

The touch was so gentle. So tender that it made Lance’s heart swell.

They looked down at Balan, who smiled pleasantly back at them. The look of love so much more than it could ever be. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay’ is what those golden pools spoke even if Lance didn’t hear it aloud. There wouldn’t be a need to. 

In spite of how small it was; Lance smiled. The motion felt real. He hadn’t had a genuine smile in over a thousand years. Gods, when was the last time he felt pure happiness unfold in his heart? There’d be a time and place to think on that later as they shifted Balan’s hips more, grinding forward, hips shifting to reawaken his long erection. The stings of pleasure rode through Balan, arms going behind his head to grab for the jumbled mess of velvet purple blankets. A small whine went past his lips as Lance’s midline bumped against Balan’s pelvis again, causing a flare of scorching desire to arise. The maestro never subdued, or otherwise suppressed his moans. He would allow Lance the ability to hear how he felt for him. 

The negati gripped Balan beneath his thighs, pulling his legs away so they could splay open. The new position allowed Balan to relax instead of trying to readjust too often. 

A surprised gasp from the maestro made Lance look at his face; the beatific expression of this dazzling, bewitching and downright mesmeric creature spurring Lance to pump into him harder. The be-speckled maestro had his eyes closed, turning out the warm, shimmering pools of the richest gold many would never see. 

“Please lune-light, open your eyes for me.” The reciprocal adulation of love  Lance gave could break someone’s heart and warm another’s but it was his tone that made Balan’s eyes open; aroused and so husky. When he looked upon the negati, a form of ardor seeped through him. A shy smile graced his features as he nuzzled into Lance’s chest. 

“Ohhh, say that again. Call me that again,” He whispered as his body arched with the deeper, slower thrusts, “I need to hear it again, Lance.” He began pining for the sound of the other’s voice, chest heaving in irregular patterns. Long ears flicked up, picking up the sounds of Lance’s exertions as they grounded each other closer to climax. 

“Lune-light...my lovely lune-light, you are so stunning.” Lance cooed, eyes warm as they watched Balan’s ears flap in jubilance. They fucked into him harder, faster when Balan’s hands went from the sheets to cling to Lance’s arms in order to steady himself. He was succumbing again, mind lost as avaricious lust ensnared his visage. 

Lance repositioned one hand to grab the maestro’s tight waist and underneath his back, slowing their thrusts first in order to shift a portion of their weight to sink in deeper. They kissed the inner thigh of Balan’s left leg as the other hand grabbed there and held him tight. The new position brought Balan’s ass up from the bed, both legs hanging on either side of Lance as they brought their pelvis’s together. The negati had to get to their knees for the next part to become effective, sprawling their hips a little. When they had gotten in position, they leant over to press another reverent kiss to Balan’s forehead, the friction causing the maestro to growl. 

“Move. Lance, I beg you.” Balan’s resistance melted a long time ago as his hands tightened around Lance’s upper arms. 

When they move, Balan’s equilibrium gets flipped upside down. The position had the maestro screaming so loud, Lance tipped their ears down to block out the sound. The reaction was instant, the gorgeous being’s mouth flying open as he threw his head back with each stroke. His hands scrambled for purchase of the negati as he began thrusting back on the other’s cock. Body spasming at the rippling sensations. 

The change in position did wonders for Lance as well; they were able to take in all of the other’s grace, elegance and succulent desire. The screams of pure ecstasy powered Lance onward, eyes half-lidding as they aimed their thrusts. Lance felt the maestro’s bruising grasp loosen, the body tightening from the exertion. He looked as if he was going to lose his mind again; assuming he had ever found it after the first few times. 

“Look at this.... look at you,” Lance growled, hands leaving Balan’s waist to drag the other further down, “This is what I have been wishing for. I’ve have been waiting for you and this! Gods, now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.” The negati enunciated a portion of their words with alternating thrusts that caused Balan to spasm around them erratically, the maestro’s head swaying, more mooring, like a boat on torrential waters. 

Balan tried to stutter something in response. There could not be any words he could be able to use in a circumstance like this. The euphoria blanketing his headspace, only the want for this to never end on Balan’s mind. He wished he could stay like this forever; being loved in between his legs the way that Lance was loving him. Tears welled up but were blinked back. That familiar entrapment, that build was upon him now. A spring ready for release as Balan angled himself to meet a harsher thrust from Lance. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he tugged on the negati for some leverage. And he tugged at him desperately. 

“I-I-I can’t-- hold it back much! Lance, I need this! I can’t hold back! Oh my gods!” Balan’s pleasured whimpers were music to the other, the noise causing Lance to pulsate inside those divine walls. He was about to let it all go. Neither of them capable of denying their animalistic need for a blissful finish. 

“Do not hold back my lune-light! I want us to be in climax together. I’m ready, just like you are. Lock me inside your heaven!” Lance yelled, throwing their head back unabashedly for the final few thrusts. 

Something in the gravelly tone caused Balan to relent all self control at that moment, the high octane pressure rushing from his pelvis, seeping into his blood in a body rattling orgasm. He screamed, more belted out his release, muscles contracting and constricting in a severe, mind-numbing vice. He could no longer keep his eyes open, passion scalding his insides making his body heat unbearable. 

He kept spasming, helpless as Lance roared one last time, pinning Balan’s softened frame to theirs in a rough, possessing manner. They dove off the  pinnacle with as much fury and need as Balan did. Their fingers dug into the tender skin, maw wide with a roar that shook the room. The negati’s own form convulsing and seizing as Balan’s cunt squeezed their cock to the point where it ached. They shuddered with the intensity and rush of seed; feeling way too hot inside of the maestro, shooting deep inside, not stopping even as Lance humped Balan through their own climax. 

When they were sure they had nothing left to give Lance let Balan go, the other’s spent body flopping atop the bedspread. The negati pushed back their inky dreads back from the sweat drenched face, eyes slightly glazed. They shook with the inglorious feeling of satisfaction before pulling out of Balan’s thoroughly ruined cunt, their cum drooling out in delectable, erotic ribbons. The scent of the intermingling sex made the cock twitch. Without a thought given, Lance’s pointer finger went past the swollen, beat-up lips of the maestro’s pussy; swiping the oversensitive folds for just a taste of the cream. 

Balan yelled, overstimulated and a touch annoyed, kicking at Lance.

“Fucking stop! You’re going to kill me!” Balan cursed, his chest heaving. He was the perfect picture of the word ‘ruined’; mint-colored coils askew all over his face, sublime form thrumming with the residual orgasm. 

“Would this have not been the best death to have?” Lance giggled sweetly, tongue slipping out to lap at the mixed cream of their sex. The taste was of it was so divine, it couldn’t be described. When their legs regained function Lance dipped into the conjoined bathroom. Balan barely registered the sound of water coming from a faucet. Though he wasn’t going to register anything for a while. His eyes slipped closed, breathing becoming more steady as the high simmered out of his frame. He didn’t hear Lance’s footfalls when the other returned into the room yet the feeling of the cold, damp cloth felt exquisite on his hypersensitive skin. He smiled happily as the cloth went over his face, chest, arms and even his back, swiping away as much sweat that wasn’t collected by the sullied bedsheets. 

He winced as the cloth went between his legs, touches kept tender and dainty while the negati cleaned his clit. The movements were apologetic in the sense of the rough handling. With the remnants of their sex thoroughly cleaned, Lance threw the dirty cloth into a hamper nearby and crawled into bed. They felt the need to say something to Balan, yet was not prepared to see the other fully asleep. The smile remained on his face as he dreamt soundly. Safely. 

The maestro rarely slept so seeing him do so, even in the other’s bed, was recherché. The moment a surprise to see with their own eyes. It warmed their heart in so many ways. Lance wondered inwardly if their heart could get any fuller. Carefully, as to not wake him, they slid Balan’s frame underneath the heavy blankets, keeping his head low to rest it against the larger puffy pillows.

As much as Lance tried, they couldn’t lie to themselves about how adorable and desirable this being was. Is... and still will be. They could make up some spun tale about how Balan lusted for the feeling of this sex. And yet, they wouldn’t. They weren’t going to deny the affirmations and litanies of love, passion and reverence he bestowed. In this way, Lance loved Balan. Balan had loved them too. This new feeling blossomed and flowed within them. It was all Lance cared about and would gift this love in kind to Balan tenfold. It was definitely what they both deserved. 

For now, Lance snuggled into the maestro, a happy little smile playing on their cheeks whilst pressing their face into the other’s neck. The mint-colored coils of the other’s hair fell in a tangle on Lance’s face, making them wrinkle their nose. 

“I...love you, lune-light...”, Lance whispered pressing a singular reverent kiss to the glowing heart on Balan’s forehead, the mark shimmering against the darkness. The negati nuzzled the sleeping being, arms crossing Balan’s chest to swaddle him close to their body, “I don’t know if you had heard me, but I just hope you know.”

Unknown to Lance, Balan had heard him. His own smile was genial and kind, taking the affirmation as it was. There was no need for Lance to explain themselves. Such things like this rarely, if ever, happened. So Balan accepted this. He had openly accepted that Lance is, and will remain, worthy of love. 

“I love you.” The enamored statement was simple, sweet and soft-sounding. So such so that Balan wasn’t sure Lance heard him, the negati was already snoring before he could say anymore. With an exhale, Balan’s eyes slipped shut once more. His own hands went around to hold Lance’s closer to his body. Their combined warmth radiating soothingly as they slept throughout the rest of the night.

[hollyhomburg]

Close to you

(Gangster! Yoongi x Goodgirl! Reader) (Rags to Riches Au) 

Summary: Nobody likes Yoongi, not your older brother or your friends. But with him, you feel more protected than possessed. And though he might be a gangster and more than a little dangerous himself- that makes all the difference. From drug dealer to producer, from rags to riches, you’re Yoongi’s person- his muse- his soulmate.

Tags: good girl x bad boy au, blood, drugs, Yoongi with tattoo's, references to making good ol’ sweet love, Rags to riches! au, brief mentions of drunk sex, Yoongi is soft and squishy and just loves the reader a lot.

A/n: This is more a story than a fic- with a little bit of an open ending to it- legit when I was editing this it tripled in length. 

W/c: 9.8k

Song rec: Lover by Taylor Swift 

You and Yoongi play basketball together, late at night in the park near your college. You don’t know how you started meeting up, but now you do nearly every day. You gather with the others at the edge of the court when the street lights turn on. Maybe it’s just to let off some steam from your busy college schedules, less than ideal lives, or just plain because you like the game. 

It’s a mish-mash of different people from different backgrounds, misfits and goody-two-shoes alike, pros and newbies at different skill levels, but everyone is pretty good. 

The games are never serious and no one really ever keeps score. The teams change depending on who tells what joke who gives what jibe. Lines are drawn in the minutes before you start, sides taken based off inside jokes and playful feuds. 

One night when a regular named Wonho wears a crop top and calls it ‘fashion’- teams are drawn based on who thinks it’s ridiculous or not. (You and Yoongi are on the same team that night- because of course boys should be allowed to wear crop tops).

You’re always the last two to leave the court at night, sometimes just before the lights shut off at midnight, sometimes you have to hop the fence if the security guard has already come around to lock up. You joke that he might have a vendetta against your group- you always say until the very last moment the court closes and he grumbles about leaving early. 

And on the nights where strangers lean in- when the streets don’t feel so safe and shadowy figures that seem recognizable at a distance linger longer than they should. When there’s another stabbing or a rumor of a girl getting taken off the street, Yoongi is the first to ask if you want him to walk you home.

You try reserving your impression until you know him better. But the tattoos on his arms and on his chest, peaking out over the low collar of his tanktops lead you to make conclusions that you’re not proud of. 

Your first interactions with him are brief at best and you know just from how he looks that you should be careful around him. The others might play at being rugged and dangerous but Yoongi doesn't have to pretend. 

You realize this when he stats to walk you home. No one messes with him, the other gangbangers on the street don’t catcall you when yoongi walks you home. Shop keepers seem to Nodd at him if they feel brave and close their doors the second they see him if they don’t. 

Yoongi seems pretty abnormal for a typical gangbanger, He doesn't fit the trigger happy sadistic stereotype that the media paints others of his ilk in. 

When he first asks to walk you home, You blush and let him because Yoongi is cute, charming even, and he’s nice company, even if he does look a little threatening sometimes. 

You wouldn’t let him walk you home for any other reason then just...needing the safety he provides, not at first, not when your overprotective older brother doesn't let you date at all. You have a dating ban until you graduate college and as long as you sleep under his Roof. 

He’d even tried to squash your interest in the pick-up basketball games when you first started going- but you needed an outlet, justified it by saying you weren't apart of any sports teams and needed to exercise. it isn’t safe on the streets so late at night, he says (and he’s not wrong- it isn’t.) he tries to get you to stay home each night or tries to guilt you into only playing on the weekends during the daytime.

But try as you might, every time he says it isn’t safe or brings up a carefully worded story by the news on the infestation of gangs in the city, you can’t help but picture Yoongi’s face. And maybe it isn’t safe for everyone. but the way he looks at you- guarded but curious and with a hint of mirth over the edge of a ball during a pass, makes you think that it’s safe for you. 

You weren't exactly sheltered here, in your nice apartment on the edge of where town turns from seedy to bougie. You straddle the edge of gentrification Unable to fit in perfectly with either side. You’ve already had to move your apartment twice since you moved in with him after rent hikes and new policies made your past apartments just too expensive. 

The first time your brother catches sight of Yoongi, on the stoop of your apartment building just as your brother gets home from work- perfectly mistimed, he goes apeshit when he realizes that Yoongi’s just dropped you off. Your older brother takes one look at him and says that you shouldn’t date gangsters- that Yoongi will just bring your trouble one day. 

“Jesus Christ- he was just walking me home it's not like it's a big deal” and you remind him that you’re not dating- that you’re just friends and Yoongi is just being nice- and that your brother should be glad you have friends that want you to get home safe. 

He tries to keep you from going out the next night and threatens you with few words not to keep seeing him. You’re late to the game because of it sucking off your pink sweatshirt and growling out that you need to work off some steam. “join my team” Yoongi says, making the others pause with a wave of his hands. 

 They reach for water bottles while you get your shoes on, Yoongi tucks the ball under his arm and stands while you finish lacing up your shoes. “you good?” he asks, “yeah just my brother being a dick and making me late.” 

You know he says it’s all for you so that you’ll do well and school and get a good job later in life and have it easy, unlike either or your parents. but sometimes it feels like he just wants to control you needlessly. Yoongi nods and you see something- the mention of older brothers darken his gaze, you wonder why.  “He pitch a fit after he saw me last night?”

 “Oh you know it,” you say with false positivity. “But don’t worry you can still like- walk me home if you want, I liked talking to you yesterday,” you say, Shooting him a smile that makes his cheeks turn a little pink, he clears his throat “if it makes you feel safer of course” He reassures, ever the gentleman, and goes to shoot some free throws while you finish getting settled. 

The blush doesn't fall really, especially when you meet his eyes over a pass a few seconds into the pell-mell start of the game. And you start to think that Yoongi with  his tattoo’s and his roguish exterior might be the perfect amount of rebellion to get out from underneath your brother's thumb

Of course, Yoongi ends up being a lot more than that. 

When you walk home together you talk about everything, sometimes stopping to get some food from a street stall, or passing a bottle of soju back and forth if it's a Saturday or a Melona ice pop if it's hot enough. you learn a surprising amount about him- you had no idea that Yoongi attended the same college as you, though he’s a few years older than you, in the year above, and only part-time because of his ‘job’. 

He says this kind of cryptically he’s never come out and said what he does for a living to you before but you know, even if he doesn't say so at first. there have been times where other people pause at the gate to the court and gesture for Yoongi and you can see little packets of things being handed off, or he has to leave early. A curly red-haired guy that pops up often enough to drag Yoongi away who is equally as tattooed and threatening. 

but whatever these mysterious people are, you know it’s secondary to Yoongi. after all one of the first conversations you ever have with him on the way home is about music. He confides in you and tells you of his big dreams of being a music producer one day after you urge him.  He already knows your dreams of being a screenwriter- and the struggles you’ve had balancing your dream with your family. 

Thought you both definitely went different directions with that, you just decided to double major in something more ‘practical’ in your brother's words, whereas Yoongi left home. “I’m gonna make it one day- I just know it, it’s the only thing I've ever wanted.” 

And really anyone else would tell him that he’s stupid for having high hopes- his parents and older brother did after all- and he hasn’t talked to them in years after they disowned him for following his dream. But you just smile at him and tell him, “I believe you can do anything if you work hard enough for it.” Yoongi hides his blush by pulling up his hoodie.  

Yoongi is a gangster of course, but the drugs he sells to put himself through college aren’t anything dangerous, even if he and his corner partner Hoseok, end up running from the police or another gang most nights and has been shot at twice in the last year. Hoseok has a scar from that night just above his shoulder- barely a graze. 

People come and go for the nightly basketball games, but somehow- you and Yoongi are always the ones who linger the longest no matter how cold it is. If someone cared to ask, you might say you’re Already half in love with each other from ever smirk thrown over a shoulder during a game. Every “good shot” when you make a three-pointer sends you spiraling further down. 

What started out as an easy way to piss your brother off, has turned into the kind of friendship that you would swear on. The day you roll your ankle Yoongi won’t take no for an answer and gives you a piggyback ride home. 

“You need to eat any more this is hardly even a work out,” he teases, bending down so that you can reach the button for the streetlight. “You tip your nose against the nape of his neck and inhale a deep breath, he smells nice, he has the kind of scent that you could just wrap yourself in and cozy down. The action makes pleasant shivers erupt down Yoongi’s spine. The weight of you so gladly held that he almost misses it when he was to let you off. And he makes you promise to wrap it as soon as you get up the stairs. 

The next day, the pink bandage sticks out from over your ankle socks and you bring Yoongi a brown paper bag from the fried food stall on the street. Smiling as you hand it over, “as a thank you” you justify, teasing him for his blush that starts up when he realizes you’ve remembered his favorites. 

Yoongi’s secret is that he might be in a gang, but he’s also fucking soft as shit. He loves dramas and romance movies and he has a sonnet of Shakespeare tattooed under his arm and carefully stylized roses above his heart. Yoongi is a total hopeless romantic. He loves everything to do with romance. Even if all of the people he’s ever loved have broken his heart. 

He doesn't sleep around a lot, doesn't let himself get close to people that often because people leave so much more often than they stay. And it’s almost like you’ve always been able to see through him- those times that you’ve talked about the dramas you both happen to like on the walk home, 

And he lets you talk as much as you want about the different minute details of the dialogue and the stage directions, asks you why you like a certain love story or don’t and leans in- and you can tell he actually cares what you like and enjoy, is actually listening to you. 

The same care that you return, when you share one of Yoongi’s shitty earbuds and listen to all of Yoongi’s favorite love songs. And steal the napkins he writes sappy lyrics on when you go out for hot chocolate after the game. The care that you show when you pretend that you don’t know that most of the lines of simple prose he writes are about you.

The first time you snag one and keep it away from him, you catch a look at the line of lyrics and find them- startlingly tender and honest. it’s hard to believe that walking you home is my favorite time of day when at the end of it I have to say goodbye to you, my secret is that I never want too.

You’re so shocked that he snags it out of your hand easily and he shoves the napkin in deep in his pocket. But the damage is done, you're wide-eyed and looking, his face bright red, cheeks round as he nibbles on his lower lip and shyly looks away, “don’t- don’t like- freak out or anything I just like writing about you is all- it’s not like, a big deal or anything.” 

But the next day, you just smile up at him, wiping away the sweat at your temples proffering “walk me home?” like you have no idea what it means to him. So easily giving him the quiet acceptance of a part of him that he doesn't show anyone. 

You goofily get too close when you guard him sometimes tackling and holding around his neck or wrap your arms around his waist during the warm-up games you play sometimes, giggling at his shout of “yah-”. When you manage to steal the ball from him- your specialty- you might not be able to make every three-pointer but you can always get the ball away from him or any of the others. Yoongi doesn't get angry or too competitive, just shakes his head and smiles. 

You rarely ever see Yoongi around campus, even less rarely interact with him, though he will return your wave when you give him one. You see him one day when you’re walking between classes with one of your friends, Jaebaum who was your lab partner for chemistry last semester but had become your friend after joint commiseration over how terrible chemistry was. 

“How do you know that guy?” the accusation is low and a little startled, his eyebrows pulling together into a glare that makes your hand fall from your wave. “We both go to the same pickup basketball games, why?”

Jaebaums jaw tightens as he looks back, but Yoongi’s already disappeared into the music building. “that guy deals drugs for half the sororities and fraternities at this school- just surprised me is all, I didn’t think that you would know him. You said you play basketball with him?”

You tell him more about them- not that you’ve ever hidden your secret. And he pushes until you agree to let him come with you. Maybe he’s just curious, but you’re just trying to be nice is all- Jaebaum is a friend even if his overprotective friend thing gets a little annoying. 

You swear- what is it with guys and trying to protect you, Yoongi is the only one whose never made you feel inferior for it. 

You’ve never brought someone to the games before but others have in the past, and Jaebum is introduced with little fanfare, though Yoongi goes eye him over the edge of a basketball and raise an eyebrow in your direction, you can hear his voice “really?”

maybe the night would have gone better if Jaebaum didn’t literally check Yoongi onto the concrete halfway through the game. The other players literally stop to a standstill, because no one is ever that aggressive. The ball bounces away unattended as Yoongi is quick to get up and shove Jaebaum back.

 You’re quick to step between the two of them a hand on either of their chests as Yoongi growls out “what the fuck is your problem?” Even if Jaebaum is a bit taller, Yoongi doesn’t back down. Of course, the second Yoongi makes eye contact with you he backs off, though you do see his jaw roll in annoyance. And that’s more than you can say for Jaebaum, Who takes a few more words before he gets back to the game. 

He lingers when the game finishes and usually, you’d stay for another, but no one else seems to be in the mood for it. You and Yoongi still pass a ball back and forth and Yoongi shoots a jab his way when pauses by the chainlink gate. 

“Get lost asshole- and just for the record, acting all high and mighty around me doesn’t change the fact that your frat buys coke from me on the weekends and I know for a fact one of you brothers was looking for GHB last week,” Yoongi is merciless though putting all their dirty drug habits that he is only too privy too as their dealer out in the open. 

Jaebum pales as you send him a shocked glance because you really didn’t know his fraternity did shit like that. GHB is like- serious stuff, and its reputation isn’t great. And fuck- Jaebaums even invited you to parties at his fraternity, who knows what was in the drinks of those other girls. 

A glance at him tells you that Jaebaum really had no idea what his fraternity brothers were getting up to in their spare time but the damage is already done. Jaebaum turns to you pleading “Y/n please believe me- I didn’t know they where-”

“Jae” you cut him off, suddenly more shakey than you’d like, “I think you should go,” he doesn’t listen stepping closer, “Nah come on- let me take you home,” he pleads palms open. 

Before he can get close Yoongi steps Infront of you subtly keeping a hand on your arm to reassure you. “I’ll walk her home- don’t worry Jae,” he adds mockingly. “She’s safer with me anyway.”

You and Yoongi pass a ball back and forth, the last to leave as usual after that but he’s unusually silent. Until the streets go quiet and he finally lets his feelings spill onto the asphalt. “Wow, you really know how to pick them huh,” 

You check the ball back to him, a little harder than Nessicary “You know that’s what my brother said about you when he first met you right?” 

“What?” Yoongi dribbles the ball as he shakes his head, you can see him actually getting angry as he makes a three-pointer and misses by a longshot, you catch the rebound and pass it back. “your brother doesn't even know me- not really.” 

“I know that Yoongi and believe me- I never would have let him come if I knew he was gonna like” you trail off, struggling to find the right words. Yoongi concentrates enough to make the shot finally and takes a step back to see if he can make the next one. You return the rebound again.

“If you knew he was gonna try to intimidate me? Try to stake a claim on you or something like you’re a fucking thing when you’re-” Yoongi breaks off, swallowing back his anger and shaking his head like he’s ridding himself of his fury, even though you can see it boiling in his dark eyes when he turns them on you. 

“Don’t you know how frat boys treat pretty girls? or where you just naive enough to think that one could be different when they all silently allow their brothers to do what they want,” 

You pass it back hard, and it hits Yoongi’s chest hard. stinging a little- “Don’t you dare call me nieve Yoongi, not when you’re being hypocritical as fuck” you argue- you know Yoongi isn’t really meaning to be mean, not at all. 

And Yoongi just- givens a particularly hard pass to you the same way you just did to him and your arms don’t come up quick enough and it hits your face. It’s not the first time that you’ve ever been hit in the face by a basketball, you’ve had your fair share of bloody noses. And anyone who plays knows the particular not-quite-painfull- stinging sensation that makes shocked tears spark in your eyes.  

Yoongi immediately rushes over to hold your head and apologize profusely and he Dabbs at your nose to get rid of the little bit of blood that's dripping out of your nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Apologize tumbling out of his lips,

“Oh my god I’m so so sorry- please believe I didn’t mean to- fuck- I'm sorry” and you’re not angry- you know he didn’t mean it at all- that it was an accident you just weren't paying attention. And Yoongi is panicked looking down at you and cradling your face in his hands, brushing your baby hairs back away from your face and it’s not even really like that bad or hurts or everything, your face is just mostly numb.

You can't help it- you start laughing, and he looks down at you wide-eyed “oh my god you should have seen your face- you look like you just accidentally stepped on a pets tail or something- holy fuck Yoongi I'm fine-” 

But then Yoongi leans in, his forehead against yours in the lit basketball court, closing his eyes and looking like he hates himself for hurting you even a little bit- even accidentally. He looks so upset with himself and that he’s hurt you. For all of your close moments, your almost relationship-esce tender moments you and Yoongi aren’t so physically close so often. Even though your laughing, he sighs all the tension going out of him. “not my fault you follow me around like a puppy or something- you're just so- you’ve got this-” he makes a frustrated noise, “god you’ve always got me so tongue-tied” 

And you still for a moment, standing in the middle of the court, a little blush paints his cheeks as he realizes how close you are. 

On the basketball court, with your nose bleeding and Yoongi looking at you with all that love he’s hidden on display, you realize that there shouldn’t be anything stopping you from nurturing that affection that he’s so blatantly showing right now, that he always does whether you acknowledge it or not. 

And maybe he’s always shown you that, maybe it was always there in the way he walked you home, the way he checks to see that you’re alright whenever you take an elbow or fall during a game. 

Tender and protective almost like Yoongi is your bodyguard or something. But unlike others, Yoongi knows you can handle yourself and he’s only there so you don't have to deal with it alone. He might be protective, but he’s never claimed ownership of you like others have.  

For a moment the lights flicker and go out plunging the two of you into muted darkness, especially here, where the streetlights barely bleed. It’s not an unusual occurrence, the court is kind of old and shitty and it’s probably just the security guard being passive-aggressive to you and try to get you to leave early again. 

In the darkness you tilt your head forward and kiss him, your lips slotting together. After he manages to overcome his shock his hand fists in your hair underneath the hood of your hoodie. His tongue briefly licks out to paint heat into your chest that blooms like the roses on his. Before you pull away and Yoongi’s so breathless from just the taste of you. 

And then the lights come back on and he’s just shocked standing there while you take the ball and try to make the shot Yoongi couldn’t make failing at first because your hands are shaking a little.

Yoongi runs his hand over his face and through his hair and tries to stop himself from grinning and quiet the rapid pounding of his heart. You shoot a three-pointer and make it- “holy shit Y/n you-” 

“You don’t have anything to worry about when it comes to other guys Yoongi” and he’s just standing there blushy and quiet. “if that's what that thing with Jaebaum was about,” you pass the ball back to him, and he huffs. 

“It was more about him treating you like a possession but okay- fixate on that I guess,” you don’t buy his ire at all. 

He walks you home and kisses you again on your stoop and quickly pulls the closure of your hoodie over your face and runs away. “You punk Yoongi!” you shout at him, waking up the neighbors- but he doesn’t care, his heart feels too light to be bogged down by anything like disapproving outsiders. 

later that night when they’re selling on the street corner, Hoseok levels Yoongi’s never falling smile with a raised eyebrow “what’s got you so happy tonight?” and Yoongi just tilts his head back against the brick building and smiles at the sky, unable to keep it off his mouth now. 

“Nothing man, nothing at all” and of course that's a lie- Yoongi’s whole body is light with how much of something this is, his thoughts tripping over with little snippets of you. God, he feels like a little kid, excited to see their crush the next day at school. 

You only kiss when the lights go out, in the shadows of alleyways, hands ghosting over places too intimate for public and for even the street lights. safe in the darkness where no one can see either of you and you can just be Yoongi and Y/n. The city melts away along with all of its problems and leaving both of you alone. 

You only kiss when he walks you home, or when you sneak him into your bedroom on the colder nights through the front door or up the fire escape. And he’ll press you into the sheets of your bed, his bare arms, and the black ink on his chest and his inky hair contrasting with the white sheets of your bed, and he touches you so softly, every second building to linger, to cherish, to love. 

You only kiss him when he surprises you, like the night after he goes out to dinner with your older brother to try and impress him. Yoongi’s white button-down barely hides all his tattoo’s but he does take all the piercings out of his ears. To both of your surprise, he manages to not make a horrible impression and actually earn your brothers approval (but only a little). 

He only kisses you when you steal his leather jacket- pulling you close by the lapels, or when you steal his thrasher hoodie and he doesn't even realize you have it until he sees you walking around campus with it on, and pulls you into the deserted bathroom on the third floor of the science building because for a quick make-out session. 

Who knows maybe Min Yoongi really likes kissing you, maybe he just really really likes you too, maybe when you text at night Min Yoongi finds himself burying his smile into his pillow, texting you back, “goodnight sweetheart, can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” 

For your first date, he takes you out to dinner and then to a bar that closes early but has a legit ball pit. Complete with disco balls, a bunch of fancy setups and Instagramable pastel pink floral walls, and serves it’s sangria in glass teapots. 

It’s pricer than usual bars, but it’s worth it- to get giggly and tipsy with you and bother the other patrons by starting a war throwing the clear plastic balls that look like bubbles back and forth. You use an inflatable heart- complete with bright silver glitter to block his attack and tackle him into the pit, shocking a giggle out of his chest that seems to shimmer into the open air. 

And he takes a photo of you laughing below him when he heaves you up and into a pile, giggling brightly too. You snap a photo of him too and he looks all harsh and grungy against the pastel background, lounged out like a jungle cat in his black ripped jeans and black teeshirt. his darkness juxtapositioned with all of the pink. 

You end up printing out the photo and hanging it up by your mirror in your bathroom where you eventually hang little tickets from late-night rap shows that Yoongi takes you too- or the tickets for the free day at the local zoo and a few romcoms. Little memories of your times together that you can wake up and see, and keep a piece of him close that way. 

He prints out your photo too and keeps it in his wallet. He doesn't take it out and look at it often, but sometimes when he knows you’re asleep and he’s still out on the chilly street, the fingerless gloves you got him for his birthday warming his hands. He’ll finger the edge of his wallet and the edge of the photo that sticks out a little, and smile to himself- imagining that you’re wrapped up warm in your bed, maybe curling up in one of his shirts that he’d lent you- you always say you sleep better in them.

And he thinks about maybe sneaking up to the fire escape that leads to your window when he’s done for the night, tapping out a hello on your window until you wake and let him into your warm embrace. Quiet and taking his shoes off by the window so that his heavy steps don’t alert your older brother in the room over. 

And maybe he could cuddle you a little before class, relax into your arms for a few hours. The lack of sleep would be hell to pay for later- and really, Yoongi also has papers due and assignments to complete not to mention exams to study for that need his time if he wants to even think about graduating anytime soon or keeping his scholarship until then. But he indulges in the idea of it, all the same, closing his eyes and imagining it just for a minute when he feels that photo, letting his memory’s drift back to your first date. 

Sometimes on the really cold evenings, you’ll take the train home instead of walking- even though it gives you less time than you usually have. you grab the last train home and sit close. He taps out a pattern on the back of your hand, your skin unmarked unlike his. Each of his knuckles is marked by a symbol for a royal flush.

A ten of clovers on his thumb, a jack of diamonds on his index, then a queen of spades, king of hearts, then the ace of spades on his pinky. The tattoos are newer, you’re pretty sure Yoongi didn’t have them when you first met. 

“How do you have so many tattoo’s?” you ask, you know by now that Yoongi only deals drugs to pay his many bills that aren’t covered by his scholarship. Because he has too to survive and not because he particularly likes being apart of a gang. His copious amount of inc seems like too an expensive habit for him to keep if he’s paying for it out of pocket. Yoongi watches you trace over the marks on his knuckles. 

“There’s this tattoo artist across town, he’s pretty good makes a half-decent living or would if his boyfriend didn’t have this like- rare disease or something. I’ve never really asked or looked it up- but anyway, their insurance doesn't cover it and it would be like thousands of dollars a month retail. But I get them a couple months supply at a time for like a quarter of that- and as long as I deliver it to them every few months, Namjoon lets me sit in his chair after hours as a thank you.” 

“Didn’t realize you-” “dealt in medical stuff as well?” Yoongi asks, raising an eyebrow, not judgementally but really, anything there is a market for Yoongi’s employers have him sell. but you don’t talk about Yoongi’s drug dealing. the less you know about the gang the safer you are. You nod, and Yoongi sits back, pulling you a little closer, your stop is nearing, and he knows that he’s going to have to say goodbye to you soon after that. 

“The first time I met him it was like- not great. He was so panicked didn’t look at all the type to be buying drugs either. But he stuck around and kept asking if I could get it until I could, and then I started delivering it to his place instead of having him come to me and like, you know how dangerous it is and like walking around with that amount of cash. It isn’t something you do if you’re smart or unprotected. And I think he just started giving me free ink because I cared enough to drop it off instead of having him come to me.” 

You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek- “Min Yoongi- friendly neighborhood drug dealer- who would have thought you’d be so kind,” Yoongi tilts away at your teasing because really, by now you know just how gummy soft Yoongi is and how true the statement is. 

He’s always checking in, and he’s kind of the older brother of sorts even to the others at the basketball court, always the first one to playfully shove the gangly limbed kid named Jungkook who's hung around the courts since forever (and has only recently sprouted up taller than him).

Or he’ll ask you and Jungkook’s grubby thin friend Taehyung (that sometimes comes to games sporting black eyes and leans into Jungkook like he’s the only thing keeping him up) if either of you wants something from the 7/11 across the street. 

He’s always soft to some of the younger high school kids that come by and play. The ones that obviously don’t have good role models at home. And you know by the way Yoongi sometimes gets self-critical that he doesn't think of himself as a good role model by any means- but he is a good person. 

The streets might have made him rough around the edges and fierce by necessity, but Min Yoongi has never and will never lose his kindness.

And maybe that's why you love him, why you feel so safe with him, why you smile every time you see him and why your heart beats quick whenever he looks at you like you’re the only people in the room. You know deep in your bones that Min Yoongi might not look it on the outside, that he carries the weight of what he does like a bulletproof vest and has more than a little baggage, but he’s a good man.  

The first night he takes you back to his apartment he’s a little shy about it because he knows it’s basically a closet. It’s in the bad part of town too, but it’s mostly clean and at least it doesn't smell too much like mold. There's only a single wall separating the kitchen from the half room where his single bed is tucked. But he does have nice windows, they’re the only thing that drew him to the apartment, a good view of some neon lights across the street and a full glass tilted roof where it used to be a covered balcony. 

The producing equipment that he’d saved up for and his school things pushed and piled on the desk in the opposite wall. his stacks and stacks of notebooks full of poetry turned lyrics that maybe he’ll never put a song to. You could probably reach them from the bed if you stretched out really far. Along with a keyboard that he’d won after he’d beat a DJ in a game of pool. His clothes sit in bins underneath his bed that he shoves and pulls his blanket over to try and hide the drabness of it. 

But you don’t judge at all, you don’t mark on the frayed edge of Yoongi’s duvet, or on the dust gathering on the sill of the windows. Or the bars that block the view. You smile at the band posters on the wall and the movie poster by his bathroom and giggle when he turns on the colorful Christmas lights he’s strung up over his bed and he asks why you’re smiling. 

“This room is so you Yoongi- like I don’t even know how to explain it but it’s like I just walked into you- you know?” Yoongi does know, and his chest warms with the thought of this, this place is his home and only his safe haven (besides the court). It’s the representation of his everything. Maybe a little grey, a little worn around the edges but still comfortable, still warm. 

You just stand there and look out the windows at the street corner below while Yoongi boils some milk for hot chocolate. And when it’s set he holds around your waist and hooks his chin over your shoulder, swaying slightly to the music that always lives in him while you look out the window, quiet and contemplative. 

“I know it’s not much but you could move in if you want after we graduate- or maybe get a bigger apartment together and pool our resources for something nicer- if you want too.” you’ve been together for about a year now- even if the beginning of your relationship was a little more loosely bound. 

“Really you’d want me to live with you?” Yoongi shrugs and blushes and you kiss his cheek sweetly making him flush a darker red. And Unlike how he would if he was with anyone else, he doesn't turn away or try to hide how he looks at you, so wanting and soft, almost hopeful.

He leans his cheek against your head and sways a little, tasting the lyrics and the beat on his tongue he would write about this moment- maybe they’re nothing- maybe there shitting and sentimental-  I showed you the drabby parts of me and you told me it was enough, we felt our love with simple feelings, simple people all the same, and I know I’ll love you forever if only you would stay. 

“Of course I want you to move in sweetheart.” 

You start to sleep over some nights- the nights when your brother has to go on trips for work or it gets too late for you to walk back. Yoongi doesn't live in the safest area and he never lets you walk home alone, but he does try to limit your exposure to his world. The drug dealers on the corners giving him nod as he passes, but he does catch them looking at you- their stares confused and lingering. 

It makes Yoongi worried. He starts picking you up from class too just in case. 

You still play basketball late at night, and sometimes, when your both sit on the sidelines, you trace his tattoos and he tugs at your ponytail out and at the end of the night so that your hair falls around your face, Yoongi always walks you home. And maybe you steal his hoodie every night so that you can sleep surrounded by the smell of him. 

But then, a few weeks after he finally graduates (you take him out to dinner to celebrate and get him the very very nice gift of soundproof headphones since he was still using the shitty earbuds that came with his phone)  Yoongi doesn’t come to basketball. 

Thoughts who know him well linger about for a few minutes after you’d usually start, but he doesn't show. You’re distracted the whole time, casting a glance to the gate to see if he’ll appear there, checking your phone when you take breaks until you give in and text him. 

He doesn’t answer his texts when you send him one or pick up your phone when you call. And you’re starting to get worried when you walk home. Of course, you know what Yoongi’s had to pick up more “hours” whatever that means in the wake of his graduation and therefore the expiration of his scholarship. 

You’ve thought about the possibility of him being arrested before, waking up in a cold sweat thinking about it. You try not to let Yoongi know how much it stresses you out. Your brother has told you more than once, “He’s going to get himself killed one day” or “he’s going to break your heart.” 

but you always reply, “You don’t know him at all, he’s not like that, and he’s safe when he’s out- he’s always cautious,” 

You walk the whole way home peering down every alleyway and knawing on your lip in worry. Wondering if maybe you should stop by his apartment and see if he’s there- after you drop off your books of course. Only to find Yoongi sitting on the stoop to your apartment building. He gets up with a pained groan when he sees you, knees cracking, his shattered phone dark and left on the stoop next to him. You drop your bag when Yoongi looks up and you catch a glimpse of his face underneath his hoody. Your school things spilling onto the sidewalk

“I swear I’m fine- It’s only cuz I was outnumbered that they got me so bad, my nose isn’t even broken.” he’s sitting on the toilet with you in between his legs dabbing at his split lip while he holds a bag of peas to his black eye and alternates laying on it his bruised collar bone. You’d been mostly silent since you saw him, but- when you see how gingerly he’s holding his battered body. And suddenly you’re crying, barely containing your sobs as they spill over your lips and you drink in him, thinking about the possibility of him landing himself in the hospital or an early grave. 

Yoongi wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, burying his face in his sweatshirt you’re wearing. It smells like a piece of you and a piece of him. “I’m okay baby girl really, please don’t cry over me” you smoothing your shaking hands up and through his hair. You pull away from him a little. It breaks Yoongi’s heart to see you crying because of him. 

“I can’t do this Yoongi, I’m always be worried if you’re going to be beaten up or arrested or shot at, I can’t be with you if I don’t know you’re safe.” 

He swallows, blinking through his own tears- but really the choice he makes is instinctual- he would never even think of doing anything else. “What if I quit then, what if I stopped and found another job somewhere else- somewhere safer.” 

You pull away looking at his face, seeing his brutal honesty the truth there. Yoongi has never been one to lie to you so if he’s saying it- he means it. “I’m serious about you, about us, I-” neither of you have dropped the L-word yet and all of a sudden Yoongi’s throat feels like he’s closing up because he’s never loved anyone who hasn’t left. But you’re worth it- you're worth the risk of shattering his heart. 

“I love you so much, and I want to be with you, and if this- this is your deal-breaker, then I’ll stop.” You nod, and Yoongi reaches up to wipe away your tears with both of his thumbs. His hands rough from basketball, and the little scrapes on his palms, but still comforting in the way you can feel his intention in every touch. And leans his forehead against yours, you stretch your hand back to shut off the lights and kiss him in the darkness. 

You’re glad your brother is saying late for work and leaving early because you can pull Yoongi through your dark apartment and into your room as long as you’re quiet. You kiss every bruise on his body from his cheekbone to his bruised knuckles, sitting over his lap in just a large white t-shirt. Your bareness pressed all to him and Yoongi touches you gently like he would a treasure. 

Yoongi makes love to you and every stuttering movement of his hips is a swan song to anyone else he might love- because you’re it for him. His gentle hands smooth over your hips as you lose yourself among the covers, and his careful but firm touches. 

 He lets himself taste your skin, and luxuriate in the softness plucked delicately between his lips like the strings of an instrument, to suck your blood to the surface in a melody of red and pink. Gentle and slow and lingering like he’s letting you know that there is no rush for this like he’s staying like he’ll do anything you ask. He wants to be with you until you don’t want him anymore.

And you let him know you’ll always want him with every sigh, every bitten back moan of his name, and every scratch down his back that you want to mark him and keep him as yours as well. You let him know you’ll stay with every kiss from your red mouth a brand, and every sigh and keen a promise for the endless time left. You’re marked as well- even if he can’t see it you’re his and he’s yours, as sure and as permanent as the tattoo’s on his skin.  

Yoongi cleans up his act. Talks to the gang and they let him quit as long as he agrees to still occasionally sell at college parties- and it’s enough for you. You move into Yoongi’s apartment much to the ire of your older brother, the semester after he graduates and a semester before you do.  

And though it might be small it becomes your place, the place where your love takes full form and is stitched into every inch. You get a few plants and hang them by the windows and a small two-person table set into the wall where you have your meals together- Yoongi teaches you how to cook in your pajamas, a freshly-minted pop song crackly from the old Bluetooth speaker. You hang hooks for your coffee mugs underneath the cabinets to save some space. 

Yoongi hasn’t had a family in years, his own parents and older brother disowned him when he left for Seoul to try his hand at music, and he only occasionally speaks to his brother on his birthday or Christmas. 

He’s only been able to go to college and get a degree because of his own pure stubbornness and having good enough grades in high school and on the entrance exam to get a scholarship. 

He’s only had himself to rely on for the last few years, and that changes almost overnight. He starts to build a family with you there, even if it’s just the two of you, you still are a family.

You’re the first person he sees when he wakes up in the morning, nestled into his chest all soft and delicate. You’re the first person he calls when he gets any sort of good news. The person he surprises with bulgogi on Friday afternoons just because. 

At your graduation, Yoongi shouts and cheers you on, louder than any parent would, your brother laughing next to him. He may not approve of Yoongi entirely- but he respects Yoongi for how much he cares about you and how much he tries. Though the approval there might be tenuous, Yoongi makes it clear that he isn’t going anywhere. 

You don’t mind the small bed in his apartment because you know you’d end up lying that close anyway. The large duvet spilling onto the floor as you curl up underneath it and pretend that you’re two bears in hibernation, chests and bones aligned all perfectly and comfortably, everything else outside of your little cave dangerous and frightening but it’s quiet and safe in each other's arms. 

He gets you special tickets to a behind the scenes tour of a new drama that's coming out as your graduation present. And he holds your hand the entire tour, drinking in your wide-eyed enthusiasm the same way you do when you hear his music. 

He gets a less dangerous job as a bartender at a club that the gang owns (because they’re still his friends even if they’re less close and see each other a little less. It’s not ideal but he’ll take what he can get until he manages to find a job where he can use his degree). 

You finally meet Hoseok just after Christmas when Yoongi lets it slip that he doesn't have anyone to spend the new year with. And though he might be surprisingly upbeat there is the same darkness there that you recognize from when you met Yoongi, The kind that has little faith in the world but a whole lot of hope for change. 

And Yoongi really thinks it's sweet- you treat Hoseok like you might a little brother even though he’s older than you by a few years. You make an effort to invite Hoseok out for dinner more often, and when Yoongi asks you say, “He seems a little too skinny, like no one’s taking care of him.” 

Eventually, you convince him to stop dealing drugs as well, and Yoongi gets him a job working as a bartender soon after he gets the hang of it himself. And Yoongi spends most nights cleaning glasses with Hoseok endlessly flirting with any pretty girl who walks in the door. And Hoseok just laughs any time they try to flirt with Yoongi- because yeah he has someone waiting for him at home. 

And then one random Tuesday he’s making jokes with a guy at the bar in an expensive suit jacket, and he realizes fate might just have it out for him- in a very good way. 

It’s kind of his job to chat with the patrons when it’s not a DJ night. The booth in the corner sits and taunts Yoongi with the promise of someday- and Yoongi swears to himself that he will work his way into that booth one day, with sheer stubbornness and hard work.  

He’s just joking around and kind of making fun of the guy when he gets on the topic of music and Yoongi says “You’re joking if you think that's a good song the kicks all wrong and the chorus has a wonky beat that just doesn't fit.” 

The guy laughs and looks at Yoongi with sharp appraising eyes and says “I’m the one that produced that song boy” and then laughs some more when Yoongi freezes, flushing hard and stuttering out an apology. And holy fuck- this guy is basically what Yoongi’s dreamed of being since he was a teenager and first discovered his love for Music they talk more about it, and Yoongi tries not to be excited or drop his mixed tape or anything- he plays it cool as he can. 

The next night he brings Yoongi the raw track on a drive and says, “I want to see how you’d alter it- try and impress me.” and Yoongi does, works on it day and night for a few weeks.

And you let him- come and stand by his desk and give him coffee when you get up to go to work just after he gets back (you’re only in between grad school and college now- but you’re working to save up money so that you don’t have to take out so many loans) and when you get back from your shift at a coffee shot you find him still hunched over his computer dead asleep, and sleepily tug him into bed for a few more hours sleep.

Yoongi hands over the finished track the next time he see’s the producer at the bar and he calls Yoongi the next day and offers him an internship.  Yoongi thanks him for the opportunity profusely and promises him that he won’t disappoint. And when he gets off the phone he calls you- bugs you until you pick up and when you get home you jump and scream and dance around his small apartment. You both go to the convenience store and get a bottle of cheap wine and some melon ice pops and stay up after his shift to watch the sunrise. 

And Yoongi can’t help but think that if you had never made him quit his job dealing drugs if he never started playing pick up games and met you- he never would have gotten the job and the bar and now he wouldn’t be here, on the precipice of everything he’d ever dreamed of. 

well almost everything, because when he looks over at you, tipsy sitting against the window with a pillow under your butt grinning and tipping your shoulder sweetly into his- he thinks that being a producer is only half of what he wanted. 

You make love on the floor of your bedroom- even though there’s the bed right next to you because your love is the kind that need not be confined to a single place (in Yoongi’s flowery words) even if he’s the one that ends up with rug burn on his knees later. 

There are other conversations that happen in front of those windows, with kisses pressed to your lips in total darkness if it weren't for the neon lights. “do you think we should move?” “give it a few more weeks love,” he says, pressed between a kiss on your shoulder.

 “you’ve been hired for over a year Yoongi- they’re gonna give you your own solo project any day now,”  you snort. “is it weird that I can’t help but worry I'll be fired or something?” he holds onto you tighter. 

You sooth him with a hand down his arm, your words velvet soft in the darkness, “no not at all- it’s just that the studio complained that a line of your sheet music got slipped into my rough draft last week, and maybe things like that wouldn't happen if we didn’t share the same desk.” a laugh shocks out of him “fuck we need a larger place.” 

And then months later, when you’re thinking about moving, and Yoongi has his heart set on this one bedroom with small office space and a killer view over the river- expensive but still kinda tight. And you can’t help but think...you might need more than one room at one point in the future. 

“did you ever think about having kids?” you ask, nervously drumming your fingers on the counter his hair curling against the nape of his neck. He’s been growing it longer recently, no longer does he get it done in the jagged undercut that he used to.

His sleep shirt is one of his old ones, no matter how big his paycheck has gotten Yoongi will always sleep in his threadbare basketball shorts and a washed-out tee. It’s almost like when he falls asleep he goes back to that same boy you first met years ago. With too many tattoos and not enough hope that his dreams would ever come true.  

His eyes go wide over his cup of coffee, and he sets it down before he even takes a sip, mulling over your question for a moment before he answers “Only with you, why?” 

Years later, after your screenplay gets picked up by a popular channel. when you’ve long left behind your tiny box of an apartment and traded in for an upgraded space closer to where both of you work. Yoongi is nominated (and wins) an award for a song he produced for an idol group.

You accompany him to an award show with his same tattooed arms around your waits, though the ink has faded a little bit. He still goes back to the same shop he used to though he pays now that he has enough money. Yoongi has even steered enough people (rappers and other producers) towards the shop that the tattoo artist can charge more and actually afford legitimate prescriptions no longer has to live through shady backroom deals. 

 A few more tattoos have been added, the first line of the first song he ever produced that made into onto an album, a little lightbulb for you, and more roses added to his chest. Lacing their way up his neck ending just below the date inked onto his neck- your anniversary. 

And when he’s asked about you by reporters he introduces you as his muse. There is no small amount of fanfare for a well-known music producer and a screenwriter that's recently gained notoriety for her gang inspired drama. The bulbs of cameras flash, dizzying if it weren't for Yoongi’s steady arm around your waist. 

 “We’ve been together for years, and she’s always stood by me and encouraged me to be the best version of myself and follow my dreams. I know I wouldn’t be where I am if I didn’t have her which is why this award is as much for me as it is for her” 

And the reporters clamor over themselves to ask you questions too asking you about the open ending of your book, if there is any hope for a sequel of your drama, and what the open ending meant. “I think the best thing about stories is that you get to wait and see how they end, so I won’t let anything particularly telling go before it’s time for you to see it,” you say, teasing even though everyone knows that none of the actors that starred in your drama have schedules for the next season- and are likely slated for a continuation even if your company hasn’t announced the sequel yet. 

You and Yoongi take your seats to the side, but in the front row. During the award show, at the moment when the lights go low just before the idol group that Yoongi produces for starts to perform on stage, you and Yoongi tilt your faces together. And it feels like hello- like all of the time before that you’ve kissed in the dark when your lips meet. 

The moments when you’ve both found each other in the darkness, met in the middle, to be nothing other than what you are. Both you and Yoongi are brought down to your barest forms, just two people in love and better for it. Stronger together than you are apart. 

The lights go up, you and Yoongi clap harder than anyone in the stands as the starting notes fade in and the choreography starts as well, another song that Yoongi’s produced, one of many in the future

And maybe no one would know you’ve kissed if it weren't for your lipstick on his mouth. 

[yvainegelinemarie]

How The MLQC Bois React When You Do A ‘Baby/Cutesy Talk’ To Them.

🖤🦋🖤Idk if anyone has done this one yet so here it goes...

𝚨𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖒𝖞 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌: ✨ ALL my writing promts are gender inclusive and promote love, kindness and fun for all! 

✨I know that each and every one of our boys would love and support each and everyone of you and I hope that my readings portray that comforting, accepting and loving nature through and through~ 

✨And with that I hope you Spookies enjoy~~

☪ 𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒: Mr. Love Queen’s Choice

☪ 𝕽𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌:18+  Has mild talk about sex, mentions drinking/alcohol. 

☪ 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖙 : Quick Read, bullet points 

𝕶𝖎𝖗𝖔|10/10

He eats the baby talk up!!! And does it right back to you with so much ease!

You guys have full on conversations with just the two of you using baby talk towards one another.

And you both have no problem doing it in public and annoying all your friends with how mushy and maybe a bit cringey you two can be.

Most of your baby talk conversations is the two of you whining back and forth about wanting food.

“Aww, Kiro can I pwlese haves a snack now? It’s been a few howers pwlesee?! 🥺🥺”

“Bwut what if I want a snack moreeeee?!”

You two stare at one another intensely with large, watery, puppy dog eyes and quivered lips.

Neither one of you is going down this easily over the remaining sweet candy that you have left. 

Kiro will ALWAYS use the cute talk on you when you are trying to keep him from eating sweets as Savin ordered. But the moment he brings out the cute voice and the puppy dog eyes you have lost.

It’s just so hard to not cave in to such a cute face!!! 

But it’s okay because he can’t resist yours either.

You and Kiro’s guttonness and cutesy manipulative ways towards one another can sadly only go on for so long before the fun comes to a painful hault.

It seems that you two have indulged in a little too much of the sweet treats, leaving you both to most likely take up a very simple yet painful month of dieting. 

Which is then filled to the max with pouty expressions and W words in hopes to just get one cookie from the bakery you passed on your daily run. 

𝓥𝖎𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖗|5/10

The world will NEVER know this side of Victor. 

He would probably throw himself off a bridge if anyone heard him use a cute voice towards you or anyone for that matter.

Even your future children and cute puppies will NEVER witness such a pure and child-like state with your stubborn CEO boyfriend. 

BUT surprisingly enough he has done it a few times.

You always tease him for it since he likes to make fun of you for when you try to use your cute voice to beg for pudding or a longer time for your deadlines. 

And although this tough looking CEO wouldn’t admit it, he likes seeing you pout your lip and add a W to every two words of sentence.

The one and ONLY time victor has ever used the cutesy voice on you was when you were really sick and asking for soup. 

He was caring for you for about a week now with little to no progress of your health improving. 

And aside for all the nagging you were getting from him for overworking yourself he was truly worried about you.

Now that your cold was coming to and end and with Victor in a tired state and comfortable enough to relieve himself of worry, along with being a bit flirtatious (probably from light sips of whisky he had been drinking to keep himself in motion) the cute words just kind of...slipped out...

You are in complete shock as your brain is trying to process what it just heard. 

Did Victor really just say “does my whittle dummy want some swoup?”

Trust me he is just as shocked as you are as he quickly escapes the bedroom with cheeks as red as a cherry.

He is so shocked in fact that it takes you a good three hours to get your soup so he could have some time to regain himself after the embarrassing encounter.

To this day he is still haunted by it as you taunt him every once in a while for it.

*poking his forehead lightly with playful giggles* “Aww, Come on Victor, don’t chu want to mwake me some swoup?” 

“If you have time to bother me then maybe I should consider raising your deadline to three days instead of the end of the week?” 

And with that you scurry out at lighting speed leaving Victor to wallow in his face palmed blushes. 

𝕷𝖚𝖈𝖎𝖊𝖓|8/10

Lucien LOVES the shit out of your cutesy talk.

BUT is probably the only one capable of not letting you get your way with it every time.

He loves to tease you not the other way around! 

His plans would be foiled if just your cute little voice defeated him.

He will however use a cute voice in comparison to yours. 

He likes when you say little words in a cute way like tank you instead of thank you or putting a w in pretty please 

and he will repeat them back to you the same way you said it. In a mocking yet flirtatious kind of way.

After a soft chuckle Lucien looks to you. “Pweety Pwlease?” He questions as you puff your cheeks at the fact that he doesn’t seem phased by your cuteness.

His eyes however, quiver with complete delight at just how cute you are to him.

Your Scorpio boi can only hide his feelings for so long and despite his calming expression his eyes alone can only hold what is truly running through his brain. 

There are times the Professor falls victim to your cute ways but they usually end in some more...explicit moments with you. 👀

You learn rather quickly that this seems to be one of the very few things you have in control over Lucien, unlike the multiple ways he has control over you. 

Though, your ways of manipulation are nothing to take lightly either. 

Lucien seems to be really focused with work right now. Staying up all day and all night eyes glued to books or his tablet filled with words that just give you a bit of a headache.

And despite not hating Lucien’s passion and hardworking energy towards his career you are now starting to realize that it’s been almost a month since you have been close and intimate with him.

So much so that you can’t even remember what his gorgeous body looks like under all that lab coat. 

And desperate times call for desperate measures. 

Setting yourself up into cutness overdrive and plopping yourself right down and in front of your boyfriends work and onto his lap 

along with a simple tilt of your head and eyes as wide as the moon doesn’t take long for all the blood to rush to you know where for Lucien. 

And when Lucien falls victim to you he FALLS. but he’s not a man who enjoys failure. (So be prepare for one intense and intimate ride.)

His sex drive and stamina is not something to question and if you sneeze just two octaves higher than normal 

you’ll most likely be attending his lecture with wet, shaking knees. 

𝕲𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖓|7/10

Also loves your baby talk and will say it back to you casually.

It is something that he only does around you though and doesn’t let anyone see.

Gavin is 100% those TikTok videos where the girls are recording their boyfriends cutesy talking to them and then instantly start talking in a deep voice the moment they see the camera. 😂

Will use it a lot when you aren’t feeling good and goes nutso bananas if you use it to reward him.( Kind of like a puppy. 😂)

“Was ywu a tood boyfwriend today? Wes. Wes you were.” *Gives Gavin happy head pats*

Gavin is also a huge sucker for your cute ways and will not hesitate to compliment you on your new hair accessory, the way you did your makeup, or how you added a new watch to match the bracelet he gave you.

He’s actually really good at paying attention to small details despite not being the romantic.

And with this you'll find him getting you cute treats and toys to cheer you up. 

And even if he truly doesn’t quite understand why you are so obsessed and squeal as loud as you can when you see pusheen he can’t say that he hates seeing how excited you get when admiring the cute and simple things of life.

One moment in particular that will always be engraved in Gavin’s head is seeing you hold the chubby grey cat plushie as much as you could in your arms

you were practically swallowed behind it, it was just as big as you were, if not more.

Seeing you walk through the store and doing your best to avoid falling over not daring to let go of the giant fluff ball of cuteness sent a pierce through Gavin’s heart.

How the hell can they be so cute?!? Was the only thought running through Gavin’s head the entire time. 

And once he regained his composure he helped guide you through the store by your arm. 

Sadly you had to part ways with the kitty plushie when a small child became just as in awe of it as you were and knowing she was the last one, handed it over kindly.

Seeing you a bit sad only put Gavin in a low mood before motivating him to an idea.

And with that; a few weeks later a new fluffy, plushie cat as big as your front door awaited the front of your apartment with a cute (is that letter blood stained???) note from Gavin. 

𝐒𝖍𝖆𝖜|-9000/10

Hatesssss! The baby talk with a passion and will not ever use it with you.

You made the mistake to use it on him once and the amount of awkwardness in his expression was overbearing.

The two of you just sat in your apartment blinking wide eyed at one another in silence.

Shaw broke the awkwardness first by just flat out saying “yeah, no.”

And with that you sulked back into your seat realizing that he didn’t seem phased at all by how cute you were.

And for a moment a bit ticked off. I am cute Shaw?! Don’t ignore me like that! UGH! He can be so nerve racking sometimes!!

Despite not being a big fan of the voice, after dating Shaw for a while you have come to find that he doesn’t mind you doing cute things with him like cuddling up together, squishing his cheeks, or rubbing your face on his ect.

Playing with his hair when he’s strumming away on his bass or latching onto his neck when his skateboard slips from under your feet are some of his favorite moments with you.

But the big eyes and pout get him ALL the time!

He will try his best not to be swayed by them especially when the tears seem genuine.

Shaw and your relationship is like when the older sibling hits the younger one and they start crying and the older one starts to freak out. That. That’s you and Shaw. 

𝕭𝖔𝖓𝖚𝖘|𝐒𝖍𝖆𝖜

When he gets drunk he uses the baby talk on you!

Will mumble on his words but tell you just how pretty and cute you are.

But you know that if you bring it up to him he will never drink around you again so you have to keep it as a little secret between you and your friends

You even have recordings and voice messages of him drunk off his ass and calling you just to say.

“Babbbyyyy, I mwissed ywu so muchhh!! Ywu are dhe pwrettiest girl I know and I luv ywu and I just want to kiss your cute wittle face!”

He’s also a very clingy and loving drunk who can’t seem to stop from covering your face in kisses.

It is most definitely a moment in time that you will happily remember for years and years. 

𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖓𝐤 𝖄𝖔𝖚!!! Spookies for giving this a read and for giving me the opportunity to share something fun and light hearted with you guys about all our favorite Evolvers. 

✨ I am hoping that more writings are to come to you guys from me but this is all a fairly new and a bit out of my comfort zone to do haha  so please be patient with me. 

✨ But please be open to comment feedback you may have through this post and In my asks on what you thought about this and if you guys enjoy more bullet point writings like this or would like more of a story style. I would love to hear what you guys have to say!!! 

[kim-bobbae]

7. “I dreamt of you last night.”

Ok it’s been WAY too long, and by that I mean YEARS since I’ve written any smut so I hope this will be a decent read at the very least... I just wanted to get it out ASAP since it’s been sitting in my inbox for the longest time. Heh.

You woke up to the faint sound of rain pattering against your window and you couldn’t help but let out a small smile as you stared blankly at the outdoors through the small gap between your curtains. It was the perfect weather for a Saturday morning, even more so when there was absolutely nothing planned for the day. The past week had been more exhausting than you’d like and for once in a very long time, you decided that you wanted nothing more than to laze the day away – no lunch appointments, no gym classes, no nothing. 

Letting out a sound between a whine and a groan, you stretched lazily, not even noticing the figure that had been laying behind you until a pair of arms wrapped themselves around you from behind you could’ve sworn you were this close to shrieking out of pure shock had it not been for the tattoos that looked all too familiar. 

“Good morning,” He mumbled sleepily, pulling you nice and snug against his chiseled body. He then closed his eyes, allowing one of his hands to slip under your loose camisole, his fingertips barely grazing the underside of your breasts. 

“What brings you here?” 

“I miss you, that’s all.” 

With a bit more free time on his hands these days, Jay had been spending it on his music, managing his labels, working out and impromptu dinner dates whenever your work schedule allowed for it. However, every so often on the weekends, you’d wake up to him sleeping soundly beside you despite being absolutely sure that you had fallen asleep alone the night before. You were not complaining, though, because most of the time you stood to benefit…your newfound habit of sleeping in just your underwear self explanatory. 

“Weren’t you working on something with Woogie?” 

“Yeah but we decided to continue tomorrow so I thought I’d drop by, but you were asleep by then so…I helped myself,” He explained, blowing raspberries at your neck to which you giggled in response. 

“Slept well?” 

“Mhmm,” He hummed, dotting your neck with light feathery kisses down to your bare shoulders. “I dreamt about you last night.” 

You reached a free hand behind to caress his cheek, thumb drawing circles across his flawless skin, “And what were we up to?” 

“Nothing much, but you know…” He trailed, then let out a low chuckle as his hands travelled further upwards to cup your breast, giving it a playful squeeze. 

“I would love to, but I’m sleepy…” 

“Then I’ll do the work,” He said as he began attacking you with kisses, pressing his body closer against yours. 

For a while he continued spooning you, one of his arms positioned under your neck while the other reached southwards and into your panties to palm your vagina. Your legs parted slightly – an almost instinctive reaction – and you shamelessly melted into his intimate touches, the softest of moans escaping from the back of your throat as his teeth joined in on his kisses, nipping at the uncovered skin on your upper back and leaving dark, purplish spots in its wake. 

“Ride it,” He whispered as the heel of his palm stilled at your clit and the way you obliged obediently had his dick perking up, a smirk finding its way to his lips. 

You moved your hips in slow, circular motions, taking in the pleasure you drew from the pressure that he was applying on your sensitive bundle of nerves each time you pressed your hip fully against his contact. Then, you took the opportunity to rub your butt cheeks against his arousal that was prodding at you from behind by now each time your hips circled back and he was obviously enjoying this, licking his lips in approval before whispering sweet nothings into your ear and that throaty, morning voice of his had your folds getting wetter by the second. 

“You’re hella wet,” He snickered, smearing the liquid that was leaking from your entrance to coat your clit. 

“Then quit playing and stick it in,” You panted with no care in the world at how needy you sounded. 

He let out a low chuckle, pulling down his boxers just enough for his dick to spring out before pulling your panties aside and very slowly slipped it in, drawing a long contented sigh from you at the feeling of his length filling your core. His free hand gripped at your breast, elbow pressing your body against his to hold it in place as he thrusted against you, the first low moan escaping his lips. 

It started off nice and slow, deep breathing and the occasional moans the only sounds that penetrated the silence in the room and compared to the usual bed creaking sex that the both of you enjoyed, too, the intimacy felt nice for a change – pressed close against your back, his uneven breathing that was filling your ears, gentle touches as he went from teasing your nipples to rubbing your womanhood...boy was he driving you off the edge, fast. 

“Jay…w-wait-” You barely managed, holding onto the wrist of his hand that was working on your increasingly hypersensitive clit. 

He chuckled, then took the hint and flipped you over, giving you a second’s breather before he thrusted into you again, harder and faster this time around. He had your feet in the air as he rested your ankles against his shoulders, pushing himself deep inside you, reaching depths you never knew existed that left you a loud, moaning mess. You had completely given up on any form of control by now as you laid there, completely vulnerable to his touches as you left him to go from manhandling your breasts to smacking your ass – anything he wanted, really, while you admired the perfect being that he was through half lidded eyes. 

The loud sound of skin slapping against each other echoed through the walls of your bedroom, drowning out the whimpers from you which had him biting down on his lip in an attempt to keep himself together. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt your climax approaching, your hand reaching down to rub yourself to which he found sexy as hell, especially with the way your erect nipples formed little peaks through the thin cloth of your silk camisole, moving up and down together with your breasts that bounced violently from the speed at which he was going. 

“Fuck,” He rasped, lusting at the sight before him that snapped the very last strand of restraint he had in him. 

He plowed relentlessly into you, grunting as he felt your muscles contracting against his and you came soon after, back arching as you threw your head back into the pillow while your legs shivered in his tight grip. You milked him dry, his nails digging into the flesh at your thighs as he muttered a string of profanities, his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to gather his last bit of consciousness to ride out your orgasm before he collapsed on top of you, breathless and too spent to care about the sticky mess that was leaking out of you and onto the sheets. 

“You alright?” You asked after a good minute, stroking his hair as he sighed in the crook of your neck. 

“I’m…fucked out,” He said, finally pulling out of you and rolling over to lie on his back beside you. 

You laughed, giving him an appreciative kiss on the cheek, “Well you said you’d do all the work…” 

“That’s it? That’s all I get for all my hard work?” 

“Well what do you want me to do? You’re the one who volunteered...” 

“Oh c’mon, I deserve a proper kiss at the very least,” He whined, then wasted no time pulling you to lie on top of him where he latched his lips on yours, making it clear that he was bent on getting what he wanted, especially after all he did to please you bright and early in the morning.

[lilacyennefer]

Will Miller NSFW alphabet

A/N: Part 3, and the last one, of the NSFW alphabet request.

WARNING: SMUT

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Very soft. For Will sex is about getting close to each other so he’s emotional after your time together. He makes sure that you have everything you need, cuddles, kisses, water, even food if you’re craving something.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Will’s favourite body part on you is your neck, and the crook of your neck! He loves to place kisses there and see your skin break out in goosebumps from it. He also just loves to hide his face in there when he feels more emotional, or when the two of you are cuddling. 

Will’s favourite body part on himself is his hands and fingers! He loves how turned on you get from them, and he loves how he can make you fall apart just with two fingers. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Will prefers to cum inside you. He just loves the thought of his cum filling you, as dirty as it sounds. But he doesn’t mind cuming anywhere else as long as you’re comfortable with it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Will actually likes to spank you a little. When you’re being a brat, and knowing that you’re okay with this, since you had a conversation about it once, he’d smack your ass a few times, not hard, he would never actually hurt you, it’s more playful than a punishment, but Will fucking loves it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Will certainly knows what he’s doing, but he didn’t have many one night stands or relationships. Will is the man who loves long term relationships, so he wasn’t with many women, but he certainly knows what he’s doing since he’s great at reading people.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary. Will loves the intimacy of it, he loves how close he is to you, and he loves the little bubble you create. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Will is hundred percent serious. He’s whole focus is on you, he’s reading you and your every move. You can laugh with him before or after.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Will likes to keep himself clean, so he trims it, but he doesn’t shave completely. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

I mentioned before that for Will sex is about getting closer and it’s about intimacy so he’s really intimate. He likes to show you how much you mean to him and how much he loves you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When Will was alone, he did it to release the tension, but he rarely does it since he’s with you. Only when he’s away from you, in a different city because of a speech and you tease him during a phone conversation that ends up in phone sex. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Light spanking. That’s all. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Pretty normal, but bed. He just loves that both of you can get comfortable in it, and since Will loves to explore your body over and over again, the more comfortable the better. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When he sees you in his clothes. Will absolutely loses it when you wear his shirt. One time you put on his army jacket that you have found and Will immediately jumped on you, and you ended up riding Will with his jacket still on. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, humiliate you or him. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Will equally loves giving and receiving. He really loves to taste you, hear your sweet moans as he laps your wetness. And he equally loves it when you’re on your knees in front of him, his cock is deep in your throat, ready to cum. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Most definitely slow and sensual. There are times when he’s quick and a bit more rough, but Will is mostly sensual. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t mind them if it’s in the house since he doesn’t like public sex. Your quickies often happen in the bathroom when you shower together, or sometimes in the kitchen, and the living room. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s up to try new poses, but that’s it, and he doesn’t take risks. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Will can last pretty long thanks to his workout routine. Even after he left the army he still kept himself fit. If he holds it for a long time then usually there isn’t a round two, but you had a quicky, then you can count on round two. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own any, and he doesn’t mind using them, but he prefers to get you off by himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Will is a master teaser. He is unfair, and he loves to hear you beg, but he finally lets you cum you realise it was all worth it. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not extremely loud, but he’s vocal. He likes to let you know that how much he loves you and how much he enjoys you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

William counts your orgasms. We know that he keeps in track of everything, and he exactly knows how many orgasms he gave you since you’re together.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s thick and veiny. And he’s long, but not too long so it doesn’t hurt.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

A little above average since he’s with you, especially since you almost always wear one of his shirts and we all know that it drives him crazy. You wouldn’t admit, but you’re doing it on purpose because you love his reaction.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It always depends on how tired he was before you made love.

Taglist: @innerpaperexpertcloud​​​ @lady-evans​​​ @agirllovespancakes​​​ @oldstuffnewstuff​​​ @claudiahxrdy​​​ @keithseabrook27​​​ @alexa-rae-dreamz​​​ @rocketqueen​​​ @woahitslucyylu​​​ @de-profundis-ad-astra​​​ @mylifeliterally​​​ @happyhenners​​​ @rosieposie0624​​​ @hotdamnhunnam​​​ @palaiasaurus64​​​ (comment or send an ask if you want to get added)

[cacoetheswriting]

nsfw alphabet - denver

A/N: (Request): The title says it all so a smut warning is in place.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex?)

If you’ve done something intense, he’ll ask and make sure you’re okay. He showers you with kisses and gently caresses your skin. Denver will also always ask if you were satisfied - as if “no” would ever be an answer. 

B = Body Part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Denver likes his hands; more importantly how he can use them to make you squirm. On you, he loves your legs. He’s a leg man. He likes run his hands up your legs every chance he gets, touching and squeezing your thighs. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically)

He’s extremely fond of coming on your breasts or thighs yet nothing beats exploding deep inside of you. 

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

The rush and adrenaline he gets when fucking you somewhere the two of you can get caught is indescribable - and at the Bank of Spain getting caught is always a possibility. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He definitely knows what he’s doing, not to mention he’s quick to pick up on what you’re into and what makes you scream his name.

F = Favourite Position (this goes without saying)

While doggy-style is hot, and easily in the top three of positions he enjoys, he likes to modify it a bit. There is something about doing it laying down with your stomach pressed to the cold floor and him laying on top of you that just gets him going. He loves how deep he can get inside you in this angle, how he can groan in your ear and kiss down the back of your neck. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

Definitely more serious. He’s not opposed to occasional playfulness however usually he finds that humour during sex can completely kill his mood. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He’s not one to care about his appearance down there, it’s not like he has the time to groom. The same stance applies to your grooming decisions - obviously he would prefer you clean shaven but at the same time it really makes no difference in his eyes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Denver likes to feel as close to you as humanely possible. He loves to caress your skin, smell your hair. Often he finds himself whispering sweet-nothings in your ear. 

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

He’s no stranger to self-pleasure, after all it’s only natural. Imagining you on top of him often does the trick, his hands exploring your body as you ride him. Not that he has the time now and when he does he’d much rather just fuck you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

The list of kinks this man has is a long one. Light bondage, orgasm control, daddy kink, spanking, sensation play, voyeurism, etc. 

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Honestly, location doesn't matter to him. He’ll gladly take you anywhere and everywhere. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The way his name rolls of your tongue, the way you wink at him when you’re among other people, the way you bite your bottom lip, the way you run your fingers through your hair.  

N = NO (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that could result in seriously hurting you, both physically and mentally/emotionally. He’s also not into sharing, so threesomes are off the table. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc,)

Preference is definitely giving, and you were definitely pleasantly surprised at just how skilled he is at that. He also enjoys it when you ride his face; legs shaking as you're moaning his name.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It usually depends on how much time you have. However most often, Denver will just pound you like a jack hammer. His strong thrusts have your eyes rolling back always without fail.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Big fan of quickies. Obviously he would prefer to get you alone properly and enjoy you without interruptions but that’s not always plausible, and since literally anything gets him going a quickie in the bathroom is a lot more fun.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

As long as you’re comfortable he’s keen to explore and try anything. Sometimes the two of you will randomly get inspired by something and rush off together quietly. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Denver can last quite a while if he wants to. He can also go for two or three rounds, depending on how rough and intense the previous time was. 

T = Toy (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't own any but is definitely up for acquiring some in the future and using them on you. Anything to make you squirm. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is a huge tease, but to be fair so are you. You both know extremely well what gets the other person bothered, and often use that knowledge to your advantage. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s not the loudest partner, a few groans and grunts here and there but nothing extra or extreme. He much prefers focusing on your moans, shaky breaths and screams of pleasure. 

W = Wild Card (random headcanon for the character)

Although he’s the dominant one in your relationship, Denver adores when you assert power and take charge from time to time.  

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Let’s just say there are no complaints about what he's packing. He’s a good size for you, and most importantly he knows what he’s doing with it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High would be an understatement. The slightest smallest thing can get him aroused and thinking of you. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Very rarely would sleep even be an option after sex. And on the odd occasion that it is; Denver would make sure you were resting before he’d even consider closing his eyes. 

[jenomark]

A-Z Analysis of Jeno

💚 Smut

💚 18+

💚 This is only fantasy

💚 Jeno best boy

A ⇥ Aftercare

 After sex, Jeno disposes of any condoms you might have used. He’ll tidy up a little, pull sweatpants on and come back to bed. He’ll put his glasses back on his face and look over at you. What you both do next is up to you. If you want to watch a movie, he’ll watch a movie. If you want space, he’ll oblige. If you’re hungry, he’ll bring you food. If you want to sleep, he’ll lay down and pull you close until you drift off. He’s at your service.

B ⇥ Body Part

  His favorite body part on himself is his back muscles. He loves his abs, his arms and legs, but he’s obsessed with looking at his back muscles in natural light. On you, the curve of your body when you’re laying down. He thinks about kissing up your spine before his lips come down to place gentle kisses on your hips.

C ⇥ Cum

  He doesn’t give much thought about cum. He thinks it’s sexy if you swallow his, but he doesn’t want you to do it if you don’t want to. There is something so attractive about being on the receiving end of Jeno’s load that makes it hard to resist. Always comes inside of a condom if you’re practicing safe sex, or inside of you. Doesn’t care for the added mess of coming onto your body. 

D ⇥ Dirty Secret

  Jeno’s dirty sex secret is about his oral obsession. He loves the shape of your lips. He loves when you wear lip gloss because he thinks about resting his cock on the stickiness before pushing himself inside of your mouth. He loves kissing, tasting, and sucking on your lips. He can’t get them out of his mind.

E ⇥ Experience

  Is not sexually experienced, but is the type of person that’s perfectly okay with it. Has had his first kiss, but doesn’t go around kissing and telling. 

F ⇥ Favorite position

  Anything hands-on. He would like using his strength to pin you down on the bed as he fucks you. He’d like lifting you up against a wall and sinking his cock up inside of you. Loves changing positions to get the most out of sex.

G⇥  Goofy

  Sex with Jeno is very light and fun. He makes the vibe in the room really comfortable. Has moods where he concentrates so hard you have to bring him back to you with a kiss. 

H ⇥ Hair

  Grooms his hair according to how he’s feeling. Doesn’t care what anyone else has to say about his body. He’s kind of chaotic with the way he does things, so he’s going to do what he wants and it’s never the same. He wants you to also do what you wish with your body. 

I ⇥ Intimacy

  Jeno tries hard to stay connected during sex. There are times he puts up walls that you’ll have to break through. He likes being present more often than not. Wants to be the romantic man you want in life. No matter what he does, he does everything with a lot of passion and fire.

 J ⇥ Jack Off

  Has a healthy masturbation habit. Doesn’t deny himself any pleasure. Masturbates whenever he feels in the mood. He doesn’t care if there are other members in the dorm,  if he can hear their voices outside of his bedroom. If he doesn’t masturbate, he feels too pent up. 

K ⇥ Kink

   Has a dominance kink. Wants to be rough with you. Hopes you’re the type to be comfortable with him picking you up and throwing you around a little bit. He likes to let loose sometimes. 

L ⇥ Location

  Jeno mainly fucks in the comforts of his home. Finds it more sexually satisfying if you’re horny while you’re outside and you have to wait until you get home to do something about it.

M ⇥ Motivation

  Is turned on by the thought of getting to restrain you. Will use anything he has around the house to tie you to something and have his way with you.

N ⇥ No

  Is turned off by you wanting to bring another person into the mix. He is not down for threesomes. He is not the type to share, especially if it’s with someone you both know. 

O ⇥ Oral

  Loves to give and receive. Doesn’t hesitate to go down on you first. His oral fixation really thrives when he knows you’re desperate to have his cock in your mouth. Loves deep throat but is nervous about hurting you. 

P ⇥ Pace

  Jeno’s pace depends on how he’s feeling. When he’s feeling romantic and connected, he takes his sweet time. It’s agonizingly sweet torture with his focus in one area. If he’s feeling more rough, he’ll fuck the breath right out of you.

Q ⇥ Quickie

  He would be into quickies as long as you left him the same as when you first found him. Finds it sexy to fuck with clothes on. Is definitely the type to come up behind you and stick his hands in your pants.

R ⇥ Risk

  He’ll take the risk if it benefits both of you. If it doesn’t, he’ll only play with the idea. Thinks it’s cute if you request him to do something he might not usually do. 

S ⇥ Stamina

  Has a lot of stamina. He won’t stop. Could fuck all night if you wanted him to. His energy always picks up when he’s been stimulated. 

 T ⇥ Toy

  Doesn’t want to use toys in the bedroom. Will prove to you that his hands and mouth are better. 

U ⇥ Unfair

  Jeno teases you the most when he knows you can’t do anything about it. It’s always playful. If you’re tied up, he’s good at kissing your inner thigh to make you crazy. Hearing your neediness keeps him going and doubles his enthusiasm. 

V ⇥ Volume

  His groans and grunts are low and sexy. He almost purrs if you’re doing a good job. The only time his moans are loud is if you catch him by surprise and do something he really likes. 

W ⇥ Wild Card

  Jeno’s thumb brushes against your lower lip. He doesn’t need to taste your lip gloss to know that it’s cherry-flavored but he does it anyway. There’s a kiss on your mouth with his name on it. He kisses you once for each letter: J. E. N. O. He doesn’t say anything as he straightens his body out and moves his cock to touch your lips. You set your tongue on Jeno and watch as his muscles tense and his eyes open up. You lick his cock like a lollipop, the stickiness making you want to go in for a mouthful.

X ⇥ X-Ray

His cock is average and it has the slightest curve to it. When it’s hard, it’s rock hard.

Y ⇥ Yearning

  His sex-drive is average until he’s feeling drunk and frisky. Whenever Jeno feels a little bit out of control, he uses sex to level himself out. 

Z ⇥ ZZZZ

  Jeno doesn’t fall asleep right away. His energy is always high after sex. He’s bursting with new ideas and feelings.

[woahitslucyylu]

NSFW Alphabet - Miguel Galindo.

GIF is not mine, credit to OG creator. 

Cartel Daddy is here. Enjoy it, homies! 

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

NSFW Alphabett

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Miguel drips charm and he pours it all over you. After sex, especially a rough session, Miguel will slide you into a waiting bubble bath and hold you close as your high fades. He will rub your muscles with expert pressure and tell you Mexican fairy tales as you soak into oblivion. Miguel realizes that you sacrifice a lot to be with him, and when he has the opportunity to pamper you himself, he does. 

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Miguel loves his face - it is his brand. His rigid jaw line, salt and pepper beard, his blinding white teeth - he is an Adonis and he knows it. Appearance is very important to Miguel, but bed-head Miguel is one of your favorite sights. His loose waves, soft eyes, and lazy smile make you melt every time. 

He loves your hips - the feminine curve of your body keeps his hands itching to hold you. His favorite sight is your shadow, outlined by the moonlight, in front of the floor to ceiling windows that wrap your bedroom. He loves to hold them as you ride him - bruising your soft skin as he pulls you down on him. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

Miguel prefers to come in you - less mess and it feels so much better, but when Cartel Daddy is feeling freaky, he will come on your chest or in your mouth. Watching you willingly open your mouth for him to finish is one of his favorite sites. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Miguel’s phone could set the world on fire with a few text messages, but buried in his pictures are whole albums of you - snapshots from adventures together, candids, and stolen moments while you were sleeping. Miguel may spend days away from you, but the pictures keep you close. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Miguel’s entire life motto is quality over quantity and he feels the same way about his women. He’s had a few casual flings - everybody does in college, but as an adult, Miguel is selective - almost picky. He has to be. His world is illusive and everyone doesn’t get an invitation to the party. 

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Miguel is a dichotomy - both worlds blended into the most perfect Daddy, so it only makes sense that he prefers you in various ways. He lives for lazy Sunday mornings, when spooning turns into lazy love making with sloppy kisses and soft touches. He also lives for your body arched in front of him - his hand around your neck as he fucks you into the mattress - your moans barely audible over the harsh spanks and Spanish dirty talk. 

“Querida, I said don’t move,” His hand lands hard against your soft hips as he pulls your wrists together. “Take it.” He pulls your ass up - your body bending under his passionate assault. His gaze falls to the most intimate connection as he slides in and out of your warm heat - himself coated in your cream as you come undone. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Your Miguel’s safe haven and with you, he finds peace and the freedom to loosen the proverbial tie. While he isn’t performing a comedy routine by any means, he does enjoy the lightheartedness of being with you. His smiles cost you nothing but orgasms and soft, sweet kisses. 

The morning light stretches across the room - cover the bed with puddles of sunshine as you roll your body into his. “Wake up, sleepy head.” Your whisper is soft in his ear as your hand slides down his chiseled abdomen - nails raking across his skin. “Mi amor.” His voice dipped in playfulness as he rolls to face you - pulling you close. His hands cup your face with such gentleness as he smiles lazily - his soft brown eyes gazing at you. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Cartel Daddy is immaculate and below the belt is not any different. He is groomed, trimmed, and smells like money. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Miguel’s relationships, at best, graze the surface level of who he truly is. With you, he exposes himself and pours into you - all the secrets on the table, all the ugly and hard truths, because without an honest foundation, Miguel knows it cannot work. He may spend hours or days away, but he will send the sweetest text messages - paragraphs of love letters written to su reina as he manages both worlds. 

J = Jack/Jill Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Meh - in all the years you’ve been together, Miguel rarely fails to make it home, so jacking off isn’t something he thinks about or even engages in as an adult. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Daddy. 

Power. 

Money. 

Success. 

Miguel is powerful. He loves to feel that allllll the time. He has innate drive to win, to be the best, and if he has to be cunning and cutthroat while doing it, so be it. He gets off on the submission that you willingly give him. When you tip-toe into his office, dressed in your silk robe, and slide onto his lap and beg for his attention, he melts. When he’s knuckle deep inside you, with his hand wrapped around your throat and you whine for more from Daddy, that’s his favorite moment. 

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Money buys freedom and you learned very quickly that when Miguel wants you, he will take you. Dressing rooms, darkened hallways, in the tinted SUV - Miguel isn’t burdened by rules. He makes his own. 

You slide into the waiting SUV as Miguel gave orders to Nestor. You were panting and he hadn’t even touched you. The distance, the longing, the attraction - it was overwhelming. You felt drunk. You smiled as you watched him - he was strong, dark, and intoxicating. As the car door opened, a partition slid between the front and back seats. 

“Ready?” Miguel slid into the leather seat as Nestor started the SUV. You slid into his lap and pressed your lips against his, rolling your hips into his. His hands roamed your body, tracing your curves and tender spots. His hands pushed your dress up letting it gather at your hips as you unbuttoned his shirt - sliding your hands down his chest. He felt your wetness as you rocked back and forth on his lap. You moaned in the pleasure of his hardness pressing against your most tender place. 

“Carina, I have missed you.” Miguel’s voice was dipped in lust as he continued to whisper in your ear. “I want to fill you up. I want you to scream my name. I want to remind you that you’re mine.” His hand slid against your slit as you rocked back and forth, panting for release. “Daddy, please.” You pushed against his hand as you begged him. Miguel’s smile was deadly as he slid two fingers into your warmth - circling your most tender spot. “Who’s is this?” His hand found your neck as he pulled you close. You rocked back and forth as you worked yourself out on his hand, whimpering with each new movement. “I love watching you fuck yourself. Come for Daddy.” His lips nipped and sucked beneath your ear as you bounced your hips against his rigid hand. 

The car slowed as you collapsed against him - a sweaty mess. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Winning gets Miguel off and winning is a broad term. You coming three times before he does? Winning. He tricks the US government? Winning. He moves more heroin than El Chapo? Winning. He is naturally driven to compete and win and with each new success, he is motivated for more. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Miguel didn’t share as a child and he most certainly doesn’t share now - especially you. He wouldn’t entertain a threesome or anything that would compromise your relationship. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

When you’re a brat, when you’re sassy, when you parade around the house in boy shorts and a tight shirt, his only solution is making you gag on his dick as he fucks your face. Saliva dripping down your chest as you choke to breath with his hand threaded through your hair, pulling your head up and down as he chases his own pleasure. 

“Mami, why can’t you just listen?” He urges as he comes in your throat. 

Yet, it is better to give than receive and Cartel Daddy will eat you like his last meal. Your favorite sight is the world’s most powerful cartel boss on his knees as he licks and sucks your most intimate place. When your knees close around him OR you grind harder on his face, he feels like he’s winning and you’re the ultimate prize. 

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Whatever the mood calls for, Miguel will deliver. He prefers sensual and rough - bruises left from his rough grip, your body dotted with marks. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

While Miguel loves you and loves being inside of you, if the time isn’t right, the time isn’t right. He may enjoy a quick session in the morning or even on a car ride home, but he isn’t intentionally seeking you out during the day for a quickie. It doesn’t mean anything, except that he’s busy af. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

While Miguel would never be discovered, Nestor and his security team ensure that - the thought alone thrills you and him. Whether it be in a fancy bathroom at the country club or in the SUV or even at your own home, the risk is an aphrodisiac. Being pressed up against your floor to ceiling windows with Miguel behind you reminding you that his men are just right around the corner has you dripping down your leg as he bunches your skirt and slides right in. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Again, quality over quantity - Miguel may only go for one or two rounds, but you’ll come more than you can count. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Toys give him power and he is more than willing to punish you with a crop or his hand and torture you with a vibrator pressed against your clit as he pushes in you over and over again. Sensory deprivation is big for Miguel. He will bind your hands, cover your eyes - all in the name of pleasure as he works your body expertly. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Like a classic Daddy, Miguel will tease you until your eyes are heavy with lust and you’re begging for it. 

“What do you want, princesa?” Miguel hovers above you - his hardened tip barely touching your warm center. “Is it this?” He pushes in - the stretch taking your breath away as he stays still - your walls clenching as he watches you grind against him, bringing your hips to his. “Harder, Daddy. Please.” Your legs wrap around him as he fulfills your request. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He isn’t screaming, but he isn’t quiet. You live for his moans and breathless curses, and earning them comes with a cost that you will gladly pay for. Miguel’s dirty talk is about control and desire. 

“This pussy is mine.” His hand slides around your throat, tilting your chin as he fucks into you. “Who owns this?” The slap is harsh against your thigh. “Your’s, Daddy.” You whimper as his fingers press against your clit - your body releasing at his will. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Money is Miguel’s tool and he has no problem spending it on you. Weekends on yachts, helicopter rides to wine tastings, rented out restaurants and movie theatres - he will drop bags to make you feel valued and treasured. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Average length, thick, a slight curve. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

More than anything, Miguel craves you and that is not limited to sex. You’re his peace. You ground him when both worlds get too heavy and you help him see the bigger picture. While he always wants to fuck your brains out, he also thrives on quiet nights at home, you wrapped in his arms as the TV casts a soft light in the living room - letting him be normal, even if it is just a few hours. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Cartel Daddy gets tired. When you’re both basking in afterglow, his eyes will flutter and he will be asleep ridiculously quick. 

[celestiababie]

Hongjoong NSFW Alphabet A-Z

A= Aftercare (What they do/act like after sex)

 Joong would be very thorough with his aftercare. Need a bath? He’s on it. Want some water? He’s already in the kitchen getting it for you. Need kisses and cuddles? Already smothering you. He’s really good at taking care of his members, so you wouldn’t be an exception.

B= Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

 He would like his eyes the most, he loves how he can give you one look, and you’ll be blushing from the other side of the room. He has quite expressive eyes and would adore how you can tell how he’s feeling just by looking into his eyes. On your body, he would love your hair. He loves playing with it as he falls asleep or tugging on it when he’s being particularly rough with you, he just wants to twirl it around in his fingers~ 

C= Cum (Anything to do with cum… I’m a disgusting person)

 When Hongjoong cums...he cums a lot, and his favorite place to paint you in his cum would be your ass.  He just loves seeing it cover your pretty ass after sex, he finds something sexy about it. He’d make sure that he cleans you up nicely before doing anything else. 

D= Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

 He may or may not have stolen your underwear once or twice and acted confused when you were complaining about not being able to find a certain pair. It was an accident at first, he was packing his luggage, and you had left your underwear, and it got thrown into a pile with the rest of his clothes. He didn’t notice until he was looking for something... Long story short, he may have jerked off using your underwear and found a new fetish that day...

E= Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

 He used to skip school to work, PASSIONATE BABYBOY RIGHT THERE, so I don’t think he had much interaction with many people to have tons and tons of experience. He knows where to put things, and he’s definitely not clueless, but the first few times you two tried to get intimate were kind of on the awkward side of things.

F= Favorite position (This goes without saying)

 Since he loves cumming on your ass, he loves doggy style. He’s able to spank you all he wants and tug on your hair and at the end of it, he gets to cum on your ass. So, all in all, he can’t go wrong with his position.

G= Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Or are they more humorous?)

 At first, he was goofier and laughed off the awkward moments with you, but as he got more experienced with you, he also got more serious and intimidating. There’s still a playful tone to the sex, but he’s just more mature about that type of thing. 

H= Hair (How well-groomed are they?)

He does some pretty decent man-scaping. He’s not completely clean, but it’s not a complete mess down there, and he’d try to keep up with it as much as possible.

I= Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

 He’s fairly intimate during sex, but his intimacy shines during aftercare. During sex, he can be a little on the rougher side, but he’d still whisper in your ear about how amazing you felt, and he’d still kiss your body up and down.

J= Jack off (Masturbation)

 Because of the whole underwear situation, he jerks off quite a bit. He doesn’t find it better than you, but sometimes if he’s feeling stressed suddenly, and just needs to release some tension, he’ll please himself.

K= Kinks (One or more of their kinks)

 He has a Sir kink, it came out when you had playfully called him sir, after he had told you something. There’s something about you saying it that makes him feel powerful. Hongjoong also has a slight thing for tying you up or handcuffing you. He had randomly asked you one day how you felt about bondage, and after giving it a try, he definitely liked it.

L= Location (Favorite places to do the do)

 Does he enjoy fucking you in his studio? You bet he does. His eyes always light up when you come and visit him...those visits usually get pretty intimate, pretty quick. He always jokes how it gives him the energy he needs to make a good song, maybe that’s why ateez doesn’t have a single bad song cough cough.

M= Motivation (What turns them on?)

 You playing with his hair while he’s working could start to make him needy for you, he doesn’t know why. When you sit in his lap and play with his hair or him sitting in your lap, he can’t help it when he lets out a few soft moans.

N= NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

 Anything that will end up with you bleeding a lot. Sure, he doesn’t mind giving you pain for pleasure, but he’s against having you bleed.

O= Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

 He loves giving and receiving equally, receiving might have a slight edge since he loves seeing you on your knees for him. He would especially love when you’re needy while he’s busy, and to distract him...you’d get on your knees and start kissing over his crotch. When it comes to him giving you head, he loves hearing you beg him for me, and the lewd sounds you make. He’s a rapper so, he’s really good with his tongue.

P= Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

 Both, but he tends to lean more on the fast and rough side. He enjoys seeing the aftermath of him fucking you hard and will often tease you the next day if he sees you struggling to sit down or walk properly. Every once in a while, he’ll go slow, giving you deep thrusts to make you feel every inch of him as he kisses your neck, sucking on your sweet spot.

Q= Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex and how often?)

 He’s neutral about them, he’s not in love with them, but he won’t pass them down if you offered or if the both of you were needy and busy.

R= Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

 Hongjoong is very experimental, he wants to find new things that you like, and that he likes. He’s willing to experience a few mess-ups if it means that both of you can try new things. 

S= Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

 He can go for a few rounds but prefers to keep it down to around 2. He makes sure to draw out your time together as much as he possibly can. He’ll use his fingers and his mouth, working you up before he gets to the main event.

T= Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them?)

 He thinks toys can be fun every now and then. Hongjoong loves pressing a vibrator against you when you’re tied up and can’t do anything except moan and thrash against the sheets. He’s not opposed to using toys on himself and is even considering asking you to peg him...one day.

U= Unfair  (How much do they like to tease?)

 This boy loves to tease you whenever he gets the chance. He likes making you beg him for what you want him to do to you. Joong actually likes it when you tease him back, subby Joong is hot. 

V= Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

 It depends on what headspace he’s in. If he’s in a more dominant headspace, he’d let out groans and growls, but if he was in a more submissive headspace, he’s let out higher-pitched moans and groans.

W= Wild Card (Random headcanon)

 “Are you sure this is a good idea?” You said while biting your lip.

 Hongjoong had invited you over to his studio stating that he needed help with something. You had assumed that he was just needy and wanted to fuck you...but he had a much different idea. 

“Please, babe? No one will even know it’s you and I just really think it would help with the song.” 

  Hongjoong wanted your moans...on one of his tracks. He gave you a smirk and leaned over to whisper in your ear, softly kissing it as he spoke, “I promise I’ll make it worth your time.”

X= X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

 He’s a smol boy and he has tiny hands but has big dick energy, so I’m in a dilemma. He’s probably average but knows how to work with what he’s got.

Y= Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

 He has a high sex drive, he constantly craves your touch. He’d probably be overdramatic and say that he’s dying if you two go without something sexual for more than two days.

Z= ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep afterward?)

He doesn’t fall asleep that quickly, he makes sure that you’re okay and would much prefer watching a movie with you to fall asleep since he can’t automatically fall asleep afterward.

 Hi! This is the second member I’ve done and if you liked this, please don’t be a silent reader. I don’t have a masterlist yet, but you can find Seonghwa’s on my profile pretty easily.

-Admin