#had to use the read more because it was a bit longer than usual and ik people find it annoying having to skip it

[thewalrusespublicist]

"Tbh I was starting to feel a bit down about my blog and what I was putting out ( the eternal crisis on how to give full answers and opinions without being stupid, boring and annoying lol)"

OMG no way! Your blog is one of the best here! What i love the most is reading the analysis and meta from the users, there's always more information and good takes, and yours are always quite deep and insightful.

I would love if you share your opinions about Stuart as well. I feel like he is obviously more sanctified that he should be since he died young (like that insane quote from his mom saying that Brian told her that Stuart could have been the Beatles' manager, no way lol) and i feel his memory has been used to attack Paul, sometimes in a very unfair way. Like, i don't deny the teenage drama and jealousy that Paul felt about him but he *was* a shitty bass player and the band was Paul's future, he was allowed to criticized him not only for being John's new bestie. I also think John played with them both but i lack of your eloquence so i will love to read your take about it.

Hi anon! And the other anons!

Thank you again and to all the other messages I got, they were extremely sweet and really made my day. :)

From my inbox, it's clear you guys want to know about Stu and his role in the Beatles legacy. Well you asked for it and a novel you shall have. Be warned this might be the longest post I've done so grab like a drink or something.

A few disclaimers: I wish and had intended for this to be more of a deep dive into Stu as a whole person rather than just his relationship with John and Paul. Unfortunately I just didn't have the space to do it. If you want to know more about Stu I would highly recommend @eppysboys' blog which is the source for all things Stu Sutcliffe and where I got a lot of this info. Please check their stuff out. Also, I'm going to be a bit blunter on this than maybe I usually am because this topic has been irritating me for some time. Oh also I’m trying my best to answer a lot of asks in one post so please forgive if I don’t fully answer your specific ask about this!

Stu in a perfect world should be a fandom darling: an exciting cipher, a handsome artistic talent that died way too soon who had a major influence in the early Beatles style. It's like there’s this secret other James Dean looking mf Beatle hidden away to uncover, that's cool and he is cool! The problem is that he’s sort of becomes radioactive to talk about in a normal way due to how he's been portrayed and utilised in some biographies and fandom spaces, particularly those that have been infected by John Lennon aspirational boy bestie syndrome. As those types of spaces cannot seem to exist without tearing down Paul to prop John up as their special lil guy, Stu as John's other best friend has become the ideal heavy object to hit Paul McCartney over the head with. It's like a corrosive element, the minute Stu hits a Beatles bio, the biographer suddenly loses all training in objectivity and source work and starts waxing lyrical about 100 percent reliable never biased or wrong Saint Stu of Hamburg who died for our condom arson sins and that Paul McCartney should feel bad about every day of his life for not worshipping Stu and not accepting his own ‘place’ in life as John's just-some-guy placeholder best friend. I’ve personally seen so many posts and forums where Stu being mentioned leads to a legion of comments about how Paul could never have been Stu (correct both ways) and how John would never have even glanced at Paul for much longer if Stu had been alive. Sidenote: If you seriously think that the musical savant from down the road whom John went on to produce the most prolific song writing partnership in history with couldnt have kept his attention for long then I'm begging you on hands and knees to get your head out of the arse of your John Lennon body pillow and be serious. But anyway…

This boy bestie battle royale approach has in turn lead to a reflex reaction where Stu gets studiously ignored by other sections of the fandom as a precedent has been set that shining a light on him diminishes Paul and John's relationship with Paul. It's frustrating because if people weren't so keen to cut Paul out of his own story then we would get a much better nuanced view of every single person involved.

So let's put aside all of our defenses, cut the John Lennon loved one ranking system bullshit and lets look at the actual question here which is what was John and Stu's relationship really like and what did he mean to John?

John and Stu met at art college a year or so after Paul and John met. Up to that point John and Paul had their fun little codependant thing going on but Stu quickly became a huge fixture in John's life. Stu had things that Paul couldn't really offer at that point in time. John was at his heart a musician who aspired to be seen as an artist (he would later express surprise that he didn't become an artist). Stu was the passionate artist who knew tons about the art of the period that could teach and inspire John. Their creative leanings meant they could work on projects together and share art notebooks and poetry. (Including yes the one with anti-semitic story which I mention again as I believe it's an important thing to remember when it comes to both John and Stu and the culture of the time.) Stuart by the sounds of it was even writing a novel about John at the time of his death. They were fascinated and inspired by each other.

So, creatively they fired each other up but more importantly perhaps, Stu and John were peers. It's funny to think about when you see the Beatles later but at the time Paul and George were the kids in their school uniform coming to see their cool older friend at art school. That's an important divide. When Paul and George's parents insisted their kids do their homework and go to bed, John and Stu could stay up and talk all hours of the night, which they did. They also could rent a place together and spend long hours chatting (despite John moving out later after realising electricity cost money lol.) There's a different dynamic that the age similarity offered as well. Whilst Paul would later somewhat grow into this role, Stu could act as an authority figure to John as well as open up to John in a way you can really only do with your peers. Stu was the person John opened up to throughout Stu's life:

How long can one go on writing and writing like you. I now don’t really know who I’m writing to or why it’s quiet peculiar. I usually write like this and forget about it but if I put it in a little part of my [almost?] secret self in the hands of someone miles away who will wonder what the hell is going on or just pass it off as toilet paper. Anyway I don’t care really what happens because when I think about it, it’s so bloody unimportant – but what is important who has the right to say that this letter is not important and this is a something any way – anyway – anyway – yeah! I wonder what it would be like to be a cretin or something. I bet it’s gear. & how are you keepin Stuart old chap are you as ok – is life as good – bad shite, great – wonderful as it was or is it just a thousand years of nothing and coolness on and on and on. I think this is it Goodbye Stu don’t write out of – er what is it? well not because you think you ought to write when you feel like So goodbye (from John you know the one with glasses) ANYWAY BYE BYE see you soon I don’t know why I said that I remember a time when everyone I loved hated me because I hated them so what so what so fucking what I remember a time when belly buttons were knee high when only shitting was dirty and everything else clean + beautiful I can’t remember anything without a sadness So deep that it hardly becomes known to me so deep that its tears leave me a spectator of my own STUPIDITY + so I go rambling on with a hey nonny nonny nonny no

Extract from a letter to Stuart Sutcliffe from John Lennon, 1961

By lots of accounts Stu was gentle but firm when it came to telling John he'd gone too far. John references this aspect of Stu to Hunter Davies:

"I looked up to Stu. I depended on him to tell me the truth. Stu would tell me if something was good and I'd believe him."

The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (Hunter Davies)

In this way I kind of see Stu as a proto-Yoko. John was so insecure and uncertain about his grip on the world and reality that he relied on Stu to be his point of reference and guide. Paul did this too later and I think in Hunter Davies John mentions this, but not at this time period and not as much due to their competitiveness. This may be why some people saw Stu as the person that really understood John at this time period:

"During the turbulent adolescence that prefaced a turbulent manhood, hardly anyone knew Lennon as intimately as Stuart Sutcliffe. If they weren't exactly David and Jonathan, June Furlong, one of the life models at Liverpool's Regional College of Art, had "never seen two teenagers as close as those two."

The Gospel According To Lennon by Alan Clayson

Now this person likely never met John and Paul together but this is only one of many similar quotes and even Julia captain of John and Paul's friendship boat seems to agree there was a period where Stu dominated and Paul 'kept his distance' from the John-Cyn-Stu 'menage-a-trois'. But the friendship wasn't perfect and his position as John's ultimate best friend was never iron clad. This is best outlined by the shit they pulled when John convinced him to join on Bass for the Beatles.

Despite being John's best friend, Stu was teased and bullied:

"They argued as usual amongst themselves, but most of all they picked on Stu, the newest member of the group. John, George and Paul had been with each other long enough to know that rows and arguments and criticism didn't mean much. If it did, you just argued back. "We were terrible," says John. "We'd tell Stu he couldn't sit with us, or eat with us. We'd tell him to go away, and he did." At one hotel they stayed at, a variety show had just left. There had been a dwarf in the show and they found out which bed he had slept in and said that would have to be Stu's. They certainly weren't going to sleep in it. So Stu had to. "That was how he learned to be with us," says John. "It was all stupid, but that was what we were like."

The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (Hunter Davies)

Why John encouraged this I have no idea, maybe jealousy over Stu's looks and wanting to play people off each other? Things were tense in both Scotland and Hamburg, especially between Stu and Paul. As I said in my last post, the girls were fighting and it was mutual. Paul was mad for both fair and immature teenage-boy reasons. Stu could not be bothered with the bass most of the time and couldn't really play well and was only there as he was '(John's) best friend' (ouch for Paul). Paul conversely had given up higher education to be there and was sending lots of money back home. He also was dating the girl Paul fancied. Stu was popular with the new group and also did mean things like help John steal Paul's money when money was really tight for him. Paul in turn was a passive aggressive, jealous and mean. It all came to ahead in the punch up onstage which according to Spitz came about from Paul wanting money back and saying that Stu could borrow some from Astrid. Stu goes for him and reports vary from full-on bust up to embarrassing scuffle. Stu then goes to where Astrid and Paul's gf Dot are, demands Dot leaves and goes on a rant about Paul. Now all of this must be framed in the context of Stu receiving increasing brain damage from his condition that seemingly lead to mood swings and anger. Nevertheless, the mutual needling and anger, as well as John's refusal to do/say fuck all about it, especially given how protective John was of Stu, suggests that it wasn’t straightforward and/or John may have been playing some games to make both feel threatened. This would also make sense as to why we hear conflicting accounts of John and Stu being the centre of everything and everyone else in orbit AND John and Paul being the centre and everyone else playing catch-up, as well as John giving Paul the lead to take him round the Reeperbahn when John got dressed in the gorilla costume. (I know Paul may have just been the closest there but that always gave off bestie behaviour to me.)

(I did get an ask about how John and Paul's friendship survived it, I think it was damaged by Hamburg. When Paul got back home he got a job at a construction site and there's just a vibe of everything being a bit on tenterhooks. John also acts a bit weird at the period, not talking to anyone for a few weeks then making a lot of weird demands from Paul. I'm really not sure what to make of it.)

Even when he's back in Liverpool, John still writes long letters to Stu and vice-versa. I can't find it at all but I’ve read a really sad interview with John saying he missed his best mate and it's a shame that he's not with them. He had no idea at that point that Stu had already died of a brain hemorrhage at 21.

John is said to have gone into hysterics when he found out Stu had died. A lot of people who've spoken about this time (Aunt Mimi, his sister Julia, the Exsis) concur that at this point Stu was his best friend and the death shattered him. He even told Astrid he wished he could give his life for Stu’s. This is backed up by the fact that John never forgot Stu and his shadow lingered for the rest of John's life:

Stu was recalled in In My Life

Years later, after John composed the first of his truly poignant and heartfelt Beatles songs, "In My Life"—with its lines about "friends I still can recall/some are dead and some are living"—he revealed to me that the two people he had had uppermost in mind were myself and Stuart Sutcliffe. And then he stunned me with a statement that I'd never heard him address to anyone—least of all to another man. "You know, Pete," he said softly, "I do love you. But," he quickly added, "I loved Stuart as well."

Weird that Paul isn't mentioned surely you think that he would be mentioned if Pete was there too okay, okay my tin hat is going away this isn't the time

Pete Shotton, Nicholas Schaffner, John Lennon: In My Life

In 1965 John drew Stu on a postcard

He apparently said this about Stu prior to sending the postcard, prompted by an article about Stuart.

The card had been sent from Genoa mid-way through the Beatles' Italian tour. [...] But the conversation had become maudlin when I reminded him that he was going to talk to me for an article about Stuart. [...] In that sad telephone conversation before they set off for Milan, I asked him if he was happy: 'I'd be a lot happier if Stuart was still part of us,' he said, 'The Beatles would be complete.' And before he rang off he said 'Ill send you something.'

He also appears on the cover of Sgt Pepper

As mentioned, Stu gets mentioned in Hunter Davies in terms of wistfulness and guilt AND he gets a mention in John's insane 'if I were a homosexual' ramblings in early 70s. According to Yoko, John also wanted Yoko to write letters to him and didn't think it would be strange because Stu wrote letters to him.

I have a pet theory that as with a lot of things for John, his unresolved grief over Stu really came to the fore in the late 60s now that he had actually had a chance to sit down and think about things. I believe it was partially why he wanted Yoko to write letters and why he gets mentioned in the early 70s as a collaborator/best friend and not in 1980 where John only gives that credit to Paul and Yoko. I think with the cracks with Paul, John had started to think back on his old friend and guide and what advice he would give.

Stuarts presence is still felt throughout the seventies:

“He told me everything. He loved to talk about Hamburg. There were no secrets. It was the kind of life I never knew…. It meant total freedom. At his side always was Stuart, sweet Stuart. There wasn’t a time in John’s life when he didn’t think about Stuart. He spoke always of his love and respect for Stuart.”

Yoko discussing Stu in When They Were Boys: The True Story of the Beatles’ Rise to the Top by Larry Kane

Coming to grips with his death is also present in Skywriting

SEAN O’HAIRE: What happened to Stuart Cliff? DR. FISCHY: What happened was a full exchange of energy where it was not needed within the expression of your own self or in the energies involved around and about you. We cannot call it a happening. We’ll say it is an awakening, for in that way it has served an expression from the past to the present and to the future to where there shall be more of that incomplete vibration expressed to you in a more fuller understanding.

Skywriting by Word of Mouth, John Lennon

This isn't exhaustive but I think from all this it's pretty clear that John adored Stu, John grieved Stu and kept grieving Stu. Stu had a specific place in his life as a confidant that he tried to recreate with Yoko. At the time of Stu's death, he was John's best friend, probably slightly over Paul. Stuart had been able to be both a friend and paternal presence, a confidant and an artistic collaborator. His presence and loss was one of the foundational points in John's life.

But as we've been asked to play this stupid game and so many bios like to make a hoopla about it, were they at their closest ever as close as John and Paul were at their height?

No.

How do we know? Because John told us so:

" He [Paul] still is the closest friend I've ever had, except for Yoko, so I'm still close to him whatever goes on."

John Lennon to an interviewer, 1971

But Walrus! John just says shit! How do we know he isn't leaving out Stu because the press don't know Stu. Well true John does just say shit but this is at a time where John isn't the most glowing about Paul and he's had no problem mentioning Stu in this time period ('one of my best friends ever' would have made a similar point).

But Walrus again! If John picked Stu over Paul when they were young why wouldn't he be the boy bestie of all time, and why would John say that he was closer to Paul? Well, because of the environment and timings. Stu's death happened near the beginning of John and Paul's major bonding moments. If you look at their personal timeline, Paris, the Nerk twins, and getting signed happened just before Stu died. That's missing the major years of Beatlemania, Key West, LSD, Paul growing more into being John's peer and a load of other huge moments in their lives. It's like how John writes to Cyn in 1962 about wanting the house to themselves and not have Paul around all the time. Would you say because he feels closer to Cyn then that John in his overall lifetime loved Cyn more than Paul? No, because relationships change over time and theirs were no exception. (One thing to consider as well is that we don't yet have many letters between John and Paul during their Beatles years and earlier, probably because they were spending so much time with each other. We know a couple exist that Paul considers too personal for publication but I'm sure there are others. It's easy to understand what John felt for Stu as we have the letters, I think we would also have an easier time understanding what John felt for Paul if we had the equivalent of those.)

At the end of the day Paul was the man he believed he had a psychic bond with, the man he couldn’t shut up about, the man whom he’d conquered the world with with their endless collaboration, the man with a twin personality to him and according to John spent more time with throughout the 60s than he had with Yoko ever. To be frank if Paul had died in 67' I don't think this would have been a conversation.

As mentioned early, in early 1970s John elevates his partnership with Stu to his collaborations with Paul and Yoko but by 1980 he’s pretty clear that Paul and Yoko are their own category.

"I was saying to somebody the other day, “There’s only two artists I’ve ever worked with for more than a one night stand, as it were. That’s Paul McCartney, and Yoko Ono.” And I think that’s a pretty damned good choice!!"

John Lennon interview with DJ Dave Sholin, 1980

There are of course the what ifs. Would Stu still being alive mean that John was not as close with Paul? Maybe, highly doubtful though as the Beatles experience was so intense. If Stu remained a Beatle would John be as close with Paul? If Stu remained a Beatle he wouldn't be Stu so no. At the same time who knows what it would have been like if Paul and John were peers from the off? I said this to @the62ndbugsfan when it comes to Stu vs Paul (hi girl sorry i've made our chat a whole ass post lol) but to go a bit Wuthering Heights, soulmates are made as much from the earth as they are of the stars. What binds us is our experiences just as much as our personalities. There may be a universe where Stu and John took on the art world together or became inseparable bffs again after the Beatles disbanded, but it is not our universe. In this universe Stu tragically died and John and Paul chose to become Lennon/McCartney and artistically unite themselves forever.

Even going back to Stu's lifetime, I've said it before and I'll say it again I find it interesting that not only did John choose to go to Paris with Paul rather than pay to meet up with Stu somewhere but that they arranged to meet up with Juergen and nobody told Stu until they'd already gone. Stu was shocked and didn't know if it meant the end of the Beatles which is a pretty big thing for him not to know about. Why didn't John tell him if they're apparently still writing long letters? Was it because he really wanted to do this with Paul and didn't want to hurt Stu's feelings? And that's really the point I want to make here. Due to his trauma John was preoccupied with reinforcing ranking of relationships within his life. But the thing is friendship rankings are made up guidelines and the reality is far more complicated. You can have a designated best friend but feel closer to another friend at times, you can want to do one thing specifically with one friend and not the other for various reasons. You can (as I do) have more than one equal best friend. Friendship as with most relationships are in a constant state of flux and each friendship you have will give and mean a different thing, even if they are of similar value to you.

Paul may have ended up closer to John than Stu had been, but that doesen't make John's relationship with Stu any less special. Nor does Stu negate the significance of Paul. Whilst both fit into John's pattern of intense relationships and demands related to that, both had unique positions and meaning to him. Considering what I've gone into about John's closeness to Stu, it actually says something deeply, borderline unnervingly, intense about John and Paul that Paul pipped Stu to the post. Maybe it's time Beatles bios accept the fact that John Lennon just wouldn't be into them like that, stop using a tragically prematurely deceased young man as a prop in their jealous psychological warfare against Paul McCartney, stop perpetuating one of the most damaging games that John did to his loved ones and allow both relationships the space to shine and showcase the amazing talent that was the Beatles and those that surrounded them.

[goofyguppy]

.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[muntitled]

Protecting His Investment

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one gets to hurt you except him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Murder, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Voyeurism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Massive Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

This can be read as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

“Shouldn't I be blindfolded?"

If it weren't for the silence simmering between you both, in this monotonous taxi drive, he might’ve not heard you at all and perhaps you should have been more careful with your choice of wording but you were feeling a tiny bit reckless this Wednesday afternoon. He hadn't ever offered to personally fetch you from campus, and you felt incredibly juvenile when you spotted him standing there like a dad, in his grown-up suit while his briefcase hung in his hands in front of him. You'd almost convinced yourself that you were imagining things. That somehow your obsession with the man who kidnaps you every Wednesday to fulfill all his messed up fantasies was truly taking a toll on your mental health.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he was real. And he had come to pick you up and you were feeling awfully giddy as he ushered you both into a taxi while a few of your peers stood and stared.

By now he would've blindfolded you. Keeping you completely clueless to the location he brings you to every Wednesday. See, your Salesman had myriad deep rooted issues. Mania. Sociopathy. Sadism. But the issue that irked you the very most was his inability to trust. Before you know it, you're pouting up a storm as you ask him. "Why aren't we using the blindfold today?"

He slowly removes his gaze from the window, where he had been pondering like the old man he is. He quirks up an eyebrow, letting the intensity of his attention wash completely over you.

"Would you like to be blindfolded?" He asks playfully. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and his lips are quirked up like it usually is when he's being sardonic. Still, you remain cautious as you lean forward. You send one quick glance to the taxi driver, wondering if you were being led in some kind of hearse on the road to your death.

"A-Are you going to kill me?" For the first time, cold, white fear ices the warm blood rushing through your veins. Come to think of it, he did seem far chirpier than usual. Perhaps that should have been your first warning. The flags were blood red but you were wearing rose-tinted glasses.

He only snickers before placing a heavy hand on your head, patting it down.

He doesn't answer you for the duration of the taxi drive, causing you to slip more and more into your thoughts of morbidity and despair. Why else wouldn't he blindfold you if not to end your life once you got there? It seemed dreadfully logical and so on-brand for him. He'd get bored of you sooner or later and then he'd dispose of you. There'd be no need to blindfold you any longer while he took you to his place because you'd soon become a corpse and-

"Doll." The voice cuts through the chatter filling your brain. All at once, the car has stopped, and warm air rushes into the interior as he holds the door open for you. "Get out of the nice man's car." He jests politely, quickly prompting you to unbuckle your seatbelt and scramble out of the taxi.

The second you're out he walks ahead of you. The building that comes into focus before you have your brows crinkling.

You quickly catch up to him, gazing up at his monotonous face. "Why are we here? You never come to my house."

He doesn't respond as you both walk into the foyer. He walks briskly and powerfully, like a man on the move while you send a small wave to the security manning the front desk. You both enter an empty elevator and he presses a button without you ever having to tell him which floor.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

He lowers his gaze to you, one eyebrow quirked up.

"You only die when you disappoint me and as of late," he stares directly ahead, "You haven't disappointed me."

The elevator dings and he steps out. You follow him like a puppy without a leash. "In fact I'd say your work ethic as of late has been-" he blows out a long sigh as he makes it your apartment door- recalling all the weeks you two have spent together in vivid kaleidoscopic images. All the pain you let him inflict on you and pleasure he'd offer as a reward.

"-nothing short of stellar. I'm proud of you." He punches in the code to your apartment and you both enter. The curtains are drawn shut because your roommate hates sunlight. You preferred it but there was no communicating with something like her.

He kicks off his shoes at the door.

"What are we doing here?" You ask nervously, "My roommate will be back soon and she isn't very nice."

"We won't be playing at my place today." He says finally meeting your wild and nervous eyes. He seems so lax and so in control. "We'll be playing here."

"B-But my roommate."

"Is that why you were crying?" His gaze keeps you rooted to the floors, unable to move even if you wanted to, "Because of your roommate?"

"Crying? I wasn't crying-"

"Back at the university," he says, casually removing a microscopic piece of lint from his grey blazer, "Your head was beant and you looked up at me with bloodshot eyes." His eyes shine with amusement as he says, "Usually with our sessions, the crying only comes later on." Then he quirks his head and asks, "What happened?" There's a bang somewhere in the apartment and your head snaps forward. Your eyes scan over the adjoining living room and kitchen but he seems unfazed.

"It's stupid-" you shake your head, "Like who even still gets bullied in uni?"

You laugh pitifully, leaning against the nearest wall. He stands tall before you. A brick wall.

"Your roommate's threatening to kick you out of this apartment to move her boyfriend in?" He asks before adding, "Again."

Your head snaps up to him, "H-How-"

In that moment, he turns rather robotically, making his way deeper into your home. It's clean. Thank God.

"You don't realize how chatty you get when you're about to orgasm." He says before stopping right outside your closed bedroom door.

"My roommate- she... decided last night that- well- she would really like her boyfriend to live here instead-"

"Without consulting you first?" He clarifies, staring blankly ahead at the door, listening very attentively.

"Y-Yes without consulting me." You bring your hand to the doorknob, on your way to open it but he stops you with an iron grip around your wrist. You wince.

“Continue talking.” He says and you do.

"This morning they both kinda sprung on me that they'd like to be living here now. She went behind my back and already placed the deposit down our landlord, well," you clear your throat. "I might be homeless soon." You laugh but then swallow very thickly as the gravity of the situation falls onto your shoulders.

"And still you decided to have our sessions today?"

"If you'll have me," you nod.

"Remarkable." He replies. "Well I've never been very fond of my things or my toys getting dirty." He begins mysteriously as he places his hand directly over yours on the doorknob.

"Pardon?"

"I can't have my favorite toy living out on the street. Who knows what kind of animals would try to rape you or drug you or fucking stick their slimey dicks inside you-" he turns the doorknob, clicking your room open.

You're not even sure when this started happening. These 'private sessions' with your Salesman that quickly bled into something much more concerning. Before you knew it, he was seeping into your brain, polluting you with obsession. There had never ever been anyone else involved.

"What the hell did you do?" You ask, slowly entering your room to find two chairs placed directly in front of your bed. As soon as you enter, you hear the blood curdling, muffled screams being ripped from the throat of the two people strapped to those chairs.

"I'm protecting my investment," Says your Salesman as he pushes the door closed behind you.

Your feet feel like lead as you watch them and their panic-stricken eyes. There in front of you, they sit opposite one another, both with a haggard countenance and tears streaming down their cheeks.

At the sight of you, your roommate screams something horrid but it's muffled by the gag placed in her mouth, a gag the shape of a dog bone.

He's there too. The boyfriend. He's not as loud or as frantic as she is but he's significantly startled. His eyes are wild and vacant. The same gag.

"Oh my god-" you begin but he cuts in front of you, making his way to the couple seated across from each other.

"We're all gonna play a game- a quick one," He says, "Can't play for too long because I've been dying to get inside you since I saw those pretty little bloodshot eyes."

"Sir- I"

If you knew his name you might've screamed it in this moment. 'Sir' is your only point of reference to address the manic man in front of you.

This isn't right.

Right?

You're so confused, you barely register than you've thought out loud. It hits you as he slowly shrugs his blazer off.

"What isn't right is them thinking they can rape this apartment from underneath you." He says, folding it and placing it meticulously over your desk.

"I- have neighbors!?" You begin but he has a plan for that too.

"I had your room soundproofed since our first session." You're pushed into even more confusion.

"WHAT!? When did you even-"

"While you were at school-" he says before uncovering a handgun from his briefcase. A handgun and a silencer.

"Point is, Doll, I'm going to need you to play a game for me, ok?"

"DOLL!?" Comes your roommates' mortified and muffled cries.

"I need you to make one tiny decision for me." He says, screwing on the silencer onto the barrel of the revolver. It strikes you then that even when the mask is off, and the worst workings of his personality are on display for all to gaze upon, you still find him breathtakingly attractive.

"If-" tears burn the back of your throat, "If this room is soundproof why-why do you need a silencer?"

"I'm nothing if not a cautious man, you know this." Then his expression turns very grave and very dark as he says. "Don't you?"

“Yes, Sir,” you reply almost automatically. Like your need to respond to him- to please him, greatly overpowered your moral compass. “You're extremely cautious.”

Your roommate releases a shrill noise from the very back of her throat, her eyes pleading with the humanity she desperately tries to find in yours.

“Out of these two, he's my least favourite,” Your Salesman says, standing beside you. Eyes wild as he points his gun to the boyfriend's head.

“But this isn't about me,” he turns to face you, slowly dragging you gaze away from the victims that had once been your tormentors. You look up at him with a broken sob slipping through your lips. “I need you to choose.”

There it is.

His words seem to detonate what little fate you had in his humanity. There is nothing in his eyes except hedonism and violence.

"I'm going to have you to choose very quickly, baby-”

You're already shaking your head as frazzled braids tickle your shoulders. Your eyes find theirs and you immediately say, “I'm not going to do it.”

When you look at him again, you're almost horrified to find the smile that had once been on his face, completely wiped away. His face is a shadow and it strikes you way more than anything ever has. Something in you scolds you. It gnaws at you to make things right.

“Don't do that.” He says darkly. “Don't disappoint me.”

His hands -one still holding a gun- moves to cup both your cheeks. He cranes your neck further back, gazing deeply. “I can't have you living on the street.”

“You don't have to kill anyone-”

His jaw ticks, “Pick.”

“Sir…”

“You're disappointing me.”

All it takes is those three words to have your world crashing to the floor. Tears blur your vision as you raise a trembling finger.

“Him. I pick him.”

It's the first time you realized that you were brimming with codependency

Or stupidity.

Or maybe both

“That's a good girl.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The father you never had.

He lets his eyes meet that of the boyfriend who is shaking and writhing in seat.

“What a good fucking girl I have, wouldn't you agree?” He asks the boyfriend yet he only cries and cries and cries. Meanwhile, you're bathing in the warm, milky words of praise.

"I suppose you wouldn't be able to agree to much in a second-"

He raises the gun.

Wait-" but the trigger is already pulled, and the bullet slices through the air and the deed is done.

It's remarkable how fast it travels. The speed of the bullet. Like it's competing with light itself. One moment his head is there and his brain is inside it, functioning like usual and the next moment, it's splattered all across my bedroom wall, coating your stuffed animals and drenching your pink bedding.

“You killed someone…”

“We killed someone, and you did such a good job. Now we're real rich people-”

You shake your head.

“Oh my fucking god we killed someone-”

It's stupid, but the first thought that comes to mind is-

“How- How am I gonna get the stain out!?”

“I'll get you new sheets, Doll, I promise…”

Meanwhile the roommate is crying and screaming her throat hoarse. You watch gravely as vomit soaks her gag.

“That's fucking disgusting.” He says before turning back to you. A spray of blood scatters across the side of his handsome face. He'd just committed murder and yet you still describe him as handsome.

“You're not disgusting at all.” He says, “You're so clean and beautiful.” His large hands rub over your face. “And now this apartment's yours. Ours. Maybe.”

Ours.

That word somehow affects you more than the murder you'd just lay witness to. It has you staring up at him with grateful, love-filled eyes. You're still scared but, you were his. And that was a powerful feeling. You'd never belonged to anyone before. Certainly not any man as handsome or smart as this. This isn't rose-tinted glasses anymore, it's rose-tinted vision.

“We killed someone.” You say. Solidifying the fact that you were a couple.

Your heart rages in its cage when his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck yes we did,” he moans before smashing his lips down onto yours. Confusion and discomfort wage a terrific and bloody war inside you as he kisses you absolutely dizzy. Your insides are swirling and your stomach is turning at the sight of the blood drenching your walls.

he tips your head up, forcing his tongue in and he moans when you let him. Your tongues touch and coax and he pulls you in close.

“You know how good you looked when I picked you up earlier, Doll? I loved seeing those bloodshot eyes of yours.” He mumbles, “I just hated not being the one to make you cry.”

You sob something awful. The sound escapes you while your lips are still plastered to his.

“But this is all me,” he says proudly, gazing down at your watery eyes as he pins you up against the wall. “This is all me.”

Your roommate sits in a daze. Over his wide shoulder, her eyes stare blankly into yours and you almost find yourself mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'.

Almost. But you never do.

Your brain is too clouded by feelings of fear, regret, pleasure and… satisfaction. In your defense her boyfriend really fucking sucked.

"Take this off." He groans, lowering his large build to the floor to shove your shorts and underwear down. Undressing you almost formally as he lifts your one leg out followed by the other.

Your eyes are still on her.

Every vile word she's said to you. Every occasion she'd bring her equally cruel friends over and they'd gossip about you loud enough for their words to carry through the walls.

You realize very gravely that your care is waning.

That humanity that was still left inside you is thinning.

And he's pressing wet kisses against your legs, worshipping the soft cellulite at your thighs.

A man in a suit at his knees for you and she's forced to watch.

It makes you feel so-

"Fucking beautiful, fuck." He groans.

The more riled up he is, the less care he gives to how crass his language becomes. As if trapped in a daze, with your eyes still on your tormentor -your bully- you hook your fingers into his hair. Parting your legs you lead his mouth to your exposed cunt and he slurps you up for all your worth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he eats you out with vigor. He flattens his tongue and suctions his mouth against your clit, causing a deep and guttural moan to spill from your lips.

He pulls back, breathing raggedly, "Fuck my face," he commands, before placing both hands on your ass, enough to have your cunt riding his open mouth. It feels so fucking good your eyes are stinging with tears. You let them fall because you'd know he'd appreciate it. He appreciates every tear in your confidence. Every waver in your air-tight judgement. It undoes him completely to see you so fucking pathetic.

He looks up at you while you're riding him. Those morally black eyes are urging you to hump his face and you do.

At the sight of your tears falling his nails dig into your ass and you moan more. All the sounds you're able to make are in intelligible sounds of pleasure. But you force yourself to come to your senses. Just long enough to whisper

"Th-Thank you, Sir,"

He stills. Completely stunned.

You come. It crashes down on you all while your roommate tries to squeeze her crying eyes shut, shaking her head as if trying to delude herself into believing none of this is real.

"You are fucking fire, you know that?" He croaks, slowly rising. You're breathing oh so quickly and it only speeds up at the sight of your arousal casting his jaw.

“I wanna fucking hurt you so bad. I wanna eat you. I wanna fuck you. I wanna do so many unspeakable things to you- you're so perfect.”

He throws one more gaze over his shoulder. His almond eyes scan over the body, then the girl and he groans, furiously undoing his belt.

"How the fuck did I get so lucky?” he says, almost to himself.

"Answer me." He presses his body firmly against yours, until your spine is straight against the wall. "Fucking answer me when I talk to you."

He growls before bringing a hand up to your chin. It's painful the way he grabs you, but you're so used to pain. It lives here now. Between you both.

"I-I- don't know-" you really don't know and he melts at that.

"I'll tell you how, Princess. " he wraps your leg around his waist, "People like me- people we call crazy and evil-” His eyes are so wide, his smile too. -we get nice things. And people like that-" he quirks his head backwards, “The weak? Those people on the streets, they die.” He says, grinding his cock agaisnt your cunt, “And we don't die, yeah?"

"Oh fuck." You're seeing stars when his cock sinks into your cunt. It's hard and raging and he's already doing multiple shallow thrusts to force it deeper. "S-So big-" you can't talk, you hardly ever can when he's like this. Fucking you into an absolute frenzy.

"You gonna squirt for me, Doll?” he grits his teeth, hips stuttering as he ravages you against the wall. "F-Fuck." Some

“She's a really good squirter-” he turns his head to watch your roommate over his shoulder. Her head is slumped forward, she's fainted perhaps.

After weeks of trying to impress him, to show him that you were not the weak little thing he had first kidnapped- you realize it's paid off. He caveman grunts as he fucks you deeper and harder and a cry rips itself from your throat.

“Y-You want me?” You ask with trembling lips.

“Baby,” he breathes directly into your mouth. “I need you.”

"F-Fuck-" your orgasm sneaks up on you and he watches with immense gratification as you come undone on his cock.

“You're making a mess on my cock-” clear liquid streams out of hou, threatinging tk lush his cock out but he fucks you through it.

“Gonna fucking cum inside you, baby. You're gonna take it, aren't you? My good girl's gonna fucking take it,” he throws his head back as his eyes flutter closed and soon he's fucking spurts of warm cum into you.

It fills you completely until the mess is coating your thighs. Through your wave of endless euphoria you see stars, the planets and him in the very centre of it all, guiding you and coaxing you through the bountiful high.

Even when he's done, his cock is still nestled deep inside you, pushing you over the brink of stimulation.

"You're very promising.” He admits, “Always have been.”

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[feral4daryl]

need a part 2 of sweet scent with pervy daryl trying to explain it to you but you couldn't get it cuz you'd never done anything like it so he says he's gonna show you how good it feels and has to muffle your screams so no one in the house hears you as his cock practically splits your tiny cunt in half and he uses his thumb to rub ur clit to try and make u relax.........

I'm crazy but I'm free

masterlist and other infos || MDNI

sweet scent pt2.

perv!daryl x innocent!fem!reader

summary: after getting caught sniffing your panties by you, daryl persuades you into giving your precious virginity away to him while your dad's just in the next room.

warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl's is in late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18 [or older, it's up to you]), 18+ smut, praising, dubcon? (reader lacks enthusiastic consent at first and daryl has to do some convincing), panty gagging, p-in-v, blowjobs, cunnilingus, masturbation, manipulation, petnames, daddy kink, orgasm denial, mentions of dumbification, mentions of degradation.

word count: 6.2k

a/n: the following content contains some extreme fetishes and kinks that some readers might find disturbing, so if you're not comfortable with any of those, please do not proceed. click here to read part 1.

<previous chapter>

[...] His movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. He sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. He opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.

Then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...

You. Standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.

"U-uncle Daryl?"

---

Shit.

You definitely weren't what Daryl expected to see when he opened his eyes, the remains of his freshly busted nut all over his hand and his cock out, fully on display. For a good 5 seconds, he just freezed, completely unsure of what to do. But then, it hit him. He freaked out.

His eyes got as big as they possibly could and he immediately pulled his cock in his pants back again, clumsily trying to regain his composure, taking a little longer than usual due to his nervousness. Meanwhile, you just stood there with an unreadable expression. You didn't look exactly shocked, or angry, or anything like it. You looked strangely curious, with your head slightly tilted to the side.

Daryl shook his hand to get rid of some of his essence that was still sticking to it and then rubbed it on the side of his pants, on the hip area. Still not capable of looking you in the eyes, he quickly glanced at your frame and finally broke the awkward silence.

“Y/N? W-What'r'ya doin' here?” Stuttering was very unusual for Daryl, considering that although he was a man of very few words, he was always very direct and precise with them. Maybe playing it cool as if you hadn't just caught him in the act was the way out of that unpleasant situation.

“Well...” You let out a small chuckle and took a step closer to him. “This is my room.” His awkward smile immediately faded away.

“Oh, uh... I was jus’...” He looked around the room, searching for anything to use as an excuse for being there. But before he could start, you interrupted him.

“I didn't leave with the others, daddy told me to stay here to take care of you. He's in his room.” Your sweet girly voice had a way of calming Daryl, making him a bit more relaxed despite the current scenario and the shame he was feeling. But at the same time, just hearing you enunciate that one little word 'daddy' had him taking a deep breath to control his urges and not have another erection right there and then. You said that so innocently, because, well, it was in fact innocent since you referred to your actual father Hershel, but still, Daryl's twisted mind made it sound suggestive in his head.

“Take care'a me?” He pondered. Daryl wondered why your reaction was so calm considering what you had just witnessed. Maybe you didn't see much.

“You know, somebody's gotta change your bandage.” You smiled and pointed to his head that still had the bandage around it. “Actually, can you step to the side a bit? So I can...” You gestured to the dressing table behind him. He didn't say anything and just did as you said, moving to the side a little so you could approach the piece of furniture. In that moment, Daryl was the definition of what they call a standoffish.

“I was expecting to find you in your bed, resting. As you should, uncle Daryl.” Your voice carried a hint of playfulness along with a sincere worry. But the way you called him uncle for the second time that day gave him mixed sensations. He wasn't sure if he was aroused or weirded out by it. Or both.

You extended your hand, meaning to pull the drawer open to collect the items needed to change his bandage, which included the gauze, antiseptic wipes, medical tapes, sterile dressing and other kinds of medical stuff your dad had taught you how to handle, but you had to stop your hand midway when you noticed a white slimy thing dripping down the furnishing.

He followed your eyes, noticing how stared at the liquid. The farmer's sweet young daughter had just noticed the results of Daryl's arousal while it coated the dressing table. His mind started rushing with apprehension, you could tell your dad and everyone else how much of a perverted old man Daryl actually was, and he could be kicked out of the group, being left alone in the woods to fend for himself. It's not that he wasn't capable to make it on his own, but his family was important to him, he didn't wanna lose them over that type of thing that could change the way they looked at him forever.

“What's this?” You bended your knees a little, leaning forward and squinting your eyes to take a better look at the unknown substance. Now, you had completely forgotten the reason why you came into that room that was changing his bandage. Daryl lifted one of his eyebrows out of confusion. Did you really not know what that was? If that was the case, it kind of made sense.

Of course. Living on a farm far from the city, you had a close-knit relationship with your family in a way that they were pretty much all the people you would interact with. You had never had boyfriends, or kissed, or anything remotely romantic like that due to your dad's overprotectiveness, after all, you were his youngest daughter. All you knew about the existence of sexual stuff had been taught by him, when he mainly warned you about the terrible consequences of that type of action and that you had to stay innocent.

You didn't really know what he meant by all that, since he was very vague in his descriptions about sex. Hershel just used to say that there were certain areas on your body that you should never let a boy get near and you knew better than to disobey your father's orders, being aware that he always knew what was best for you. Not even your own hands had ever darted down your body to meet those spots more than once or twice before quickly pulling away. You wanted to remain innocent, whatever that meant.

But Daryl was the observant type, and he quickly caught up that you knew nothing about that type of thing. He knew you had always lived in that farm, away from the perverted hands of boys your age (or older like him) so connecting the dots wasn't tricky at all.

Oh, the things he could show you. That thought alone brought a somewhat creepy smirk to Daryl's face as he stared into the wall, contemplating the opportunity he had in hands to finally have his way with you. He knew he still had to be careful though.

“Daryl?” Your voice snapped him out of his trance. You turned your head to look at him before turning your entire body to face him. Your gaze was curious.

“This?” He motioned with his chin towards the dripping substance on the piece of furniture, looking out of place. “Ya don'... know wha' it is?” He double checked, wanting to make sure you were actually unfamiliar erotic nature of what you saw him doing.

“Well, I saw where it came from.” You revealed, not sounding accusing at all, just simply stating a fact.

“...How long 've ya been watchin' me?” He asked with an almost audible gulp. Though he was considerably excited about teaching you all that new stuff, he was still unsure if he should or not. It'd been so long since his last sexual interaction with someone else that he could barely remember it. And doing it with the daughter of the man that gave him a roof to put over his head in times like these? That was risky.

“A while.” You stated. Now, Daryl could notice how you started staring at his crotch area with a renewed sense of interest. That meant you had definitely seen his dick despite his efforts to hide it when he first got caught just moments ago. He wondered if you knew what it was or its purpose.

You stepped even closer to him and he couldn't help but step back slightly. “I've never seen somebody pee like that. Are you... Sick?” You raise an eyebrow. “The bathroom's just in the next room, you know...” Your worried tone was awfully adorable to Daryl. And well, he was indeed sick, but not in the way you meant it. Nonetheless, the amusing way you mistook his semen for urine made him share a light chuckle.

“Nah, tha's... Tha's not piss.” He bluntly let out. You walked across your room and over to your bed, sitting on its edge. Daryl followed you until he was standing in front of you. He crossed his arms.

“How so?” You tilted your head to the side with a sincere curiosity displayed on your face. You had seen the way he rubbed that one thing of his that you weren't sure how it worked until that slimy liquid started oozing out of it, deeply stimulating your curiosity.

“Ya sure ya wanna know?” His tone sounded more dark and his voice turned hoarser, however, that didn't seem to faze you. You nodded frantically. “Aigh', i'll show ya.” Once again, a smirk creeped onto his face. Your eyes were all sparkly as you attentively listened to him. “Sometimes people touch themselves ta feel good, ya know?” You shrugged, not really sure of what he was talking about.

As he spoke, he took light and slow steps towards you, like a predator preparing to hunt its prey, until his knees was almost touching yours. “Ya ever touched yerself, darlin'?” Despite the raspiness in his voice, it was now rather calm, with a surge of some sweetness to it.

“Like how?” You asked.

“Like here...” He extended his hand with a gentle movement, his finger tracing a path from the valley between your breasts down to your bellybutton. The slightly ticklish sensation made you flinch a little. Then, his finger continued making its way down to your lower belly, stopping inches above your clothed pussy. “'N here...”

Your breath hissed, and you started remembering how your dad told you those parts were sacred and shouldn't be touched by anyone, no matter who. The uncertainty was obvious in your face as you discreetly pushed his hand away. “Uncle Daryl...”

“Ya can call me jus' Daryl, sweetheart. 'M yer friend, remember?” He tried his best to sound convincing.

“Yes, Daryl...” You corrected yourself with an awkward chuckle. “I... I think I shouldn't.” You avert your gaze from his.

“Why not? Dontcha wanna know wha' it's like?” He leaned in a little closer, resting his hands on your thighs. You made a motion to try to push him away again, but he insisted on his touch. “Don' be scared, doll. 'M not gunna hurt ya. Quite the opposite.” He smirked while practically whispering the last part, making sure to sound extra coaxing.

You weren't really sure what you were afraid of, exactly. You just knew that you wanted to make your father happy and proud of you, since he'd always been so caring towards you and your family. In the end, you just wanted daddy's approval.

“I'm... I'm not sure. I don't know, it doesn't feel right.” You confessed, your voice filled with worry. Daryl knew how to be intimidating when he wanted to.

“'S okay, doll.” He spoke the way one would speak to a puppy. And giving you no time to protest, he used one of his hands to tug at the hem of your white tank top and pulled it up in one go, revealing your bare tits to him. He bit his lips, noticing you weren't wearing a bra. As quick as he did so, you felt so ashamed of your sudden nudity that you lifted your arms up to try to cover yourself up from his hungry eyes. “D-Daryl...”

“Shhhh...” He shushed you against your ear, making shivers run down your spine. Although you were uncertain, the way he spoke to you made certain parts of your body warm up, an unusual sensation for you. “Ya got such pretty tits... Ya shouldn't hide 'em away from me.” As he said that, he gently grabbed one of your breasts, giving it the slightest squeeze not to startle you. You couldn't help but let out a small squeak at the unfamiliar sensation. Weirdly enough, it felt good in a way you had never felt before.

“Ya like tha'?” He whispered. “It's nice, but... Daddy wouldn't like that. I just wanna make daddy happy.” You just wanted to be a good girl. Perhaps, you could find a different way of doing that.

“Yeah?” He muttered practically to himself as he got an idea. “Well, I can be yer daddy for today. Like tha', ya could make yer daddy happy in a way. Yer jus' gotta lemme lead ya, aigh'?” He didn't feel guilty in the slightest for making you engage in one of his twisted fetishes while you were barely aware of it.

“H-huh?" You were uncertain about the reason behind his suggestion.

“Ya can pretend 'm yer daddy.” He continued playing her mind. You weren't really sure if you liked the idea to depict him as your old man, but you tried to convince yourself to play along.

“But... What will he think of me when he finds out?” You fidgeted with your fingers. Meanwhile his grip on your breast continued to intimidate you.

“He don' have ta know. C'mon, dontcha wanna make daddy happy?” He conveyed in a hush against your ear, his thumb now grazing your sensitive nipple, making you feel that one funny sensation again. You couldn't help but lean into his touch.

You closed your eyes, darting your tongue out to lick your lips. The nervousness in you due to the newness of it all made your lips dry. The way Daryl was making you feel was curious, and you just wanted more of it. He took your silence as a confirmation.

“Good girl.” He cooed before capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, very gently sucking on it. The feeling made you arch your back instantly.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

You just wanted to be a good girl. And if following Daryl's lead was a way to do it, you were all in for it. Your senses awakened as a cascade of unfamiliar yet electrifying sensations coursed through you, a dance of pleasure that tingled on your skin. In that moment, a subtle warmth enveloped you, as if you had discovered a secret realm of bliss previously unknown.

You reached for his head, the feeling of your delicate fingernails scratching against his scalp and pulling him closer sent tingling sensations all over his body. Instinctively, you slightly opened your legs at the pleasure and that drew a smirk onto Daryl's face.

“Eager fer daddy, huh?” The way he referred to himself like that made a faint blush spread across your cheeks, although you couldn't wrap your head around the reason why. It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.

“I need ya to trust me, 'kay?” He said as he pulled your shorts down and then tossed them aside, revealing your white cotton panties. Once again, you felt to urge to hide, not knowing how to deal with someone else seeing you naked for the first time. But before your legs could involuntarily close, his big hands groped your thighs, keeping them spread apart. “'S okay, sunshine.” He practically manhandled you, gently but firmly pushing your body downward so you rested you back on the mattress.

The new position made you feel strangely vulnerable, but it wasn't exactly a bad feeling. Your doe eyes had a mix of unsureness and curiosity as they meet his. Sensing the mixed sensations within you, Daryl leaned in to place a small peck on your plush lips, aiming to make you more comfortable. The feeling of his rough lips against your soft ones so suddenly almost made you flinch, but they felt rather inviting. As he pulled back, a confident smirk could be seen displayed on his face.

The archer's rugged fingers traveled their way down your body once again until they found the soft fabric of your panties, making your breath hiss. He brushed his index and middle fingers against your clothed pussy lips. Just with that, the dampness was so obvious that a small wet spot could be seen on the cotton fabric right where your slit would be. He dragged his fingers across it until they reached your clit.

“This lil spot righ' here...” He kept his hand there. “...is magical." For now, he just added a small pressure, testing the waters and watching close to your reaction, but that was enough to draw a whimper from you, the unknown sensation making you grasp his forearm. It indeed felt magical. You bit your lips and though you couldn't see it, Daryl shared a satisfied smile at the way he was able to get you all hot and bothered with just a simple touch.

Your legs squirmed a bit and he took that as a good sign, so he continued. Now, he started slowly rubbing your clit in circular motions over the fabric of your panties. Your back arched again, and you accidentally let out a dangerously loud moan.

“Nuh-uh.” He brought his other index finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be quiet. “Ya gotta be quiet, ya hear me?” His tone was mostly reprimanding, which strangely excited you. You nodded, enjoying the authority he guided you with through those new sensations. You had touched yourself there before, but never like that. The sensation always felt somewhat wrong, but with Daryl, it was totally different.

You were still kind of upset at yourself for disobeying your dad, but the way Daryl worked his fingers so skillfully had you seeing stars. You never thought you'd be handing out your innocence for some old redneck you met just a while ago, but there you were, completely given to him.

In the beginning, Daryl used to always kind of avoid you, despite your attempts of trying to get to know at least a little bit about the mysterious archer. He knew that deep down, those desires towards you were always there, since the very first time he saw you. At first, he tried to brush them off, but now, all he wanted was to be the one to feel your tight virgin cunt for the first time.

In a swift motion, his big hands tugged at the hem of your underwear. “Up.” He ordered, gesturing for you to lift your hips so he could pull them down. You didn't argue at all and promptly did as he said, reveling in the control he had over you. It was like he dominated your weak mind. “Good girl.” He cooed once again. Oh, if only he knew what that did to your little inexperienced pussy.

After tossing the piece of fabric aside, he reached for you knees, gently spreading them apart. The sight of your glistening bare cunt had his mind rushing through all the things he could do to it. He wondered if he would be able to hold himself back and be gentle or if he would end up losing control. After all, he hadn't done anything like that in such a long time that his whole body was aching for it. He stared at it in an almost scary way, you'd never seen his eyes so hungry.

If his cock hadn't awaken until that moment, now it was hard as a fucking rock. He had to really fight the urges to pull it out his pants and dick you down right there and then, but he knew he had to take it easy on you at least for now and get you nice and ready for him, even though you were already visibly dripping wet.

“Is this all fer me?” His tone was almost mocking. You weren't sure what he meant by that, not fully understanding the concept of natural lubrication, but you just nodded with your eyes closed. Something about being in that position felt so right, so freeing that it had you wondering why you never did that before, and why you were so afraid of trying it in the first place.

Daryl's hands sensually traced their way down your body, exploring your every contour until they reached the back of your thighs, pushing them back until your wet cunt was all over his face. He tried his best to control himself, but his own arousal was practically taking over his mind, so he buried his face on it like a starving man. As soon as his wet tongue made contact with your sensitive little clit and he lapped at your abundant juices, you immediately gasped, gaining a look of disapproval from Daryl.

“I warned ya.” That was all he mumbled before taking your panties he had just took off you and sticking them into your mouth almost aggressively. You could taste yourself on the white fabric, and although it felt strange, it turned you on even more. Now, your little sounds were muffled by the piece of clothing as he resumed eating you out, flicking his tongue on hour clit and burying it between your folds. You never thought a feeling like that could actually exist as you experienced that overwhelming rush of pleasure, a novel sensation coursing through you sending shivers down your spine as a delightful warmth enveloped your entire being. You tried your best to hold back your sounds since your dad was home and could hear you if you slipped, but Daryl's skilled tongue and lips made it an extremely difficult task, even with your panties stuck in your mouth.

He continued working your clit with his mouth, and maybe a little sooner than it should, a tingling sensation forming in your lower belly caught your attention. Daryl noticed the obvious shift in your demeanor and took the panties out of your mouth so you could speak. “D-daddy...” You experimented the honorific he had previously suggested. “I-I feel funny.” You whimpered, squirming a bit harder than before as it started feeling as if you were gonna burst at any moment. Daryl smirked against your skin and gave your pussy a last peck before pulling away, making you whine in disapproval. It had only been seconds but you immediately missed the sensation. You craved it.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” He said. Not yet what, you wondered. But you still wanted to be good for him, so you nodded as the good girl you were. You couldn't think of anything you wouldn't do for him in that moment, considering how desperate you were to feel that pleasure again.

Your curious eyes followed his hands as they reached to unbuckled his own belt, setting it aside. He undid his pants and pulled them down just enough to reveal his boxer briefs to you. There. There was the place where you saw that sticky white thing shooting out from. Now, the excitement in you was unbearable as you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch his movements closely. Your eyes visibly lighted up and that didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.

“Yer gunna love this, lil' girl.” He bit his lips. Something was very obviously bulging in his boxers, which you found odd since it didn't seem to look so obvious when it was in his pants even though now it looked so big. Either way, you were completely drawn to it. You glued your eyes to his crotch while he pulled his underwear down.

You had heard about it, but you had never actually seen one of those before. In the aftermath of the apocalypse, his pubic hair had grown wild and untamed, a reflection of the makeshift survival and the absence of the once routine grooming practices. Not that he used to care a lot about that kind of thing before the outbreak. In a way, you thought it looked charming, suiting his rugged looks and personality.

You could feel your mouth starting to water at the sight of his cock standing tall and proud in front of you. Since the archer had touched his mouth to your cunt, you wondered if you could do the same to him in that same area on his body. As if he could smell your thoughts, he brought a hand to your head, gently pulling you closer to his crotch while he held it by the base.

“Ya wanna have a taste?” He slyly suggested and chuckled at your frantic nodding. Leaning closer to it, you felt the musky and raw scent that emanated from it, which made you even more drawn to the possibilities that ran through your mind. But at the same time, you didn't know what to do or how to handle it.

Bringing his hand to his mouth, he collected some saliva from it and rubbed the wetness on the tip of his cock to lubricate it. “Gimme yer hand.” He reached out his hand, and instantly you complied, allowing him to direct it towards his cock. He enveloped your hand around it, keeping his atop yours, slowly starting to move it up and down. It felt warm and hard against your soft fingers, and the way he threw his head back and quietly groaned made your stomach churn with butterflies. “Fuck baby, tha' feels good.” He had to whisper due to the dangerous presence of your dad in the house threatening to put your little playtime to an end.

You smiled proudly at yourself. You liked the way he sounded and you wished to draw more of those grunts from his lips. And Daryl, being just as eager as you, removed your hand from his length, holding it by the base. His other hand found its way to the back of your head, his touch almost feeling impatient as he pulled you closer to his cock. “Open yer mouth.” He didn't have to tell you twice. Therefore, he guided his swollen tip to your awaiting tongue, smearing his salty pre-cum all over it. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to hold back any compromising sounds.

Your lips instinctively closed around his tip, trying to mimic the way he sucked on your clit, aiming to make him feel as good as he previously did to you. The act not only gave him pleasure, but it also brought you a deep sense of satisfaction, making you hum against his sensitive skin. The vibrations from your vocal chords sent a chill through his body and he couldn't hold back this time, the warm sensation of your mouth being so tempting and promising that he pushed his hips forward a bit too much, causing it to hit the back of your throat and you to gag on it.

He immediately retracted his body, removing his cock from the velvety confines of your mouth. Your eyes got a little watery but you smiled either way. “Sorry, princess.” He said with a hint of awkwardness in his voice.

“It's fine, I liked it.” You confess, looking up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, sitting at the edge of the bed while he stood in front of you. Your innocent expression contrasting with the dirty nature of your encounter made him impossibly hornier, and he didn't feel like waiting any longer. “Fuck” He almost whined. Eagerness to feel you wrapping around him filled his body, so he grabbed you by the arms, not too rough so he wouldn't hurt you, and put on your feet against the pink wall of your room.

He brought a hand to your head, pressing it against the wall. You gasped a little at his roughness but soon you felt him brushing the tip of his cock on your slicky slit and clit. “'S gunna feel good, I promise.” He mumbled against your ear, making your body hair stand on end. The sensation had you biting your lips to try and not make any sounds, but your efforts were proven useless as you felt the pressure of his tip carefully going in your cunt, causing a burning sensation and you accidentally let out a loud cry.

Daryl's hand went immediately to your mouth, forcefully pressing his palm against your lips to muffle your sounds, your dad shouldn't hear Daryl using his sweet daughter in his own home after all. “Shhh, shhh.” He shushed you, resting his chin on the top of your head for a moment. You wrapped around him so tight even though he only had his tip in yet that he couldn't restrain himself from pushing his hips forward a little more, intensifying the burning sensation while he stretched your virgin cunt out.

“'S okay, ya can take it.” In that moment, you were confused at why he was making you feel so good just a moment ago, and now he's ripping your little pussy apart. But even though it hurt, it was somewhat pleasant to feel so full in such a new way, so you stuck your ass towards him, inviting him in. While still keeping his hand pressed on your mouth, he brought his other one to your hips, gripping them a little too tight.

Without warnings, he buried his entire length in you in one swift motion, filling you up to the brim and worsening the burning to a whole new level. The only thing that kept you from letting out a scream at the sudden invasion was his hand muffling your pathetic sounds and the fact that you'd be in deep trouble if your dad found out about that, but even so, Daryl couldn't help but quietly grunt at the intense sensation. He didn't know he missed fucking a warm cunt so badly until he was completely inhumed inside you. “Good girl. Yer being so good fer daddy.” He praised you. His words had an immediate effect on you, making your pussy even wetter, if that was even possible.

You didn't even care if it hurt or not anymore, so you just stood there, caught in the paradox of sensation — a mix of pain and pleasure etched across your face. The twinge felt like a sweet ache, and yet, an irresistible allure pulled her deeper into the experience, as if the discomfort held a hidden charm that she couldn't resist exploring.

Despite the pain, you found herself oddly drawn to the sensation, craving more as if the discomfort carried an inexplicable appeal that kept you coming back for another taste. So you slightly wiggled your ass against Daryl's body, moving his cock a little inside you. The feeling of being stretched out had you desperate for more.

Daryl's warm breath hit your ear as he let out a light-hearted laugh at your reaction, sending delicious goosebumps all over your body. His hips started going back and forth to meet yours in a sensual dance. He tried to be gentle at first, but your virgin cunt was just so wet and warm that he couldn't help it but succumb to his primal desires. “Jus' like tha', princess. Take this fat cock.” He whispered loud enough so only you could hear, making you weak in the knees.

His calloused hand let go of your hips to find your clit, starting to rub it with just the right pressure to make you squirm under his touch. The mixed sensations of intense pleasure and pain confusing your brain, making you melt like putty in his hands. Overwhelming waves of pleasure surged through you, leaving your head blissfully empty as if every thought had been swept away by the sheer intensity of the sensation, which was exactly what Daryl wanted, to turn you into a brainless little fucktoy for him.

If a few months ago somebody told you that you'd be letting some perverted older man take advantage of you in your own room, you would've laughed right in their face. Giving your innocence away to anybody used to feel like such a distant reality, and now there you were, pressed against the wall by Daryl's sweaty body while he mercilessly pounded your no longer virgin cunt, making you experience the most pleasurable pain you could ever feel.

As he continued bucking his hips like a desperate animal, you drooled against his hand, your brain now reduced to putty due to the overpowering sensation that dominated your every sense. “Nngh...” Your muffled moans stirred an even deeper desire within Daryl, turning him as primal as one could be. Your body language made it obvious that you were close to your orgasm, and this time, he didn't plan to deny you of it.

But you had never experienced something like that. You didn't know pleasure could get so extreme that could made you burst, so as the sensation built and grew stronger, it also made you unsure about where it was taking you, and you tried to fight the feeling. Daryl's skilled fingers working your clit only threw you even closer to the edge and you felt like your legs could fail at any moment.

Noticing the shift in your demeanor, he muttered against your ear. “Jus' let it go, baby. Trust me, don' hold it.” His tone was strangely sweet considering what you were both up to, but his encouraging words relaxed you a little, and as he intensified the rubbing on your clit, you knew you wouldn't be able to hold it in not even if you wanted to, whatever it was.

Then, it hit you. An entirely unfamiliar and intense sensation washed over you, catching you off guard. It felt like uncharted emotional and physical territory, leaving you completely stunned, wide-eyed, and grappling with the unexpected intensity of the experience, something that almost made you mad at your dad from convincing you of staying away from it for so long.

Daryl had to intensify the pressure of his hand against your lips, but even so, he wasn't able to muffle your cries completely as your body convulsed and you were sure you lost consciousness for a few seconds. “Good girl, cum for me.” You didn't know what that word meant, but considering the situation, you understood that it probably had something to do with the new type of pleasure you just experienced.

As the orgasmic sensation slowly faded away, it was replaced with an even more overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. You squirmed even harder and you swore you could cry if he continued using your cunt like that, not giving you any breaks to catch your breath. You'd been turned into a whimpering and drooling mess, a total slut for his cock. You wanted him to have his way with you and you knew that if he wanted to, you'd let him fuck you all day without arguing.

The intense clenching of your tight pussy around his length initiated his own orgasm, and now it was his turn to experience the compelling feeling of being right on the edge of pleasure. “Fuck, turn 'round." He desperately voiced, but he didn't even waited for you before decisively grasping your shoulders, swiftly turning you to face him. As he did so, he removed his cock from inside you and stroked it hard and fast for a few seconds with just enough pressure to make himself burst.

Your mesmerized eyes watched as the pleasure took over his body. And now, it all made sense as he started shooting his load aiming right on your bare pussy, just as he was doing earlier today when you first caught him in your room. The warm sticky substance coated your cunt and it was so much that it felt like it would never end, leaving you astonished. You couldn't help but smile at the sight before you.

You two stared into each other's eyes while desperately trying to catch your breaths, sharing a small chuckle and satisfied smiles. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead and now, you knew who to come up to when you feel that funny feeling in your lower belly again. You knew Daryl had what it took to take care of your needs.

Without saying anything else, he pulled his briefs and pants back up again, adjusting his clothes. Then, he reached for his pocket, pulling out those panties he had stolen earlier and putting them on you again, leaving his load smeary and sticking to your skin. “Leave it there.” He hoarsely voiced, ordering you to walk around with his cum inside your clothes while no one else knew of it except the both of you.

“And these...” He walked over to your bed and bended his knees a little so he could reach for the white cotton panties he had tossed aside right before railing you and put them in his pocket.

“...'M gunna keep these fer later.”

a/n: omg guys the first part of sweet scent got over 1.1k notes and that's like??? insane??? tysm for all ur support, that's crazy. it was so much fun to write both parts and i'm so thankful if you read it this far!! i hope y'all have a great and happy holidays xx

taglist: @imagininghim , @murdadixon , @epilepsywarrior8787 , @darklydixon

[leaawrites]

Coincidence (MV1)

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: a rare moment of peace is disturbed by none other than his ex-girlfriend.

Warnings: angst, indicating cheating (emotionally), this is all fiction, none of this is real and I don't mean to attack anyone by this.

Wordcount: 0.5k

Masterlist, Short n'Sweet Series

A text was all it took for everything to change again.

With her head on his chest, finally breathing for a second, one text had the ability to make her run again. Max was focused on the movie playing on the screen, that he didn’t even notice the vibration of his phone on the coach, his hand mindlessly playing with the hem of her shirt. He didn’t notice the second message. He didn’t even notice her budging him to gain his attention.

It wasn’t up until she had enough and moved a bit to take the phone herself that he looked away from the TV. Watching her take his phone and unlocking it. It was never a problem for them in the time they were dating, using the other’s phone for texting their parents or friends or googling whatever. It was always just about which one was nearer.

“Who is it?” Max asked, moving his fingers up and down her chest.

Looking at the contact name and message for a second longer to make sure she read everything correctly, she finally answered, “Kelly. She says P misses you.” At the mention of her name, Max took the phone from her hands. She wasn’t too sure if it was because of Kelly or P. She hoped the latter, but with the way he would still step away from her whenever they met Kelly at a party was making her doubt herself more and more.

What a coincidence that she missed him now when Y/n finally had him for herself in a long time. No racing, no meeting, just them. And her.

Lifting her head up, Max stood up, walking out of the room and dialing her number in the process of leaving his girlfriend.

Max talked for longer than usual on the phone, all while Y/n was left by herself, the TV only being a background noise to not make the thoughts get too loud.

“I’m gonna meet P and Kelly for brunch tomorrow,” Max announced, walking past her, kissing her head and continuing his path into his gaming room.

All of their freedom stolen once again.

She sat there, watching the screen but not the show. She was watching her life flying past and soon enough she was laying next to him in bed, wide awake. Hearing his voice vibrating on his bedside table, her name probably lighting up the screen. Whatever it was, Y/n was sure she wouldn’t be one knowing. Whatever effort she put into the relationship to make it work and keep it safe and hidden from the media, it would all be over once he came back the next day from brunch. He would only be half of the person she used to know and love.

The next morning Y/n without Max by her side. The bed was cold and empty. He must’ve been gone for quite some time already. He hadn’t even asked if she wanted to join them.

Turning on her phone, the first thing she saw shouldn’t be surprising.

Headline: Formula 1 Star Max Verstappen seen out and about with ex girlfriend Kelly Piquet and her daughter Penelope. Is there an old romance brewing once again?

She couldn’t blame them. Barely anyone knew that they were dating, Max wanting to keep it private for her own safety.

What a coincidence.

[spookykoolkat]

summer breeze | eddie munson 18+

wrote a drabble cus im just thinking about drugdealer!eddie at a party (ones that hes tired of going to) to sell and make money, but you take him completely off of his game once he notices you.

drugdealer!eddie x plus sized!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ only! minors do not interact or get BLOCKED. pwp (sorta), eddie and reader are both in their early twenties (eddie is a year or two older than reader), flirting, p in v (protected pls wrap it up!), fingering, mentions of oral (fem receiving), descriptions of feminine fat bodies, itsyyy bit of body issues (reader isn't insecure just aware of her body), very light choking if you squint, dirty talk (i think hes filthy here), body worship, use of pretty girl, daddy, baby, sweetheart, etc lmk if i missed something.

please do not forget to read and educate yourself on the genocide in gaza! please do your daily clicks and donate to families in need for sudan, congo and palestine + more. https://arab.org/ scroll down on my page for resources and posts about palestine! it will always be free palestine and boycotting the show stranger things as there are three raging zionists on set! no longer taking requests for stranger things or tlou!

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i definitely see eddie munson being the one that's invited to the party to make money, find customers, manage to provide the entire party with weed and other drugs people wanted. maybe he's not the most fun, given he was burnt out after his teen years from doing crazy shit like trying pills and psychedelics to skipping class to drive two towns over, drinking and partying to make up for a life time.

he's not there to necessarily party. he's there to make money, drink, and observe. he doesn't even really miss the partying, or the people. since he was the plug, it was only ever about business. how much can someone get, what can they get, for what price, thanks, have a good night. he didn't get much socialization done in his life right now, so his best bet was to just watch.

he took his place on the couch, somewhere in the clouded area of the living room of whoever's house he's in right now. it was almost deja vu for him.

eddie would be SUCH an observer. quiet, listening and watching to everyone and everything since he was always in the corner unless he was needed. so when his eyes scanned the room after taking a puff of his blunt, it wasn't odd that his eyes latched onto you first.

you were wearing your usual, tube top, fishnet and jean shorts that rode up your ass and hugged the dips of your hips and waist. i think eddie tried to stop looking at you, especially when you saw him staring from your spot where you poured yourself another drink. but even you catching him didn't make him have any shame.

he was checking you out unabashedly. he was staring at the way your tits squeezed against the fabric of the tube top, how your tummy poked out of your shorts because they squeezed into your curves, how the fishnets had holes in some spots on your legs probably from stretching over the width of your thighs.

i think eddie would definitely try to make a move on you, his confidence wasn't lost on him, but he would wait. and while he would wait, he would think about touching you, talking to you, maybe even talking you through it.

he was a freak.

he waited until you finally decided to dance with a few of your friends, getting up from his spot and mixing in between the bodies to get next to you. eddie wasn't a dancer. not in these settings, even he surprised himself.

the obsession was mutual. your hands couldn't stop touching him as you two danced, whispering little things in each other's ears.

"you're really fucking pretty, you know that? like, insanely pretty. i couldn't stop looking at you from across the room." his voice was all you heard even when the music tried to drown it out, he was the only one you could listen to.

"eddie right?" you asked in his ear and your voice was even sweeter than he thought. he just nodded and let his hands fall onto your hips.

"you think i'm pretty?" you asked, your eyes fluttering up at him and biting your lip.

eddie only put his hands on your waist and squeezed, pulling you into him and smiling as you both danced together. putting your hands on his chest as he moved his hands to the lower part of your back and dipping his finger tips into your shorts, he leaned down and whispered in your ear,

"more than pretty. can't even focus on my job when you're right there in front of me just begging for me to come and take you away."

your eyes flutters again, this time with your lips parted and small hitch in your throat.

it was the same expression you had that night, upstairs in the guest room as everyone partied below you when he pushed his fingers inside of your heat.

"oh, ooh baby," he would say as he watched your cunt suck his fingers in, coating him in your juices and making a mess over his hand.

"i-i'm, eddie, oh my god eddie," you groaned, jean shorts discarded and panties moved to the side as he played with your cunt.

his hands ripped the fishnets between your thighs, letting his fingers spread the thick of your cunt and press his finger pads onto the glistening pearl that made you flutter your eyes shut.

it was the same expression you gave when he pushed his length into your sopping heat, and grabbed onto every inch of skin he could. once he entered you after making you cum on his fingers, he got eager.

eddie pulled your top down and let your tits free, becoming even more obsessed you might end up having to put a restraining order on him. it turned out, eddie was a tit man. he played with your tits as he slid in and out of you, squeezing your pebbled nipples and teasing them. sucking on his fingers just to play with your nipples, grabbing your tits and pushing them together to watch them bounce as he fucked you.

he was in love.

you didn't know eddie much, but he took his time with you. even when the party seemed to get even more rowdy, he only fucked into you harder. his hips snapping against your thighs, now calves on his shoulders as he quickly grabbed a pillow and slid it under the small of your back.

"my fucking god, sweetheart, look at you," he said, slipping back into you and adding a stretch that added to your pleasure, "even fuckin' prettier like this, you know that? goddamn, i'm gonna fucking get addicted to this pussy,"

the wind had been knocked out of you, breathless and scrambling for something to say but without missing a beat eddie ran his fingers through his hair and grabbed your ankles, spreading your legs wide beside him to see you open for him.

"i, i, daddy please, i can't, too much, can't breathe," you could feel his cock in your throat, punching into you and making your legs twitch at his lace.

"just like that, pretty girl, hold yourself open like that, be good for daddy." he groaned, sitting on his knees to slide back into your gaping hole as you placed your hands on the back of your thighs.

"there we go, so fuckin' good, so pretty," he whispered to himself, watching as tears ruined your perfect makeup and sweat collected on your forehead and chest. you were ruined, aching and throbbing, still begging for him even when he was giving you what you wanted.

"please, please, so fucking good s' so fucking big," you said, out of breath as he moved to your liking.

he couldn't fuck you like that for long, not when he was watching the weight of your tits bounce and move to the rhythm of his thrusts, not when you begged for him, not when he looked at the way your legs pressed against your stomach that was so soft and round for him—now becoming his favorite part to touch as he lifts himself from his knees and putting his weight into your waist.

he got a good grip like this, you thought, feeling how his hands molded into the skin you bashed for so long just to fuck you deeper and more relentlessly.

it was when someone knocked on the door, asking for eddie, (after your second orgasm) when he decided to flip the two of you over so that his back was now against the random headboard of the bed and your thighs sat on top of his.

you were positioned at his tip, most of him sliding out after your orgasm pushed him out. you couldn't help but feel yourself drip onto his length as you looked at the state of him, hearing the man call for his friend outside of the door, and watching as eddie got lost in your curves and softness.

"fucking hell. goddamnit, look at you," he breathed, hands moving all over you, "this will never leave my mind. i'm telling you right now. gonna be thinking about this for fucking ever, thinking about this pretty fucking body on me,"

he was touching everything, all over you, squeezing parts of you you'd never though you'd let anyone see. kissing the stretch marks and moles and the extra flab of your arms and leaning you back to kiss the width of your tummy.

"sit down on me, baby, please, let me have it, let daddy have it, i've been real good for you, baby," he begged, whined, pressing the side of his face into your tits and gently suckling on the skin.

he was growing tiresome, feeling your hole clench around his weeping, red tip that ached for you. eddie didn't even realize he could throb this hard for anyone, or that he even wanted anyone as bad as he wanted you when he saw you. he didn't even know he could last as long as he did, not with you being right in front of him begging for him to fuck you.

you were beautiful, you had something about you that he couldn't take his eyes off of, something he knew he wasn't going to stop thinking about even if he tried.

"but, they're asking for you," you whimpered, fingers dragging through eddie's hair and fingernails scraping his scalp as he groped your tits and sucked on them. "the party, you have customers,"

he leaves kisses when he speaks again.

"the fuck does that matter, hm? as far as i'm concerned," he said and leaned back, watching the way your cunt looked so he could remember every detail. how juicy your cunt was, how he could palm it and rub your clit at the same time, how well your cunt wrapped around his cock when he gave everything for you to take,

"i got the prettiest, juiciest fucking pussy i've ever had in my fuckin' life right here about to sit on my cock, you think i'm gonna stop trying to make you cum so i can get a 20 dollar bill?" he scoffed, "absolutely fuckin' not. fuck that party. now let me fuck that pretty cunt baby, please, let me feel it again,"

he whimpered when he met your eyes, desperation for a nut especially like this, and you melted. you clenched around his tip and he winced as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. you were gasping at this point, trying to fight for air while you let your cunt take all of him until your clit was pressed against his thatch of hair.

"oh fuck, FUCK, fuck baby," he practically yelled, throwing his head back against the headboard and you couldn't help yourself. his hands were gripping your asscheeks so hard they left hand prints, pulling and spreading them apart just to leave slaps to imagine how your ass would jiggle with it.

it left him moaning even more.

your lips attached to his neck and kissed everywhere you could, licking his pale skin and sucking on his neck and chest. you left hickies where you could. the soberness in you wanted him to remember this, to be looked at so people can know someone fucked him this good and it was you.

the drunk in you just wanted to claim him as yours. let everyone know he was fucking you. and only you. or so you convinced yourself to think.

as you buried your face into his neck and suckled and licked, your cunt clenched around him and slowly you lifted your hips up, just to slam them back down and make lewd noises fill the room. his moaning was turning you on even more, knowing his was sounding fucked out like this because of you.

"eddie, yo what the fuck? i'm tryin' to get some weed man! come on!" the obnoxious voice was drowned out by eddie's moans and whimpers as you decided to speed your bouncing up.

you did it for a hot minute, rolling your hips and bouncing your ass on your knees as you took him in with every lift of your hips. he was so much more filling this way, so much more bigger and reaching places it felt like was your stomach.

"eddie, e-eddie, p-p-please, eddie," you were crying into his neck when you whined and it only made him release a guttural groan as he quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body down to his.

"eddie, what, wh-" you tried as he fixed positions, planting his feet and raising his hips before continuously slamming up into your cunt.

"oh, oh, oh my, f-fucking, mmphf, my," you really tried, to make sense of what he was doing until your mind went blank, until you felt the head of his pink cock hitting your cervix over and over again until it began to mix pleasure with pain.

it was delicious, it was everything, and yet the man was still at the door. "eddie, eddie," you moaned, sort of forgetting about everything else but the man ramming into your sore hole, you corrected yourself quickly as he fucked you harder, "daddy!"

"woah, hey, are you, are you fucking in there?? eddie!!! my man!!" the man cheered through the door but to you it was muffled.

you couldn't hear anything but the messiness of your cunt, the squelching, the groaning and crying, the moaning and whimpering, his words making you tighten around him.

"take that fucking dick, baby, take what daddy's giving you, yeah?" he growled in your ear as he kept his pace up, your tears hitting his shoulders and your whines being muffled by his chest.

"i know baby, you're taking me so well, being so good, feel so fucking good,"

"cmon baby, let me have another one, cum again for daddy,"

"next time i'm gonna bury my fucking face between those thighs and let your ride my tongue, just wanna taste my pretty girl the right way," he was breathless, and listening to you cry from his words and beg after every sweet nothing he couldn't hold it anymore.

"get it man!" again. eddie was almost getting pissed off. actually. he was pissed off.

this random man was able to hear the way you sounded just for eddie, the way you called for him and said his name, the way you cried when his cock hit your spot over and over again in this angle.

"get the fuck out of here, fuckface!" eddie screamed angrily away from your ear, only making you clench harder as he then flipped you to lay on your side.

his cock was still inside of you, only now he laid behind you in the same position and lifted your leg by the thickness of your thigh and held it there as he lifted his thigh and slipped further inside of you.

"m' the only one that should hear you like this, not him, nobody else. look at that," he says in your ear as he uses his other hand to point your head downwards to see the way his cock slammed into your cunt over and over again, barely being able to see it over your tummy, "see how she's crying for me? god i wish you could fuckin' see yourself, how fuckin' pretty you are,"

"daddy, daddy, fuck, fuck me, fuck my pussy please, make me feel good," you managed to get out as he moved his hand from your hair to your throat, forcing you to throw your head back against his.

eddie puts his chin right at the top of your head, somehow seemingly bigger than you and crowding you as he kept his pace.

"touch yourself, princess, touch that pretty little clit for daddy, daddy's gonna make you cum all over his big fucking cock, how's that sound, pretty girl? you like that?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

it only grows deeper when he sees your weak hand move to your messy cunt, finding your clit and rubbing firm circles into her. eddie can feel you clench and drip onto him, covering his cock in your cum and juices as you reach your climax for the third time.

you didn't know eddie. he didn't really know you. but in this moment, holding you to his chest as you leaves kisses in your hair and on your cheek sweetly, fucking you roughly and messily, palm still at your throat.

you were crying by now, tears slipping down just for eddie to dry them back up.

"i know, i can feel you baby, can feel you gettin' close for me," he boasts, his own thrusts getting sloppy and missing the rhythm as he struggles to hold his own release back.

"so good, feels so good daddy," you gasped, voice dry and strained, "gonna make, fuck fuck, baby i can't, too much,"

"uh-uh baby, what were you gonna say? gonna make you what? cum? gonna make this pretty little cunt cum all over my cock again?" eddie's balls pulled taut, fighting back his orgasm until you clenched hard one last time and yelled out.

"yes! yes! yes! make me cum, you're making me cum, i'm cumming, daddy please," you shouted, body shaking in his hold as you move your hands to grab at his wrist and try to wriggle out of his grasp, his thrusts becoming too much too fast.

"oh fuck, oh fuck, baby, fuck," he whimpered, wincing and releasing a string of moans and groans as he cums in the condom; desperately wishing he could've painted your walls. you were still shaking in his grasp, whimpering when eddie pulls out of you and moves his hands to fix your hair.

eddie moves you to lay on your back as he sits up on one arm and admires you, the lipstick smeared and eyeshadow messy, eyeliner running and your face makeup staining whatever pillows were there.

eddie wasn't the type to think he was going to call back. thats for sure. he wasn't a dating man, a 'see you more than once in a year' man. eddie was confused for the most part, not knowing where this was gonna go next depending how he went about this last part of the interaction. he especially wasn't a girl. not that girl who asked what we are on the first hook up. not the girl who day dreamed about someone when they weren't near.

he wasn't a girl. he especially wasn't that girl.

you opened your eyes to him staring with a lopsided smile, scanning over your face and chest.

"what?" you smiled, breathlessly and sleep pulling at your eyes.

he shakes his head with a small smile and drowns out the music playing from downstairs, watching you scan his face.

"so, are you gonna call me after this? when can i see you again?"

[vieoeil-riae]

get clean, get dirty

steb/fem!reader

warnings: shower sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), mutual pining, selectively mute!steb, steb has a cool less-human tongue ;), flirty!reader, 18+ MDNI, 4.1k words

synopsis: in the crescendo of a flirt, you finally push the right buttons to put steb's fantasies of your wet body under his touch in motion

read on ao3 | ao3 profile | ao3 collection

You stuck to Steb’s side like glue on the long walk back to his place. Dead silent in the setting sun, the dusky light doing nothing to hide the dusty pink hue that played on his pretty cheekbones.

Silence was well made up for in the way your hands were tightly entwined and your bodies pressed close to one another. There was a buzz between you, electric, ecstatic, that made your heart flutter and your breathing turn more and more stuttery the closer you got to your goal.

And while Steb was much better at schooling his face, he wasn’t fairing much better than you. Gripping your hand just a bit too tight and taking quicker, longer strides than he usually would. You smiled at that, months of teasing and chatting and fluttering lashes getting you exactly where you wanted.

Months, almost a year, of flirting with the cute enforcer you just couldn’t help but notice around. Learning how to read him where words failed him, exploring every inch of himself that he’d give you; it was like solving the most satisfying puzzle, with the most gratifying rewards of teasing him and watching his face flush, understanding him and watching the relief soak his features.

Maybe you’d pushed it today. You were loitering around a community hall the force used for hand-to-hand training and the likes, your presence coming to be expected by Steb’s colleagues who seemed to enjoy having you around — if only because it meant they could rag on him for the cute chick who followed him around like a clingy cat.

Chattier and more verbally confident than him, you’d taken it upon yourself to commentate on his round, wolf-whistling and throwing him a sultry wink as he pinned a colleague to the ground. It was encouraging, in your defense.

The breaking point must’ve been the very end of the session. Steb, clad in a compression shirt — that fit him much too nicely for you not to ogle — walked right up to you, his face read ‘really?’ in deadpan disbelief that you’d be so bold here. But the bright blush on his cheeks told a different story, one you couldn’t help but smirk at.

“Hey, Stebby.” You chirped innocently, a grin taking over your face that went from perfectly bright to rather devious. “You stink. You gonna shower soon?”

His eyebrows quirked, as almost invasive as you were, you hadn’t asked questions like that before. He nodded once, firmly, but with a cautious pinch of his brows and a barely noticeable downturn of his lips. What were you playing at?

“Mmm, sounds nice,” you cooed thoughtfully, “can I join you?”

The question, said much more seriously than your usual flirts, hit Steb like a sack of bricks. It showed on his face as his eyes widened in surprise and his blush became ferocious. You adored the way his lips dropped open ever so slightly, staring at him expectantly through your eyelashes.

“Is that a no?” A flirt you were, but a creep you were not. Sometimes you felt like you overstepped, so the least you could do was give him an out.

In Steb’s mind, an out was the last thing he wanted. Cocky, chatty, everything he wasn’t and he should’ve found you intolerable but for months you had occupied his mind in a hostile takeover. You knocked the sense out of his head. He dreamed of you, every part; softly sharing space to tangling in each other with burning passion.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you in that way before on his own terms, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined how your skin would look damp, dripping with water and sweat. Your skin looked so soft, it must feel like heaven under hot water.

He’d probably die before he’d admit he kept getting stuck on the thought of your bare, wet, hot body pressed flush with his — gasping at the feeling of your back meeting the cold shower tiles and your tits squashed against his firm chest. You seemed to love the way he pinned down his peers in training, surely your hand would find a harsh purchase twisting in his hair as he pinned you to the wall and took you standing.

The insinuation that you wanted that too was testing Steb more than anything ever had before. It took an immense amount of self control to not act rashly in that hall, as much as he wanted to shut you up in a searing kiss.

That conflict was entirely internal. You stared up at him in mild worry as you watched as his eyes glazed like he wasn’t grounded anymore — the frills on his cheekbones twitching out of time before he found the way out of his thoughts.

His eyes held a fire you hadn’t seen before, it froze you solid. Steb shook his head, a smug look encompassing his features. He jerked his head towards the door, not taking his eyes off you. An invitation, a dare. 

Just what buttons had you pressed to provoke him into returning the challenge? You pondered the thought the whole way.

You watched as he fumbled with his keys, delighting in the huff he let out and the frustrated twinge of his lips. 

The smug look on your face was wiped off the second you were pulled inside; Steb had you caged between him and the wall in seconds, his face closer to yours than it had ever been before with a flicker of his eyes tracing your face. You could see the occasional blink of his third eyelids, speechless at the way they glistened — god, he was so pretty. Your breathing sped up, begging for you to breathe him in.

The smell of his sweat was fainter than you thought it would be, but you could still smell him and that with the strands of hair that were starting to fall in his face were a dangerous combo. He shed his jacket, leaving him in his tight shirt and the bottom half of his usual uniform.

Steb was bad for your heart, especially with the way you could see a sliver of skin where his pants hung lower than they should on his hips.

He shot you an accusatory stare. The tilt of his head, so sweet normally, was almost intimidating with how slowly, purposefully, he moved. He let the silence do the work for him, let it get you rambling — it was cute that he finally made you trip up on your words. You were so suave normally.

“I- Uh- You… planning on taking that seriously?” You swallowed, afraid of if you’d messed up but so starstruck with this new side of Steb. He was so… sweet, sort of passive usually, content with letting you take the initiative in your interactions — the switch up had you stumbling, but you weren’t complaining.

You’d seen a flash of a more commandeering self lurking beneath his quiet exterior more than once. It had done a number on you the first time; the way his eyes narrowed and the sudden and confident intentionality of his movements had taken the air from your lungs. You found yourself the object of that focused stare now, and it was making you weak in the knees.

Without breaking eye contact, he crowded you closer, your noses a scant few centimetres apart. One brow raised, his eyelids drooping in a way you’d only dreamed of before, his eyes searched your face for permission. Your glittering eyes gave it readily.

His lips met yours, softer than you thought they would, but as you bit at his bottom lip you could feel him leaning into you. Your eyes fluttered shut and your head knocked against the wall, you stayed connected for a moment longer before Steb slowly pulled away. 

You had half a mind left to chase his lips, but the sweet touch of one of his fingers against your chin felt too good to protest. His head tilted, a slight nod gesturing down the hall — kissed silly, you were having a hard time stringing what he wanted together. 

Tracing down the shape of your body, his hand found yours again and loosely held, Steb pulled you down the hall. You fell into step quickly however, and it didn’t take you long to reach the door he was intent on finding. Pushing it open, your mouth dropped. His bathroom. He wasn’t kidding about taking you up on the offer.

You turned back to him, mouth open. Disheveled, he leaned against the door frame quietly observing you with intense eyes, your breath caught in your throat. What a figure he was…

You shuffled into the room, curious, almost bashful. When you looked over your shoulder at him, with hot cheeks and an inviting tilt of your head, it was like you were trying to kill him. You were right where he wanted you, like something out of one of his dreams. Every time you met his eyes again you made his cock ache just a little more.

Steb followed you in soon enough, leaning around you to turn the shower on. You felt so flustered standing there, waiting for the water to warm up, wondering just how he had this much control over you without even having to say anything.

He circled around to face you, a firm, searching look in his eyes as he pinched your shirt between his fingers. Did you want this? And you knew he wasn’t going to continue without an answer.

Slyly, taking satisfaction in the way his ears twitched, you raised your arms. Coyly, teasingly daring him to take it off for you — not about to give up winding him up. A furious blush coated his cheeks, a sign you were winning, but he didn’t slow; more and more of your clothes being delicately removed while he never once looked away.

By the time he had you in your underwear, the distinction between your own heated blush and the heat of the shower’s steam was blurred completely.

“It’s a bit unfair that you’ve lost no clothes yet, don’t you think?” You asked, biting your lip with fervour as you pinched at the well fitting shirt. Your hand slid underneath the tight hem and your breath caught at the feeling of fairly toned muscles, not super defined — but just enough for you to very much enjoy them.

The shirt was lost quickly, as were the rest of his clothes and you were left with your mouth ajar at the fact that the sweet, quiet, Steb was hiding all that underneath his clothes. You had half the mind to be jealous of the fabric.

His hands tugged at your underwear, impatiently, as he cornered you against the shower door. They were promptly discarded.

The warm water poured over your skin, the steam making Steb look softer through it. 

You pressed a kiss to the skin of his shoulder, tasting the salty sheen coating it as your tongue darted across the spot. You couldn’t help but pepper him with more kisses, trailing them up his neck where you found the tender spot that made Steb inhale sharply when you nipped it.

His hand twined with the wet hair of your nape, pulling you back enough for him to see you properly. 

Water poured in streams over your curves, adding a shine to your skin. Your hair stuck slick to your skin too, darker as it got saturated. Tantalising, you stood there, bare and flushed and putting his dirty fantasies to shame. 

Accurate to them however, you were as forward as ever, jumping at the chance to slick your hands with soap (a rather gentle kind, you’d discovered) and run your hands over wherever you could reach. The effect was instant, Steb’s breathing became brilliantly laboured, almost panting through the thick steam as you got so close to him but didn’t press your body to his quite yet.

Your hands deftly swiped past his nipples, making his chest jump. Steb let out a small whine that you clocked instantly, one you decided you absolutely had to hear again; you swiped at them again, fondling them, pinching at them, drawing the most explicit noises from Steb’s throat.

You were as handsy as he hoped you’d be, having your hands on him already felt lecherously satisfying. Fuck, and this was just the start, if he was guessing. 

He hissed as you closed your lips around one of his sensitive nipples, his hands finding your hips when you ran your teeth over it, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. His grip was strong and you couldn’t find yourself worrying about bruises, in all honesty you were hoping he’d leave some — all the flirting and innuendos and sweet taunting, there was no way this would end in anything other than a carnal display of need.

Steb’s hands wandered over your body, the satisfaction of seeing you bare had his head swimming already but the feel of your damp skin under his fingers had him nearly shaking. Softly, he palmed your tit, exploring and devoted. The thin string of his composure was fraying by the second.

You smiled against his skin and wanting more you kissed your way up to his lips again, taking a selfish lick up the column of his throat just to taste him. You were met with a crushing kiss, overwhelming desire fueling the searing dance of your lips.

The flow of water over your heads, chaotic and streaming over where your lips connected made the kiss feel more like a mess. Biting at Steb’s lips harder than you meant to, he groaned, and you brushed his tongue with yours the second the opportunity presented itself.

Hot and warm, you felt it all over. Your hands traced the outside of the gills resting by his jawline with purpose as you pressed yourself as close as you could — almost annoyed by the slickness of the water that almost felt in the way.

He tilted his head, pushing deeper, breathlessly allowing himself to grope you. You whined into his mouth at his touch that ghosted lower and lower, sweeping over your cunt. 

Steb pulled away, leaving you gasping, and gave you that familiar look — the tilt of his head asking for permission. He wanted to fuck you so bad but he was still so respectful, it sent a pang of need straight to your core, making it ache deliciously. The thought of finally being able to see his face twisted in pleasure, of watching himself lose his grip on his self control because of you made your head spin.

“Fuck, Steb, quit being such a gentleman.” You murmured through the water, grasping at his hand and guiding it to where you wanted him most. More than just the gentle touch before, you could feel the pads of his fingers trace your cunt, slick with your wetness. 

In turn your hand was guided to his shoulder as he backed you against the cold tile wall, his head buried in your wet hair. You gasped loudly at the frigid sensation on your back, arching up into his fingers.

Peppering your temple with kisses, his fingers circled your clit before lewdly dipping into your aching cunt. Steb panted into your ear, feeling the way your wet body writhed against him and the way your cunt greedily sucked his fingers in. He curled them and you moaned, your mouth opening so invitingly, and he captured your lips in another consuming kiss.

The feeling of his fingers, thicker than your own but still devastatingly lithe, playing with your pussy and the heel of his palm grinding against your clit was going to ruin you. Lustful and obscene, you’d never felt so good and so dirty at once. Taking his tongue in your mouth, moaning around it as the kiss grew sloppy, water seeping in everywhere — you were lost to the sensation.

Feeling your orgasm start to pool in your gut, your hands struggled for purchase on Steb’s lean, slippery shoulders. They brushed against the fins that ran down his spine, ones you liked to trace with your eyes when he wasn’t paying attention, and he shivered at the feeling. 

Your hips rutted into his hand desperately, chasing your peak, lewd sounds falling from your mouth and into his ear. He pulled away and you whined at the loss of his hand between your thighs, the frills on his cheekbones fluttering at your blissed-out, needy look.

Without breaking eye contact, Steb clasped his hand over yours that still rested on his shoulders. He peeled one off, but keeping it pressed to his skin he trailed it down his toned abdomen. Your gaze flitted between his wet, dishevelled look — the hair plastered to his face; the flush on his cheeks; the subtle twitching of his ears and frills — and the burning path he carved downwards with your hand.

He couldn’t look away, you noticed, his lidded eyes glued to your hand; pliant in his and inching further and further towards his cock. Taking initiative through the fuzzy feeling that was stuffed in your head, you reached the rest of the way yourself, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock.

Steb groaned at the sight, his head slumping forward as his eyes fluttered closed. You bit your lip, admiring him for a moment — keeping your hand still just to tease him.

“Open your eyes, Steb. Look at me.” You purred, the way he did so immediately with blushing cheeks and ears that were shyly pinned halfway back plucked a chord of satisfaction in your gut. “You gonna show me how you like it?”

A strangled noise fell from his throat, his eyes screwing shut for a moment before looking at where his hand still held yours. 

You eyed the way his stomach tense when he finally moved your hands, stroking his cock torturously slow. Your thumb darted out from under his to swipe at his tip, a motion that made him jerk into your hands and quietly whimper. You could almost see the hearts in his eyes through his fluttering lashes, cute.

“You wanna keep it like this? Or do you want to fuck me?” You asked boldly, pushing yourself off the wall to get in his face. A flash of surprise flitted across his features, before a horny, conflicted look took its place. 

Your free hand stroked at his cheek, just under his still-fluttering frills, “your call, put me where you want me.”

Steb’s hips jerked again at your salacious tone. Despite all the sensation, he clung to restraint; you wanted to break that more than anything. You wanted to see that darker, animal look swim in his eyes when he looked at you, unabashedly focused on getting what he wanted. You almost moaned at the thought of caring, quiet Steb fucking into you like an animal in heat.

You searched for his other hand, holding the curve of your back, and pulled it up towards your neck. You tilted your head to get millimetres closer. “Take what you want from me. Please. I mean it.”

You wanted him so bad, something so obvious since you started to really get to know each other. But the extent of your desire left him breathless. You wanted to give him anything he wanted, without restraint. He wanted to see you fall apart.

A shadow of unimpeded desire lidded his eyes. Steb pushed you firmly against the wall, you gasped at the temperature as well as the new drive that shone in his eyes — just like you’d seen when he leaned against the doorframe earlier. 

Unlike what you were expecting, he sank to his knees; hands tracing every curve of your body with immense care as he went down. Kisses, nips, and bites were left in his wake, stretching from your collarbone to your breast bone and all the way down to your pelvis. The last nip at your skin was left just above your cunt.

Fuck, he looked beautiful with the shower stream running down his lean, arched back, with a look in his eyes — hazy, unfocused — that screamed how lost in you he was, knees spread open. You whimpered at the feeling of his face pressed up against the outside of your pussy.

Steb’s warm hand encircled your ankle, the warmth travelling straight to your sopping cunt, and pushed your legs apart. 

Without restraint, he tilted his head and pressed a sloppy kiss to your clit; taking it in his mouth and suckling. His tongue, that felt more pointed than you’d expected, lapped at it with fervour. Steb’s eyes, closed in pleasure and focus, fluttered open to take in the way your body arched from the wall. A small smirk graced his lips from his place between your thighs, frills fluttering against the soft flesh surrounding them.

His hands slid enticingly up your legs, coming to hold your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth. Rising slightly on his knees for a better angle, he made out sloppily with your cunt, oversensitive cocktip brushing the shower floor for a second in a way that made him moan in earnest against you.

You squealed at the feeling, writhing between Steb’s hands, pushing him closer to your weeping entrance. His tongue plunged in, nose grinding into your clit in a way that made you gasp and twist your hands into his hair. 

His tongue was much longer than you’d expected, thinner and more pointed at the tip and thicker at the base. And by god was it flexible, fucking into you with ardour and rubbing against your gummy walls fast and hard. The lewd squelch of Steb eating you out like a starved man echoed against the shower walls, along with your moans.

Circling your hips with his forearms, hands coming to rest close to his face, he pulled you onto him impossibly further. You were seeing stars at this point, shower water trickling off of your stomach, curved with how hard you arched trying to chase the feeling. Your hips rocked against his face as much as they were allowed.

You looked bewitching from Steb’s place between your thighs, face flicking through expressions he’d only dreamed of seeing; your quick tongue reduced to babbling; your body writhing from his touch alone.

You caught the staring, burning eyes full of thirst almost swallowed by your flesh. The reality of the situation crashed into you at full force, the guy you’d been pining after was getting off from being trapped between your legs. Steb’s eyes, full of want, drank you in like you were the only person in the world.

His fingers snaked under your thigh, pressing against your cunt before joining his tongue. You moaned loudly at the feeling of his slick tongue and deft fingers stretching you out for a moment before his tongue slipped out. Your disappointed whine was cut short by the feeling of his tongue lapping at your clit.

Curling into the right spot, your head fell back in a long groan. You panted into the thick, wet air as the knot in your stomach grew tighter and warmer, wanton moans pouring from your lips more and more often; growing pitch as you hurtled closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck- Steb-” You whimpered breathily, before being cut off by your own draw out mewl as his tongue flicked your clit hard, fingers stretching you deliciously. 

With a choked noise, you came hard; your fingers dug into his hair and you slumped forward. His ministrations didn’t let up however, fucking you through it as you trembled above him, thighs clamping around his jaw. Steb’s name tumbled from your lips like a breathless prayer.

He pulled away from your cunt, covered in you and panting. You watched his shoulders rise and fall violently with it, and you sorely hoped that the sensuous, pussy-drunk look on his face was from pleasure and not mild asphyxiation. Whatever it was, it was hot.

You slid down the wall, your shaking legs stretching out either side of him, fixated on his eyes. You spent a minute more resting, before a sultry grin stretched across your lips. You pulled your legs back in, contorting yourself into crawling a mere couple of inches closer to his face.

You kissed him under the pouring water, softly, but messily — tasting yourself on his tongue. You felt him swallow. You pulled back.

Your hand traced down his chest, sensually caressing his nipple. You traced the movement with your eyes for long enough for him to breathlessly mumble ‘fuck’ before your eyes lit up and stared him straight in the eye again. You could get him to say that again, maybe. 

“How about your turn, handsome?”

His hand on the back of your head pulled you into a fervent kiss, taking you with him as he leaned back as far as the cold, glass shower panel would let him. You giggled against Steb’s lips, looking him in the eyes as your hands travelled south.

A/N: that mf swallowed some shower water there's literally no way he didn't. he probably didn't even notice. luv yas 🫶

banner cr: @/cafekitsune

[radioscribbles]

Alastor x Reader - Chest Fluff

Details: Established relationship, honeymoon phase, light teasing. You discover Alastor's chest fluff! Warnings: None, this is pure fluff - literally. No pronouns used. No use of Y/N. Not beta read as usual. Author's note: I’m fully convinced Alastor has chest fluff. I don’t have any proof except I think it’s CUTE. Word Count: 992

You’ve always loved cuddling Alastor. It’s the closest form of intimacy you had gotten so far in your budding relationship. And he was so, so comfortable.

Looking at him, you’d think he was all sharp edges and pointy teeth, but lying on his chest, as you were right now, you could swear this man was secretly a pillow.

Both of you were lying on a chaise longue in his room, soft jazz playing in the background. While he was busy reading over some papers, he’d allowed you to indulge in some cuddles, so long as you didn’t disturb him.

But you just couldn’t help yourself. You nuzzled your face into his shirt, his overcoat discarded on an armchair, and sighed.

“You’re so soft, Al.”

He peeked at you from behind his papers, a lazy grin on his face, and raised a brow at you in question.

“I’m serious, it’s like you’re a plushie. Or maybe you’re actually an alpaca demon instead of a deer. It’s as if you’re all fluffy or something.”

Alastor let out an amused laugh.

“Ha! Maybe it’s because I am.”

You raised your head to look at him. Now it’s your turn to cock an eyebrow at him.

“What? An alpaca demon?” Another laugh escaped him.

“Goodness, no! That’s a stupid notion, my dear.” He let his papers fall to the floor and gave you an amused smirk.

“It’s winter, darling. Not only do I have to deal with shedding my antlers, I also happen to grow a bit of a thicker coat of fur.”

His brows furrowed a bit in annoyance as he told you of his situation. He was obviously displeased by it, but by god, if you weren’t intrigued. You made a mental note to squeal about how openly he talked about it with you later. But for now, you needed answers.

Your gaze shifted down to his chest, now noticing that it did seem a bit fuller than it used to.

“Can I see it?” - “I beg your pardon?”

Your eyes widened at your impulsive request, as did his. Only now did you realize that that would include him dropping a layer. You’ve never seen one another in a state of undress, except perhaps in your night clothes. And even then you had both always been fully dressed.

But you made your bed, now you had to lie in it.

“U-uhm, I mean…I kinda…wanna see it..?” You stammered. You could feel your face heating up under his gaze, while his grin only grew wider. You were sure he was enjoying how flustered you were getting.

“Well, since you asked so nicely! Only because it’s you.” A dark glint flashed in his eyes as he said it. He then nodded to his shirt, challenging you to undo the buttons. “Go on, darling. Don’t be shy now.”

You sat up in his lap, head reeling and ears buzzing as if all your blood had risen to your face. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. Your shaking fingers undid his bowtie first, neatly folding it and placing it on the back of the chaise. Then you reached for the first set up buttons, so close to his neck. You could swear you heard a soft chuckle as you undid them.

Your eyes flit up at him for a second, before quickly snapping back down as you caught him watching you intensely with narrowed eyes and his wicked grin.

“Stop looking at me while I do this…” 

“No~.” Alastor teased.

If you could bush any further, you would.

You decided it was enough after three more sets of buttons. Now no longer focused on the task at hand, you spotted what looked like fur peeking from the gap in the shirt.

Without thinking, you spread his shirt open, even startling Alastor with your bold move. Eyes wide, you gazed at what you could only describe as soft looking brown fluff right in the middle of his chest.

If you had looked up, you’d see Alastor’s smile twitching. Now he was the one being stared at so thoroughly, and it unnerved him. He suddenly felt…exposed? Insecure, maybe? No, not him, never!

He stiffened up as he felt your fingers slowly moving through the tufts of fur, essentially stroking his bare chest.

The fur was dense and soft. Certainly made to keep him warm during the cold seasons - and possibly to serve as a pillow for yourself.

You thought it was so cute. It didn’t go at all with his reputation as the big bad Radio Demon, so it’s no wonder he keeps it a secret. A secret only you knew now.

“Wow, it’s really soft, Al! No wonder you’re so comfy all the time.” When you looked back up at him, you could see the faintest of blushes along his cheeks. You were sure your own blush was still there as well, but you felt reassured knowing that he was also affected by your intimate position.

You batted your eyelashes at him in an attempt to butter him up some more. He probably knew what you wanted to do next anyway.

“Can I..?”

He let out a theatrical sigh, but opened his arms to welcome you in.

“Fine. Since you’re being oh so sweet, my dear.”

You hummed in satisfaction and slowly laid your head down into his chest fluff. It smelled so much like him. You could hear his heart beating much faster than it had before and you grinned to yourself.

You let out another hum as you felt his arms come to rest on your back, his chest rumbling as he spoke.

“I hope you understand that this is to stay between us, darling?”

“Mhm~.” You agreed as you closed your eyes. There’s no way you would ever share this knowledge with anybody. This was just one of the many little secrets Alastor carried with himself. And this one was only for you to know.

[hintsofhoney]

Mine

Paring(s): Alpha!Dean Winchester x F!Omega!Reader

Summary: When Dean is forced to mark Y/N in order to not blow their cover on a case, it leads him to reveal a secret that he's been keeping since they met.

Square(s) Filled: biting for @anyfandomkinkbingo

Tags: 18+, true mates, smut, p in v, marking, a/b/o if that wasn't already obvious lmao, knotting

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Helloooo, it's been a minute. If I'm being honest, I have about 10-15 finished works just sitting in my "ready to post" folder, but posting is always such an ordeal, so they just stay there until I feel like dealing with Tumblr. But, this one I did write over the last two days after I finished reading Bride by Ali Hazelwood, which I loved so much that it made me want to dip my toes into the Omegaverse! That being said, I don't know how much in here is actually in line with A/B/O "rules", but I know I needed to twist some things to fit the story (e.g. in this specific A/B/O fic/universe, claiming marks will fade if they're not true mates). Huge thank you to my A/B/O girlies, @makeadealwithdean and @emoryhemsworth, for reading it over, I love you both to the moon and back! I hope you all enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST |  SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST |  MAIN MASTERLIST

“We get in, find the knife, get out, got it?” Dean asks, looking between Sam in the front seat and Y/N in the back, making sure everyone is on the same page. They both nod once in understanding, before the three of them make their way out of the car, their doors slamming shut simultaneously. 

Y/N stares up at the mansion before them, the music loud, the party raging. It’s some charity event thrown by the wealthiest Alpha in the state, and he just happens to have the weapon they need to finish out this hunt. Y/N stumbles a bit, tripping over the cobblestone driveway in her heels, and she catches the sleeve of Dean’s suit to steady herself. He shoots her a glare that tells her to pull it together. They need to blend in.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“Here,” Dean replies, grabbing her wrist and pulling it through the crook formed by his bent elbow, forcing them to walk arm-in-arm.

“I don’t need –”

“You are an Omega, Y/N. And there are upwards of a hundred Alphas here who can all smell it. So what you need to do is start acting like one. Just because I’m not some asshole Alpha who demands your respect doesn’t mean they aren’t, and we can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves.”

Y/N takes a deep breath and plasters on a fake smile as they move slowly up the driveway. “Anyone who demands my respect just because of some bullshit biological hierarchy doesn’t deserve it,” she grits out.

Dean stops, turning to face her, one of his hands on either side of her biceps. “Do you want to be on this case or not?” 

His voice is lower than usual, demanding and gruff. A voice he only uses when he wants to remind her that he is an Alpha, and bullshit biological hierarchy aside, her body is wired to listen to him. 

She gulps, and he tries not to focus on the bob in her throat, the pulse in her neck near her gland, the scent of her. The moment he met her he knew who she was, what they were. Are. He’s been taking scent blockers since before he met her, finding it far easier to interact with other Alphas when investigating cases if they couldn’t scent him out, but the moment he met her, he knew he had to start taking rut blockers too. Though, it feels like the longer he’s around her, the more immune he becomes to the pills. Like she’s going to send him into a rut any fucking second, and she has no idea. He’s thought about telling her so many times, but mates come with strings. Strings that aren’t conducive to the life of a hunter.

“Yes,” she answers his question meekly, almost submissively, and he nods to cover the hormones he forces himself to swallow down. Rejecting your biology is not easy, no matter how many pills you take.

“Then I’m going to need you to take my arm, put on a smile, and act like being an Omega is the greatest joy of your life. That means –”

“I know how to be a good little Omega, Dean,” she interrupts, dragging the words ‘good little Omega’ through a sarcastic tone.

He tenses slightly at her words, sarcastic or not. Good little Omega.

“I’m only bad for you,” she continues with a cheeky wink, and fuck, he might explode. Hell, he might take her into the bushes right now and mark her, claim her, before parading her around in front of this entire fucking party with his teeth marks on her neck. He’s rigid, trying to keep himself under control, and she gives him a playful pat on his shoulder. “Lighten up, Alpha,” she teases. “I’ll be a good girl.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He gives her biceps a squeeze that he hopes comes off as reassuring as he’s trying to make it seem, before linking his arm with hers once more and catching up to Sam at the front of the driveway.

The trio is greeted by the owner of the mansion himself, one Jim Myers, who welcomes them in with a smile on his face and a cigar in his hand. 

“How Gatsby-esque,” Y/N mutters under her breath, watching as Myers shakes Sam’s hand.

Dean nods in agreement. “You definitely wore the right outfit.”

Y/N blushes as she looks down at her dress; a black, semi body-hugging cocktail dress bedazzled with gold sequins in some sort of art deco pattern. All she’s missing is a cigarette holder and a feather in her hair. 

“Only because I read the invitation. Unlike some of us,” she mumbles in reply.

“Watch it, Omega,” Dean grits out, plastering on a smile as soon as Myers comes over to greet him.

“Jim Myers, pleasure,” he says, shaking Dean’s hand.

“Dean. And this is Y/N.”

She keeps the cordial smile on her face as Jim takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently before inhaling her scent. 

“Pleasure, Miss Y/N,” he says with a feral grin, his eyes darkening with unmistakable lust as he lets her hand fall back to her side. 

Dean takes a step forward, unable to stop himself. “Mine,” he practically growls, and Jim takes a step back, throwing his hands up in surrender. 

“My apologies. I didn’t see a mark, so I just assumed.”

Dean falters, clearing his throat, suddenly reminded of the reason they’re all here in the first place. “No, that’s alright. It’s my fault for not putting it in a visible place.” His eyes dart over to Y/N’s. “I think I’m gonna fix that.”

She ducks her head but can’t hide the red flush that creeps up into her cheeks, reminding herself that it’s just her biology, and that this is all for show anyway. They’re here to do a job, and sometimes those jobs involve… well, whatever the hell just happened. And clearly, Dean is a better actor than she gives him credit for.

Jim chuckles, clasping his hands together. “Well, you three have fun, the drinks are free, the food is good, and if you,” he points at Sam, “good sir, are in search of an Omega, there are plenty to choose from.”

Sam blushes. “Right.” He nods. “Thanks.”

And with that, Jim disappears into the crowd.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sam says. “You two go. Upstairs, down the hall, third door on the right. If I got the right blueprints.”

“If you got the right blueprints?” Dean asks.

“Just go.” He taps his ear to indicate that he’ll drop in on Dean’s earpiece if anything goes wrong. 

Dean sighs, taking Y/N by the hand and leading her up the stairs. He weaves in and out of the crowd, the scents of everyone mixing together, making it impossible to decipher who is what. Y/N’s never been more glad to be on heat suppressors; knowing full well the scents of this many Alphas invading her nostrils would send her body into a major one.

Dean quickly finds the door, and they slip into the room unnoticed, closing the barrier and switching on the light. It’s a bedroom — the master, from the looks of it — and the knife is right in front of them in the middle of the room, across from the foot of the bed. It’s in a glass case, on display, and likely armed with a million alarms, but right in front of them nonetheless. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair as he thinks about what the next move should be.

“We could find something that weighs the same? Lift the glass and replace it super fast?” Y/N offers.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s the glass that’s probably set to trip an alarm. But the fact that you’re applying Indiana Jones to real life scenarios is making me want to —” 

He stops himself, realizing what he was about to say. He needs to get himself under control but Y/N in that dress with her smart fucking mouth, with other Alphas eyeing her, he really shouldn’t be here, with her, alone, and —

“Making you want to what?” she asks.

Shit. “Making me want to… make you watch more of them,” he replies, opting to circle the display case, searching it for a way in to distract himself from her. 

“Oh, goody. Can’t wait.” She’s as monotone and sarcastic as ever, and every time something smart comes out of her mouth he has to resist the urge to bend her over and fuck her right then.

“Get out of there now,” Sam’s voice comes in on Dean’s earpiece. “Lost track of him for a few seconds, just found him again. He’s making his way upstairs.”

“Shit,” Dean says. “Shit, shit, shit.” He looks around the room frantically. If they go out the door, Myers will without a doubt see them leaving his room. “Myers is coming,” he explains to a confused-looking Y/N.

“Fucking — God dammit.” She looks around too, for a hiding spot, for a weapon, and then she spots herself in the mirror hanging on the wall and an idea comes to her. “Mark me,” she orders.

“What?” Dean snaps, his attention fully on her.

“Get over here and mark me. You told him you were going to make it visible.” She continues before Dean can protest. “Who knows if it’ll even stay, it’s not like we’re mates, right? And if it does, I don’t mind being bound to you for the rest of ever. It’s not like I’m having much luck in the relationship department anyway. But we need that knife, and we’re not going to get it if we don’t –”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath with a quick shake of his head, before he strides across the room and pushes her up against the wall just in time to hear the door click. He inhales her scent, his mouth trailing from the base of her jaw all the way down to her mating gland where it hovers as the door opens all the way. Then he bites down.

Y/N throws her head back, her fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders as his teeth sink into her, and none of it is for show. The pain is euphoric, and her senses heighten, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t been so stringent on taking her fucking pills, because whatever this feeling is, coursing through her veins, settling in her core, she needs to feel it more. She can’t stand how dulled it is, how it just stays there, simmering underneath the surface. She wants to erupt. 

“Mm, fuck, Alpha!” she cries out, no trace of sarcasm in her voice, and Dean’s hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise them. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jim exclaims. “Got an alert that someone was in here, there’s some very valuable things in here, you see, and I just wanted to make sure —”

Dean pulls away from her neck long enough to shoot him a glare that translates to “get out or I’m going to kill you”, and Jim gets the message, backing out the door and shutting it behind him. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, letting his forehead fall to Y/N’s shoulder. He shouldn’t be so close to her. He should back away, give himself some space to breathe. But her scent keeps him rooted in place. It’s her usual scent; something like freshly baked sugar cookies and vanilla, sweet and enticing, but there’s something else, something —

“Are you guys okay?” Sam’s voice in his damn ear again.

Dean lifts his head and presses the button on his earpiece to reply. “Fine, Sam. Give us a second.” Then he takes the earpiece out and tosses it over his shoulder, more agitated than he should be at his brother just trying to check in.

“Dean,” she breathes, and she sounds absolutely wrecked. She brings her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. “Are you okay?” 

He nods. Her touch is like fire on his skin. He needs her. 

Y/N squeezes her thighs together. She’s never been able to scent Dean before, but he’s never been this close for this long. He’s never marked her, either. Right now his scent is breaking through the suppressants, little by little. It’s bits of cedar and leather and whiskey, and she’s never smelt anything like it, yet it is so familiar somehow. It invades her senses, and if this is what he smells like with suppressants, she’s terrified of what would happen without them.

“Dean… your scent.” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply.

“Fuck, my pills must’ve worn off, I —”

She shakes her head. “It’s dulled but… but it’s there.” Her thighs clench together again, and she needs him back on her skin. “It’s there and it’s so fucking good.”

Dean’s eyes fall to the gland on her neck, and the severity of what he’s done comes crashing into him like a wrecking ball. It’s enough to force him to take a step away from her, panic rising in his chest. “I – fuck. I marked you. I fucking marked you.”

Y/N’s fingers come up to graze the indent on her neck, and she shudders at the touch. “I told you to.”

“No, you don’t understand, Y/N –”

“I know what happens when mates get marked, Dean,” she interrupts matter-of-factly. “I’m sure this’ll fade.”

“It won’t. I – I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck. Fuck!” He turns to the wall next to him, hitting it with the side of his closed fist. 

“Dean.” Her touch on his arm is gentle and comforting, but he doesn’t turn to face her. “You need to calm down. It’s really not a big deal, I –”

Dean takes a deep breath, both hands on the wall now as he collects himself. He can’t even bring himself to look at her when he says, “You’re my mate, Y/N.”

She takes a step back, and her fading scent is what makes him finally face her. She’s halfway across the room by the time he does. 

“W-what do you mean?”

“You’re my mate, Y/N,” he repeats.

She shakes her head, her hand coming to her neck again, the teeth marks seared into her skin. “N-no. H-how? When? How – how long have you known?”

Dean takes another long, deep breath. He could lose her tonight. She could run and never come back and he wouldn’t blame her. “Since we met.”

“THREE YEARS!?” she roars. “YOU’VE KNOWN FOR THREE FUCKING YEARS!?”

“Y/N, I –”

She stalks toward him, one finger outstretched, one fist clenched by her side. She points at him as she backs him into a wall, and he’s incredibly turned on and incredibly scared at the same time. 

“You’ve known that we’re fucking mates for three years, and you didn’t feel as though that was pertinent fucking information to tell me!?”

Dean swallows. “I – it’s – there are… strings with mates. You know that. I didn’t want to ball and chain you. I didn’t want to keep you anywhere you didn’t want to be. And if – fuck – we’re hunters, Y/N. If something had happened to me, and you knew… I didn’t want you to have to live with that. With the pain that comes with losing a true mate.”

Y/N stops half a foot away and drops her accusatory finger. “What did you say?” she whispers.

“True… mates,” Dean breathes.

“We’re…? But… We never – I don’t –”

“With me on my pills, and you on your pills, I think it was enough to… so we just never…”

“But you knew,” she says, closing the gap between them, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. “You knew for so long and you watched me go on dates, had to listen about the… things I did with other Alphas… if I had mated with one of them, you –”

“You deserved to have a choice. Regardless of what I wanted, you deserved to have a choice.” 

“My choice could’ve left you depressed and alone and celibate forever, you fucking dumbass.” 

He shrugs, and her hand falls to rest over his heart. She stares at it as she continues.

“When you… marked me… I felt… I don’t know what I felt. Nothing’s ever been so intense.”

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, and he smiles softly.

“That’s the bond,” he explains, his large palm coming to rest over the hand on his chest. 

“And if we weren’t on… our blockers?”

“If we weren’t on our blockers, there’s no fucking telling how many pups we’d have running around by now.”

Y/N shivers as the thought of being bred settles in her core, and for once she’s not cursing her biology. Dean chuckles faintly at her reaction, dropping his forehead to hers. 

“We can practice in the meantime. Until you decide you want off of them.”

She inhales deeply, taking in as much of his scent as she can. “Oh, I –” another deep breath, “I’m getting off of them for sure.”

Dean lets out a borderline animalistic growl, thinking about how many times he’ll get to fuck her through that first heat. “I’m gonna stop taking my pills, too,” he says breathily.

“Yeah?”

“I had to get on rut blockers when you moved into the Bunker because I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself. But now,” he says, spinning them both around and pinning Y/N against the wall, “now I don’t fuckin’ have to.”

“Dean,” she half gasps, half moans. He kisses the mark on her neck before licking all the way up to her jaw line and pulling back. 

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy, Omega.”

She meets his feral gaze with one of her own, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Prove it.” 

And it might be an incredibly stupid thing to say to a horny Alpha, but it’s also Dean. And he’d never hurt her.

“Mm, fuck.” His voice is raspy and wrecked and they haven’t even done anything yet. Before Y/N can process what’s happening, he’s picking her up and throwing her onto the bed. He climbs over her, hovering for a moment, taking in her flushed cheeks, the warmth radiating off of her, her scent. “You’re beautiful,” he states plainly, like it’s the one fact in the world that he knows without a doubt to be true. 

Y/N blushes. “Thank you, Alpha.” She says it because she knows what it does to him. 

“You’re beautiful, and I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.” 

A gasp leaves her lips as he pushes her dress up her hips and moves down her body to the foot of the mattress, his fingertips dancing along the hem of her panties before his eyes meet with hers. She gives him a nod, and it’s all the confirmation he needs before pulling them down her legs and tossing them aside. 

He watches hungrily as she spreads her thighs, her core damn near dripping with her wetness, and if this is what it’s like when she’s on heat blockers, he can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll look like covered in her slick. His cock grows hard in his slacks at the thought, and he has to step off the bed to take off his pants and boxers before the containment grows painful. He shrugs off his suit jacket and white dress shirt too, and when he’s standing in front of the bed, fully naked, Y/N is propping herself up on her elbows to take him in.

“Holy – fuck,” is all she can get out. 

Dean chuckles deeply, one knee coming up onto the mattress as he fists his cock. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He looks her over again, pussy glistening, nipples peaked through her dress. “Fuck, I want you to – would you present for me?”

A smirk spreads across her lips, but she doesn’t say anything before flipping over and assuming the position. Ass up, legs shoulder width apart, chest resting on the mattress. 

Dean lets out a low and guttural, “Fuuuuck,” and it’s enough to make her pussy clench around nothing. She feels the mattress dip behind her, and when his cock starts to move through her folds, she almost cums right then and there. 

“I know you you wish you weren’t an Omega,” he starts, “but you’re a fuckin’ perfect one, baby.” 

She shakes her head, soft whimpers escaping her as he continues to tease her with his dick. “I’m glad I’m an Omega, because I’m yours.” 

With that, Dean loses what little self control he has left. He lines himself up with her entrance and sinks into her heat, and she feels so fucking perfect, the way she molds around his cock. The noises leaving her throat spur him on as he thrusts into her, setting a bruising pace. He wraps his hand around her shoulder for leverage, his other gripping her ass.

“Oh my fuck!” she practically screams, and he can feel how close she is, can smell it. 

“You’re gonna be a good little Omega and cum for me, aren’t you baby?” he pants, and he couldn’t be thrusting deeper if he tried.

She nods frantically. “Yesyesyes, please, Alpha, I wanna to cum. I wanna — mm, fuck — on your —”

She’s too fucked out to even finish her sentence, and Dean can feel himself about to fall over the edge. “What’s that, sweetheart? Speak up.”

“I wanna cum — oh, God! — on your knot. Fucking fill me up, Dean, please.”

He barely manages another thrust before he buries himself to the hilt, the base of his cock swelling inside her as he pumps her full of his seed.

The feeling of him filling her sends her over the edge, her pussy clenching around his cock, his knot, and she feels so full and fucked and sated.

“Oh my fucking fuuuuck,” he groans, feeling her pulse around him. “Fuck, everyone and this fuckin’ party is gonna be able to smell me inside of you.”

She moans at his words.

“Gonna have me dripping down your thighs ‘til we get back home.” His hand squeezes the globe of her ass before he leans over, getting as close to her ear as he can. “And then I’m gonna fuck you again. And again. And again. Because we got three years to make up for.” He nips at her ear playfully. “And now you’re finally mine.”

[jweekgoji]

Hello! Can I request a nsfw cogged Orion pax x cog less femme reader ? I was thinking after he came back from the surface to his miner friends.

Cogged!Orion/Cogless!Femme!Reader [TFO]

tw: size difference, valveplug (MDNI), soft and inexperienced!Orion, sub-ish!Orion at the start, first time, awkward intimacy, size kink. word count: ~1800 a/n: uni work makes me a little more busy now, but i hope i am not making you wait for too long. i tried to read it a few times and check for mistakes, but i'm eepy so...

Orion likes to touch. The way he gently places his servo on one of his friend's shoulders or lightly taps their frame to get the attention, it's how he used to show his care towards someone, to bring comfort. Growing up and being surrounded by many bots, some so friendly or not, it was natural for him to become the most tactile bot you ever met.

With you, it is only worse. The young troublemaker just can't stand a minute without having his servo around you, because that's how he is, so clingy and needy of the same affection and closeness with you.

You can't remember at least a one day when he wouldn't approach you with a surprise hug from behind, often pulling you closer to his chassis during a short breaks from working in mines. Even though every day he was risking his own life for the better of Iacon, sometimes even smacked by your supervisors, he never lost this innocent smile on his face. What more does he need in his life when he has you next to him?

Orion is the real definition of the sunshine person, the natural-born leader, always everywhere at once, seeking for more trouble the second you look away from him.

When he is so close, servos around your waist, his chassis against your own, you find it difficult to stare for too long into those big, bright blue optics of his, you feel your own one straining as if you had been looking for too long at the Sun.

Now the same intimacy between the two of you feels different, somehow, the touch is as gentle as before, but the usual brightness of his optics is not the same. Orion himself now looks different.

Stronger, taller, mature...tired?

A lot had happened in that short time he had on the surface of your home planet, so you never press on him to tell you more about than he wants. Right now, he wants to cling to the bits of comfort you can provide. How much he wants to hug you tighter, just to express that suppressed desire for warmth and solace.

Orion's hold around your waist tightens just a little more before he slowly relaxes. He notices how his servo is large enough to wrap around your entire waist now.

He knows you're strong, no matter the difference in size or lacking the cog, it doesn't make you any less strong than him. If anything,  the position you are in makes him more vulnerable than you ever have been. It's almost cute how quickly he pulls his servos from you after holding you a little tighter than he intended to, already looking all awkward and guilty, like a kicked puppy.

“Sorry, didn't uh...” he pauses for a moment, his optics shyly flickering to one side and to the other, then going back to your face. “...didn't mean to do that.”

How can he be so afraid to touch you now? As if you were made of a fragile glass? You couldn't help but huff, placing your servos on his face, your thumbs gently moving over the smooth metal of his helm. That tiny little «ears» he had now much longer, as you note silently in your mind, and that almost makes you want to gently tug at them.

Orion leans into your touch, closing his optics and relaxing, as he lets you caress him. In a position like this, when you straddle his thigh, he has nothing against letting you do whatever you want with him. Makes it easier to focus on the feeling and relax, rather than the constant fear of doing something wrong.

You can feel Orion's servo carefully placed over your own, his digits circling over your wrist in an almost soothing manner.

If only someone could see you two right now, such a big bot like him, melting under the touch of the small no-cog? And you were the one, acting all gentle towards him? The thought makes him shiver in pleasure, just staying with you like this is enough to warm his spark.

You lean closer for a kiss, struggling to reach for his face, until he tilts his head down, meeting your lips. A quiet groan escapes from him once you press yourself closer. If you try to listen intently, you might hear how fast his spark is beating in his chamber right now.

His servos slide lower, moving over the sides of your frame, only to stop to rest on your thighs, digits gently squeezing the soft plating.

There's something in his mind wanting more of it—that just those innocent, butterfly like kisses and tight embraces aren't enough, his spark practically yearning for your body against his.

But he can't tell you this, can he? He doesn't want to sound too greedy, too pushing, you probably aren't ready for him...for this. He never wants to make you feel uncomfortable. Orion would rather let you do everything at your own pace, no matter how agonizingly slow your servos move over his frame right now. It seems like a silent torture once you start teasingly moving your index finger around the center of his chassis, where the empty slot for his t-cog once was.

Orion tilts his head back a little, servos visibly trembling, as if trying to ground himself from flipping you underneath him and finally having his way with you. The silent struggling doesn't go unnoticed by you. Even though it was obvious to both of you, how much he wants to continue and ask for more, but he refuses to beg for it. He feels too shy, too scared to ask it from you, stubbornly suffering in silence.

Luckily for Orion, you might be no less stubborn than him as you begin gently grinding against his thigh. Slowly, carefully at once, just to concentrate on his reaction to this. You were ready for him to tell you to stop or to pull away immediately, but your concerns disappeared as soon as you heard a soft, strangled moan.

“Don't stop,” he manages to say between heavy breaths, optics half-lidded as he looks at you.

It's almost like he was waiting for it for cycles, given how quickly he wraps his servos around your thighs, only to position you between his legs, your back now pressed against his chassis.

He knows you're small, with him being almost twice your size, there's no way you would be able to take his spike without hurting you. Just thinking of it, of accidentally making you hurt at the moment as special as this...—

“It's fine” you murmur softly in response, leaning back against him. "Let's start little by little at first."

Orion only nods silently, and you can almost spot a tiny blue tint on his cheeks the moment he finally opens up his interface panel for you. A mech his size, and here he is, nuzzling his face against the top of your head in weak attempts to hide his own shyness, and that could not but encourage you to continue.

You lower yourself a little, so your valve could gently grind against the tip of his spike, already glistening with droplets of transfluid. You wonder, how long has he been like this, trying to ignore his own needs when you were right beside him?

A thin line of lubricant spreads around your entrance, mixing with your own wetness, now making you shudder at the burning, hot feeling, seeping into your frame. It is so unfair, the way you are so, so close and at the same time, so far away from where he desperately wants you to be. It's too much to bear.

You are so tiny compared to him, he can't help but remind himself to always be careful with you. Not to hold you too tight, or maybe not to accidentally break you the moment he can finally push his spike deep into you. No, no, don't get too tempted with ideas, Pax!

Orion groans softly, breathing a hot air against the crook of your neck. You're barely doing anything, and somehow, it is just too much. You can feel his spike desperately twitching against your folds, as if silently begging you to take mercy on him. He grinds against your entrance once more, rubbing the tip until he lines up with your valve.

He carefully thrusts up into you, the tip of his spike slipping in and out, just a fraction. It takes all of his self-control not to give in to the urge to thrust up into you, to bury himself inside you till the hilt. Even then, he is grateful for everything you give him.

“So good, so good around me, sweetspark,” he praises, planting a soft kiss on your neck, muttering your name over and over again in sync with a slow roll of his hips.

Orion groans as you continue to meet his thrusts, moving your hips against his own. The thought of his sparkmate, so smaller than him and yet you're taking him so well. There’s no mistake, Primus himself blessed him with you, with how perfect you are for him, everything in you is flawless. There is no way you weren’t created and destined to be his.

He looks down at you, an obvious fascination and adoration in his optics once he meets your own. The sight of you, almost salivating from pleasure alone is enough to push him over the edge.

It feels much more intense for you than you could have imagined. Each slow, tender thrust makes you arch your back as he stretches your insides. You already struggle to take him like this, with not even a half of his size inside you, yet you're already a shaking and whining mess on top of him. So full.

You let out a soft mewl once Orion thrust into you again, and that was enough to suddenly bring you to overload. You pant softly, closing your optics for a moment to catch your breath. Poor, poor tiny thing, didn't even fully realize how close you were already with how good his spike felt inside you.

You feel him throb inside you again, and you tense up at the realization. He didn't reach his own release.

Orion notices your slightly panicked state when you gently try to sit up again, only to slump back against his chassis, too tired to move for now. Despite everything, he's happy. He's so, so lucky to have you right now. It's so adorable how you immediately think of his own pleasure, a second after your own overload.

“Don't worry about me,” he gently kisses the top of your helm, his servo soothingly rubbing your thigh. “It brings me more pleasure to watch you like this.”

[pandapetals]

Don't Leave

Logan doesn't want you to leave.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

"Just one more kiss, sweetheart," Logan murmured, his lips brushing yours. His hand, warm and steady, rested against the small of your back, holding you close as if reluctant to let go.

You smiled, though you tried to hide it, glancing at the clock over his shoulder. "Logan, I’m already late," you countered, but despite your words, you made no move to pull away. His arms felt too comfortable around you, too familiar.

Logan gave a small huff, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Exactly," he said, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your forehead. "You're already late. What’s another minute?" His thumb gently traced a circle along your hip, his tone casual, though there was something behind his words—something you could feel in the way he was holding onto you just a little tighter than usual.

You chuckled, resting your hands on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. "Is this your subtle way of saying you don’t want me to go? Because if it is, it’s cute."

Logan narrowed his eyes at you, his lips pulling into a half-smirk, but you could see the flicker of vulnerability in his gaze—the one he tried so hard to hide. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, his voice rough, but his eyes softened as they searched your face. "Just stop smilin' at me like that."

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like you're gonna go, and I'll be fine with it," he muttered, his hand slipping up to gently cup your cheek. "I don’t like it, and you know it."

The truth of it hung in the air between you—Logan, with all his strength and gruffness, was still so achingly tender when it came to you. Even though you were just leaving for a few hours, it was enough to make him restless, enough to make him worry in that quiet way he did. You had seen it in his eyes earlier when you'd first mentioned the trip, the way his jaw had tightened just a little, the way his hand had lingered on your arm longer than usual.

"Logan," you whispered, your smile fading into something more tender as you leaned into his touch, your forehead resting against his. "I’m just going for a few hours. It’s not like I’m going across the world."

"Doesn’t matter," he muttered, his thumb brushing across your cheek. "Could be a few hours, could be a day... either way, I don’t like when you’re not around." He paused, his voice dropping to a lower rumble. "Can’t help it."

Your heart swelled at the quiet confession. Logan didn’t open up easily—his vulnerability was something he kept hidden behind all the gruffness and strength. But with you, he let those walls slip, bit by bit.

You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, feeling it beat steadily beneath your lips. "I’ll be back before you even know it," you promised, though you could feel the weight of his worry pressing against you.

Logan let out a long breath, pulling you even closer like he couldn’t quite let go yet. "Yeah, well," he muttered, his lips grazing your forehead again, "don’t keep me waiting too long."

"I won’t," you said, your voice soft as your hands ran up his chest to cup his face. You tilted his head down slightly so your eyes could meet his. "You’re gonna be fine, tough guy. Promise."

Logan huffed, though the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "Don’t like it when you leave," he repeated, almost as if he couldn’t help saying it again. "But yeah, I’ll be fine." He paused, his eyes locking with yours, his hand brushing the back of your neck gently. "Just... come back to me."

You smiled softly, leaning up to press a slow kiss to his lips, savoring the warmth of him. "Always," you whispered against his mouth. "I'll always come back to you."

He kissed you once more, deeper this time as if sealing the promise. When he finally pulled back, his hand lingered in yours, fingers brushing over your knuckles as he let you go reluctantly.

As you turned to leave, grabbing your bag, Logan watched you, that familiar look of quiet concern still etched on his face. "You got your phone?" he asked, his voice a little rougher now like he was trying to cover up the softness.

You smiled, holding it up. "Yes."

"Just makin' sure," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, though the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away. "Text me when you’re on your way back."

"I will," you said, pausing at the door to give him one last look. "Don’t worry so much."

Logan scoffed, shaking his head slightly. "I always worry about you, sweetheart," he said quietly. "You know that."

As you walked out the door, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, feeling the warmth of his words wrap around you like a blanket. No matter where you went, or how long you were gone, you knew Logan would always be waiting for you and y ou couldn’t wait to come home to him.

[jezabelle9299]

You're It for me S.R x FEM! reader

Overture- Your walking through a used bookstore when you spot an old magazine with your boyfriends face on the cover-- not for his academic ability

CWs- Comparison to Lila Archer, feeling replaceable, this is diet angst- I don't have the guts or skill for the truly heart wrenching, kissing

A/N- I was kind of picturing an early season 2 Spencer? Like they've been dating for a while, but like-- not more than maybe 2 years, so they're still a little bit nervous. Also this is the first of many things I'm doing this December so hopefully everything goes well and if you want to read any of the other things I'm doing you could do so HERE

Right in your favorite used bookstore, on top of some other old magazines, there it was. It caught your eye at first because of the vibrant photo— but when you stopped to look you saw a beautiful young actress rubbing her face onto your wonderful boyfriend's hand. You felt sick, but you pushed through it to buy the stupid thing so you could read it. 

You barely made it through the checkout line, pale as a ghost and wishing you’d never walked in there. Because why didn’t he tell you? The publishing date was only months before you started dating and he hated touch. Was this a long relationship? An intimate moment no one else was supposed to see?

By the time you got to your car you’d ripped the plastic covering off the magazine opening up the article about Lila Archer. You hadn’t really heard of her before, but she was gorgeous. The more you read about the ‘secret relationship’ between her and Spencer the more upset you got— until in one of the final sentences it said one of their reporters found them in a pool—fully clothed—making out. Spencer. Your germaphobic boyfriend who was nervous about so much as touching you in passing for your first 3 dates jumped into a pool to make out with someone he couldn’t have known for that long.

You sat on the couch in your apartment after a silent ride home. Spencer was supposed to meet you to spend some time together, he’d be landing any minute– but it was all you could do not to cry. It was before you were dating but you just felt– Insecure? Replaceable? You weren’t quite sure, but comparison stole your joy and left you with nothing but a sour mood and a boyfriend on his way to see you– one who was qualified to notice that you were upset nearly immediately upon seeing you. 

“Hey honey— I’m so glad I’m finally home. I’ve missed you so much.” He walked through the door, you’d told him so many times that he could come in without knocking– he even had his own key– and he moved straight to you. He leaned in to kiss you, but your lips were unrelenting, not soft like they usually were. You weren’t in the mood for romance right now and he wanted to figure out why. 

Not that you always had to be in the mood for physical touch, but usually when he got home from longer cases you were on him from the moment he walked through the door. He loved that— he missed that right now. 

“Is something wrong? Are you ok?”

“Yeah Spence, I’m fine.” You plastered on your best fake smile to no avail, only making Spencer more concerned in your efforts. 

“Did something happen while I was gone?”

“Nothing happened.” 

“I know you’re not telling me something. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.” Despite his words, his tone wasn’t accusatory at all. Only concerned. 

“I don’t need help— I just saw something that kind of… freaked me out is all.” You were really trying to downplay the effect that stupid magazine cover had on you.

“Did I leave one of my case files laying around? Oh honey I’m so sorry— I thought I picked them all up before I left.”He was wracked with guilt over something that didn’t even happen. 

“No Spencer it wasn’t that. It was a magazine? You were on the cover.” You thought he knew what you were talking about. I mean he’s been in a few science magazines for his academic ability, but nothing else like this. At least you certainly hoped not. 

“What magazine? From this month?” 

“No— it was a few months before we started dating. It was you and Lila Archer? I know it was before we started dating; and I know I have no right to be upset by it but it just— it just kind of took me by surprise, you know?”

“Oh. I forgot about that.” 

“You forgot about it? It said you were found fully clothed in her pool, and you just forgot?” You weren’t accusatory, just hurt—your voice was breaking by the end and you were still trying to look up at him. 

“It really wasn’t like that, I only knew her for a week— we were in LA because she was being stalked, I was supposed to be guarding her and she pulled me into the pool.” with just that one sentence he made it infinitely worse. He knew her for a week, and he wasn’t worried about her germs? What made her so different?

“You only knew her for a week?”

“Well–yes?” It was clear by the way he looked at you that he thought that would be a comforting notion. It was anything but. 

“On our first date you didn’t even want to touch me. You didn’t kiss me until we’d been dating for almost 2 weeks. I was perfectly fine with those things because I know you don’t really like touch but I need you to be honest with me about something. Do you just not like me as much? Because if you don’t that’s– well that’s ok. I mean I don’t want to be worried that you’re going to get a case in LA and find someone better.”

“Honey let me be perfectly clear– there is no one better. I love you more than anything or anyone on this Earth.” Spencer’s reassurance just wasn’t comforting you like it usually did. 

“Then–why? I mean do you just not think about me physically in that way?”

“I think the way I feel about you physically could easily be described as clingy and/or obsessed. You know this, sweetheart.” He held tightly onto your hands- rubbing the back of hand with his thumb

“Well now sure, but I honestly kind of thought you just weren’t attracted to me when we first started going out.”

“I was– and am for the record– extremely attracted to you. Some of my hesitance towards touching you was germ-based, but honestly I was just so ridiculously, extremely nervous around you that I was afraid to touch you and mess everything up.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, honey in case you hadn’t noticed you’re kind of it for me.” That feeling in the pit of your stomach finally subsided— giving way to the same feeling of love you always feel when Spencer wraps you in his arms. 

[nanivinsmoke]

Hello nani!! I just wanted to say I just read your all of me logan x reader and I love it! Was wondering If you could do logan x reader smut with the song ride by somo (been having it in my head for a while) but if you can't that's fine keep up the awesome work love!!

Ride .

✩ logan ‘wolverine’ howlett x mutant!femreader

♪my body on your body baby, stickin like some glue…♪

✩ you usually don’t sleep with your coworkers, but during this mission….the tension between you two becomes unbearable.

✩ tags: nasty, slutty sex, sex in a car, riding, oral sex, creampie, rough fucking, everything is slutty when it comes to him, jealous logan, you are a teacher at the Xavier school for the gifted, added some plot too, you can control any form of matter, liquid is your fave tho…

✩ note: hello! thanks for the req, anon this song choice 🙂‍↕️ I’ve got freaky followers! also had xmen/x2 wolverine in mind. song at the bottom of the page!

Charles left you in charge for today, something he does once every two months with his head teachers. He did it so you guys could gain experience and know how to take charge if something ever happened to him. It happens more frequently than you’d think.

Before you, it was Storm and she did an amazing job. Everyone loved her as the school’s professor, there were less accidents within the school and more mutants had come too. Unlike Scott, who was more brutal with his approach, leading to some students leaving the academy. Charles was upset and even though he didn’t show it, everyone knew it.

However, unlike those two, Logan was a little more reckless with his approach. There’s was fight breaking out almost everyday, but those same fights were mended that same day they happened. Plus, tons of students joined just because they heard THE Wolverine was there. He might’ve been a dick most of the time, however he had a heart.

And that’s why you decided to partner up with him for today’s mission. Well, that was partially true. In all honesty you had the biggest crush on him and you wanted to get the opportunity to be with him all day. Hoping to get the chance to jump his bones.

You entered the conference room with a smile, your chunky, patent leather boots echoing against the wooden floors; turning your coworkers attention over to you. Your hair flowed beautifully as you made your way in front of the round tables cleaning your throat while looking at their faces—your eyes lingering on Logan’s a little bit longer, before you spoke.

“Charles left me in charge for this month. For my very first day, i expect great results! In order for great results to happen, we have to put in the effort. I compared the results from the last couple of months. Logan and Storm, the two of you were outstanding. Quantity of students and Quality of missions were in our high range, however with you Scott……we were very low.” You turned your attention over to him, watching his body tense up and earning a chuckle from Logan.

You cleared your throat before continuing, “This isn’t to bash anyone, but to help us grow as a school and as teacher’s. These mutants come from all over to us because we understand them. They want to be comfortable and not reminded of their past lives. So, in order for this all to happen, im giving you all new partners.” There was some whispers as they turned to look at their current partners.

“Storm and Jean, you two are together. Hank and Nightcrawler, Scott and Colossus. Logan?” He pulled out his cigar and connect his eyes with yours.

“You’re with me.”

The two of you walked side to side as you approached the school’s parking lot passing the variety of cars, on the way to your own. “So, what’s this mission about?” He spoke from behind you, his eyes following your hips as you walked, trailing down to your ass and how heavy it looked in those black leather jean’s you were wearing.

“We’re looking for a mutant named Cupid and no he’s not the blonde bitch from Olympus.” You cursed, earning a chuckle from Logan.

Finally reaching your car, Logan was amazed at your taste. Your car was a matte black dodge charger, with lightly tinted windows and matching leather seats. He hopped in the passenger seat while you occupied the driver’s. “Tell me more about this love bastard,” now you were the one to chuckle. God was he hot.

“Cupid’s been causing a lot of issues in city, he currently resides in a small town and the mayor has asked for our help. His powers are based on two emotes everyone has. Love and Hate. He can control a person based on those emotions.” You pulled out of the lot, driving to your mission’s destination.

“Now, we can either do this Charle’s way or my way.” He turned to you, with an eyebrow raise, puffing on his cigar.

“And what way is that?”

“You’ll have to wait and see, baby~”

The car ride was quiet, besides your radio playing and the sound of his breathing while puffed on his cigar. However, Logan took glances at you from here and there. Watching how your eyes would gleam as the sun hit it, how you would bob head to the songs you liked, and those lips….god your lips looked heavenly. He could stare at those all day, wishing he could kiss them forever.

“Logan?” You called out and he snapped out of his days, looking around before looking back at you. “You okay? We’re here.” You raised an eyebrow and he nodded, the two of you stepping out of the car and approaching the apple green house.

You lead the way, while Logan watched your back. Those hazel eyes stuck on your derrière. “I don’t know exactly how he uses his powers, so just be on your game, Lo.” You turned your head slightly, giving him a small smile before turning around to knock on the white door. A few seconds after, a male appeared wearing a ruby red robe and blue boxer’s, pinching his nose as he sniffed.

You turned to look at your partner before back at the mutant. “Are you, Ezekiel?” You asked, a smile on your face while Logan wore his usual resting face. “Depends, are you the cops?” He asked, eyes falling from yours and onto Logan’s before going back to yours. You shook your head and smiled once more.

“Do you mind if we come in? We aren’t going to hurt you, we just wanna talk.” He said nothing, studying both of your faces before turning away; letting you both in. You followed after him, looking around his house—trying to understand him before speaking with him. Logan watched as the kid plopped on his messy couch, pulling out a small trinket and sniffing the contents. He let out an exasperated sigh and locked eyes with Logan.

“Want some?”

“I’m good, bub.” You finally joined them and sat down in the small chair across from him, Logan opting to stand besid you—cigar in the corner of his mouth.

“We’re from the Charles Xavier school for the gifted mutants. We heard about the little trouble you’ve been causing here.” He looked at you and relaxed on the couch, smirking.

“Trouble? I just help those that needed it, isn’t that what you do? I heard about this school….this Xavier guy seems like a quack. Not interested, but if you lose the top, I might be convinced.” You could sense Logan’s mood change and you held your hand out, letting him know that you had this. Guess it’s time to do it your way. Sorry Professor.

You slowly undid the buttons that held your black button up together, freeing some of your cleavage, making both Logan and Ezekiel look at you. You stared at him, smirk etching onto your face while you used your powers on the cocky mutant. He started to choke and gasp for air, causing Logan to look at him and then at you.

“Listen, do you want to die? These people are going to get fed up with you quite soon and when they do, they won’t stop until they hunt you down and have your dumb blonde head on a stick. But why wait for that when I can do it myself?” Your tone was cold and your eyes had darkened, scaring the mutant. His pale face was turning a shade of pink and Logan was getting worried.

“Princess….” He started off, but you held your hand out again. “What do ya say? Want me to kill you? Or will you let us help you and keep you safe?” You released the pressure on his throat, letting Ezekiel catch his breath. He nodded and let out a breathless okay, and you smiled; quickly buttoning your top back up before standing on your two feet.

“Good, see you at the school. Logan, give him the card.” You said leaving the two men in the house. Logan dropped the card onto the dark oak coffee table, before looking at the mutant.

“Dude, she’s crazy!”

“Tell me bout’ it,” He muttered on his way out.

You sat in the passenger seat while Logan drove, looking out the window, in complete silence. There was some obvious tension there and you were trying your best to find out why.

“Logan? Is there something wrong?” You turned and looked at him, eyes dancing across his face. He was silent and then he looked at you, his mouth painted with a scowl.

“Yeah there is.”

“What is it?” He said nothing and you continued to look at him, before he pulled the car over on the side of the road, putting it in park and turning it off—unbuckling his seat belt along with yours.

“Think that was okay? What you pulled back there? Showing him what’s mine?” Your eyes widened and you could feel a throbbing sensation below, you crossed your legs in your seat and kept your face unreadable. Seeing you show off your breasts to the mutant had Logan seething, those were for his eyes only. You were his.

“Did Cupid use his powers on you? You okay.—“ He cut you off and pulled you by your hair, forcing your face towards his and pressing his lips onto yours—which you happily accepted. His lips were so intoxicating and you couldn’t—didn’t want to pull yourself from them. Finally getting what you wanted and when he pulled away, spit trail following, you whimpered; eyes plagued with arousal.

“Logan…” you whispered and he chuckled. “I know princess, I can smell how much you want it.” He patted his lap and you practically hopped out of your seat and into his lap, reconnecting your lips while grinding against his bulge that pressed into your middle.

Both of your hands roamed each other’s bodies, kissing and licking on each other’s sensitive spots, the car steaming up from your actions. Soon, you couldn’t bear the teasing anymore and you slowly pulled your clothes off; your top along with your bra being flung into the passenger seat—while you continued to occupy his lap.

His large hands cupping your breasts, earning a soft moan from you, before he replaced his hands with his mouth; his warm tongue glued onto your sensitive nipples. You couldn’t help your moans, hands tugging on his hair, lower half grinding on his clothed cock.

“Please Lo….neeed you to fuck me,~” You begged, moaning when he put your nipple in between his teeth, teasing it lightly.

“Gotta taste you first. Get that pretty ass in the back, princess.” You happily hopped in your car’s back seat, tugging your jeans off your thighs while he climbed in the back right behind you, pulling the jeans completely off of you—putt them with the rest of your clothes.

He eyed your half naked body, licking his lips while he trailed down from your face to the wet spot that appeared on your dark grey panties. “So wet for me. Never give this pussy up, okay?” He spanked your clothed cunt, making you yelp out and nodded your head; bottom lip between your teeth—watching his every move.

He pulled off his leather jacket, and unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down to his ankles; his muscles practically ripping through his beater. Both set of lips flushed with wetness, ready for what’s to come next and when he connected his mouth with your sopping wet cunt after tearing those panties off ya—your eyes immediately rolled back into your head.

Logan’s own eyes closing after tasting you, savoring how sweet you tasted. He had been thinking about this ever since he met you. He had fantasized about you every night, dreaming about you cumming all over his face. And now here he was, fulfilling his wish.

His tongue lapped up your juices like he was a dog drinking from his bowl, sucking on your throbbing clit; making you let out a series of moans—hands connecting with his hair again. “F-f-fuck….feels soo good, Lo’.” He hummed in response, lips still attached to your cunt while he added two fingers into the mix, pumping in and out of your wetness.

You were a babbling mess, moving your hips up and down; almsot riding his face—orgasm seconds away and you desperately needed to let go. “Gonna cum for me princess? Go ahead, cum all over my face. I need to taste how gushy this cunt can be.”

He was so nasty with his words, you couldn’t help but to let go; cumming all over his face and creaming on his fingers. Logan didn’t stop lapping up your juices or fucking your with his fingers, he kept going—wanting to drain all of you, until you had to beg him to stop. You pulled him up by his hair and smashed your plump lips on his, tasting yourself—moaning while he palmed your still throbbing cunt.

You pulled away and pulled his boxers down by the hem, freeing his cock; his eyes glued to yours as you immediately went to rubbing on his head. His translucent slick melting into your hands while you rubbed and jerked his mushroom tip. You watched his face contort with pleasure, his hips slowly pumping up into your fist.

“Stop teasing me, princess.” He let out a small whimper and you felt a heartbeat shoot through your core after hearing it. Logan watched as you spread your legs across his lap, squatting and angling his dick at your entrance—lowering yourself down and hissing from how he stretched you out. He was so big, pushing your walls past its normal limit. It had been a while, but none of them had ever reached his size.

“So big…” his hand fell on your hip, fingers grasping onto your ass, holding you when you finally lowered down onto him all the way.

“I know baby, but you can take it.” He slapped your ass making a slutty mewl leave your lips. You stayed like that for a moment, cunt clenching and unclenching around him before you started to bounce on him. You gasped as his tip practically kissed your cervix, his dick so deep inside of you.

But, as you continued to move, that threshold of pain vanished and was replaced with pleasure. You happily bounced on his dick, skin clapping with each move you made; his lips ghosting yours as your face was mere inches apart.

“Just like that, princess….shit,” You were so fucking tight and wet, cunt so slippery, creating a sheen of wetness on his cock. The mutant never had anything like this and he wasn’t going to give it up to anybody.

“Showing off those pretty titties to other men? Fuck, i could kill him. Want me to do that?” He grunted, pushing your hips down, making you take him even deeper. You shook your head and gripped onto his muscular shoulders, keeping steady as you bounced.

“N-no…I'm sorry, daddy! Fuck—you’re reaching so deep, Logan!” You were clinging to him so tightly, the man was losing it. He pushed you all the way down, big rough hands gripped your waist, while his tip was pressed right in your cervix—before he scooted halfway off the car seat and pushing your torso closer to his, proceeding to drill your cunt sloppy.

The loud squelching noise combined with your sweet noises was enough fuel for the wild mutant. Your ass jiggling with each movement, rocking the car as you bounced. You were close, so close now and he felt it. Felt how your walls were spasming around his girth and how louder your moans got when he hit that spot over and over. And he was right behind you too.

“Let it go, princess. Cum for daddy~” His voice was deep and sensual, adding to the intense pleasure you were receiving—making it easier for you to cum. You were seeing white as you came; nails digging into his shoulder blades while gushing all over his cock.

And as he continued to split your cunt in half, his own release came down hard and he was pumping milky white ropes inside of you. He growled in your ear, sending shivers down your back and straight to your cunt—earning a stream of clear arousal from it, drenching his cock and the seat beneath him. You had never squirted before and with Logan being the first, had you deeper in love than you were ever before. You were his for the taking.

After cleaning you up and helping you get dressed, Logan left you in the backseat of your car before starting the car up and continuing with the drive to the mansion. He kept his eyes on you in the rear view mirror, watching you as you slept; a smile etched on his face before he placed a cigar into his mouth.

He was in love and he was never going to lose you. You were his best rider after all.

[kingofbodyrolls]

End of the World (m) | myg

→ Summary: Your government has been telling you to prepare for war, just as a precaution given the recent political changes around your country. Did you listen and prepare? No. Are you paying the price now, friends all but gone, and your city burned to pieces? Yes. Survival instincts kicking in, you search for a place to rest, nourish your battered and hungry body, only to find yourself at the porch of a stranger. Will he help you, or leave you to your own demise?  → Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: apocalyptic, survival, co-dependency to stay alive + heavy angst, fluff and smut with a very small sprinkle of comedy. → Tropes: strangers to lovers + forced proximity & only one bed (because I love that shit) → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 21.3k 🫣 → Warnings + triggers: nuclear war (bombings), fire, death (people are dying so and some minor side characters die), blood and wounds (also features a lot), period blood, ptsd behavior and reactions, hunger (no access to food), anxiety attacks, hyperventilation, guns and knifes, shooting, self defense, m*rder in self defense, exposure to radiation. Minor character deaths. The ending is open and bittersweet. The story is just really grim and angsty and sad (but also comforting) 🤷 → Warnings (explicit: smut): oral (f and m receiving), nipple play/sucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, dirty talk, pleasing kink, protected sex (it might be the end of the world, but fret not Yoongi’s got condoms!), clit play, cockwarming, kissing, a small scene of public sex (they are outside on a hill, np people around). → Author’s note(1): So I have mixed feelings about it and the smut got less detailed than what I usually write (because I’m getting a bit tired of smut honestly, so sorry if it sucks), and I’m scared of what you’ll think of it— but here it is! I felt a lot of pressure with it, so I had my husband beta-ing it 😂 Which gave us a lot of laughs! I hope you enjoy it ⭐ → Read on AO3? [link]

[navi]: end of the world // end of the world: a flickering hope // shower drabble // whalien52 // end of the world: epilogue

A deep, ominous rumbling reverberates through the silence, a sinister caress against your ears. 

Eyes shut tight, your breaths are slow and steady, an island of peace in a sea of unrest. But the tranquility shatters as the rumbling intensifies, transforming into a relentless quake that grips your bed. You jolt awake, eyes opening just in time to be seared by a blinding white flash, burning into your vision with a harsh, unforgiving light.

Your ears ring with an unforgiving high pitched sound that makes it feel like your ears are bleeding.

You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut once more, but the world doesn’t let you escape. 

A cacophony of rumbling, shaking, and distant, panicked screams erupts around you. 

When you dare to open your eyes again, your bedroom has transformed into a nightmarish landscape— no longer a safe, enclosed space, but exposed to the elements. The dark sky looms overhead, thick with acrid smoke. Everything is engulfed in an oppressive, inky gloom that seems so dark, dark, dark.

You curl into yourself on the bed, eyes wide as you take in the scene around you. It’s like a nightmarish tableau image from a dystopian survival movie: the once serene sky is now obliterated, suffocated by a churning ocean of thick, acrid smoke. Flames roar hungrily around you, casting an eerie, flickering light on the chaos. The air is thick with the sound of terrified screams and the relentless boom of destruction. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding furiously, as if it might burst from your chest at any moment.

The rumbling returns, more ominous this time, and you look up to see a fighter jet slicing through the smoke-choked sky. It releases a payload, and your heart clenches in dread. A deafening explosion follows as the bomb strikes, setting your ears ablaze again, and obliterating buildings and scarring the landscape. The screams of the people around you become a haunting symphony of terror. It feels like you’re trapped in an unending nightmare, each second more horrifying than the last.

You pinch yourself hard—so hard it breaks the skin, and a thin trail of blood trickles down. But the pain barely registers. You squeeze your eyes shut, then open them again, desperate to end the nightmare before you. This has to be a trick of the mind, an illusion, right? 

But the horrifying reality remains unchanged, pressing in on you from all sides.

No. It’s not a trick of the mind. 

The stark, horrifying reality sets in as your throat tightens and your body thrums with fear. This is real. This is happening—to you, to your friends—fuck. Your roommates. 

Panic seizes you as you leap off the bed, the house now a fragmented ruin, its sections strewn outside in the chaos. Heart pounding, you scramble through the wreckage, desperately searching for your friends amid the devastation.

Please, let them be okay—you can’t face this alone. 

You’re not prepared for this. 

You can’t do this. 

When the government warned about preparing for a potential war or a nuclear disaster, you thought it was a grim joke. You never believed it would actually happen—never believed it would happen to you. But now, the cold, harsh reality is crashing down around you, and the fear is suffocating.

Tears blur your vision, making it hard to see. The acrid air burns your lungs, and each breath is a struggle. The ringing in your head makes you dizzy. You cough violently, but you press on, driven by a desperate need to find your two roommates. You have to make sure they’re okay, no matter the cost.

A sound of coughing reaches your ears, and a wave of relief washes over you. You spot some of Hana’s belongings scattered on the ground, charred at the edges. The acrid smell of burnt fabric stings your nose. There, sprawled halfway on her bed, is Hana—coughing, crying, her eyes barely open, a picture of despair amid the wreckage.

“Hana?” you croak, your voice sounding strangled and unfamiliar, as if someone else is speaking. The dissonance sends your heart pounding even harder in your chest, the fear and urgency nearly overwhelming you.

She coughs again, crimson droplets falling from her lips, staining the ground beneath her. The sight of her blood on the ground sends a wave of dread through you. Rushing to her side, you assess her quickly; her complexion is pallid, drained of life. Each shallow breath she takes seems an agonizing struggle, as if the very act of breathing is draining her strength.

She struggles to speak, but you gently shake your head, tears streaming down your face. Deep down you know she won’t survive this. Your throat tightens painfully, a lump forming as you grasp the harsh reality. She’s not just a friend; she’s your best friend. Your hands tremble as you reach out, brushing away her tears, feeling the warmth of her blood on your fingertips. You don’t care about the stains. All you want is to offer her comfort, to reassure her even as your own doubts and tears blur your vision. 

How could any of this ever be okay?

How is this your reality?

She leans into your trembling hand, her eyelids fluttering closed as she takes her final breath. A wave of anguish washes over your face, and you collapse beside her, your forehead touching hers. The weight of grief presses down on you, a suffocating blend of fear, helplessness, and nausea.

The distant screams jolt you back to the present, your chest tight with anguish for your best friend. With a heavy heart, you tear yourself away, knowing there’s another roommate who needs your help—Yuri.

Tears sting your eyes as you navigate cautiously through the debris. Your gaze fixates on a pair of shoes—whether they belong to you or Hana doesn’t matter now. Snatching them up, you slide them onto your bare, blistered feet, grateful for any protection from the searing ground and jagged remnants of the house strewn about.

You locate Yuri swiftly amidst the chaos; her bewildered expression a fleeting moment of relief. Your heart leaps at the sight of her alive. Ignoring the acrid smoke that burns your lungs, you pull her into a tight embrace with both of you coughing violently in the toxic air.

“What happened?” Yuri’s voice rasps through fits of coughing. Her wide eyes reflecting fear and confusion, her pallid face etched with disbelief.

“I don’t know,” you cry out desperately, clinging to Yuri as if your life depends on it, unwilling to let go for fear she might vanish into the chaos. Your grip tightens, desperate to shield her from the crumbling world around you.

Then, in the distance, alarms pierce the air with a relentless wail. A chill races down your spine, and as you meet Yuri’s gaze, an unspoken understanding passes between you—this is no accident. War has come.

You never thought this day would come, always dismissing warnings from politicians as distant, improbable threats. But now, as reality crashes down around you, you realize you should have listened. You should have prepared for the worst, braced for the impossible. Panic grips you as you face the stark truth: there’s no escaping it now. What the hell are you supposed to do?

The distant drone of planes echoes through the sky once more, and a chill of dread courses through your trembling body. You never imagined you’d fear the sound of airplanes, but in these shifting times, everything has become a harbinger of uncertainty.

The cityscape around you lies in ruins with buildings shattered and strewn like broken toys. The urgency grips you as you realize the only option left: escape the city. 

Now.

“Yuri, we need to move,” you declare urgently, your eyes wide with dread—for the uncertain future, for your very survival. You curse under your breath, trying to quell the rising panic threatening to consume you.

Yuri’s eyes remain wide, almost vacant, as if she struggles to comprehend the shattered reality that surrounds you both—a new world, unfathomable and bleak.

You snap Yuri out of her stupor, dragging her along as you navigate through the shattered bathroom. The toilet lies in ruins on the ground, shards of the shower surround you like jagged teeth. Despite the chaos, you spot the first aid kit amidst the debris, knowing it will be crucial in this harsh new reality.

Yuri’s voice trembles as she blurts out, “We need to take those pills. In the pouch. I got them just in case. They’re potassium iodide pills and will protect your thyroid if there’s radioactive iodine in the bomb.” You hesitate for a moment, then nod in grim understanding. Snatching the pouch from its battered position, you fumble with it until you locate the pills. Each of you swallows one with a gulp, the bitter taste clinging to your tongue like a grim reminder of the world outside. With a heavy sigh, you tuck the pouch back into the depleted first aid kit.

“We need to find bags and gather anything useful,” you mutter. Your mind races in overdrive as you calculate what essentials are necessary for survival in this new reality.

Amidst the cacophony of screams and the encroaching flames, you and Yuri spring into action, scouring the wreckage for backpacks. They will be easier to carry when every ounce counts. Your hands shake as you rummage through the debris, grabbing water bottles, clothing, and anything else salvageable. Panic sets in, your heart pounding, realizing you need food too, right?

You trudge toward the kitchen, but it’s a wasteland—shattered glass, twisted metal, and the acrid smell of burnt remnants fill the air. Nothing remains salvageable, not even a scrap of food.

Panic surges through you. 

No food? 

How will you survive? 

The reality hits hard: you’ll need to scavenge for food while fleeing the city. The wreckage around you is overwhelming, casting doubt on finding anything edible. How long can a person endure without food? The question gnaws at your mind, amplifying your fear and uncertainty.

Deflated, you sigh, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. Survival seems impossible, but you force a hopeful smile as you reunite with Yuri, masking your despair. The world around you is shrouded in darkness and gloom, every step a reminder of the bleakness ahead.

Screams echo all around you, a relentless assault on your senses. You try to block them out, but it’s impossible—the anguished cries of the wounded, the desperate calls for loved ones, the raw agony and fear permeate the air. 

It’s unbearable; a living nightmare.

You ache to grieve for your friend, but there’s no time to stand still, no time to mourn what’s lost. With a heavy heart, you force yourself not to look back at Hana’s lifeless form. Grabbing Yuri’s hand, you push ahead, driven by a single, desperate resolve: to escape this hellish city. And fast.

Your body shivers despite the fires warming the air slightly. It’s still cold in the middle of September. You glance down at yourself, taking in your attire—a satin nightgown, its lacy seams stained with blood. But you can’t afford to care, nor do you have time to change. Your sole focus is to escape this hellscape, to put as much distance as possible between you and the burning city before worrying about anything else.

You pull Yuri away from the remnants of your house, each step deliberate as you navigate the treacherous debris. The ground is a minefield of twisted metal and shattered glass, and you can’t afford an injury. 

Your heart races and your body shivers uncontrollably, but you force yourself to push forward. The streets are a nightmarish landscape of charred bodies, gutted buildings, and smoldering wreckage. The air is thick with the sounds of anguished cries and desperate shouts. Shattered windows, jagged glass, and twisted metal litter your path as flames roar high into the darkened sky.

You can’t fathom how quickly everything spiraled into chaos. In mere seconds, then minutes, the world you knew disintegrated into a living nightmare. 

Your legs feel like lead, your mind foggy and exhausted. The cold, smoke-laden air clings to your lungs, but you force yourself to press on. Yuri’s hand in yours is the only anchor in this hellish new reality, a faint source of calm amid the chaos.

Thankfully, you live on the outskirts of the city. 

Normally, you’d discern it was nighttime just by looking at the sky, but now, the sky is pitch black and choked with smoke. You avert your gaze from the devastated city and look toward what seems like a serene, calm direction. Is it an illusion, a cruel trick of your mind? 

Desperation tugs at you, urging you toward this perceived sanctuary, a beacon of safety amidst the chaos.

Yuri coughs harshly behind you, and you spin around, dread tightening your chest as she spits up blood. You try to reassure yourself, though deep down, you know it’s futile.

“I don’t want to die,” Yuri pants between coughs, her voice strained with fear. You grip her hand tighter, desperate to offer reassurance in a world where safety is a fleeting illusion.

“You’re not going to die,” you assert, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, a feeble attempt to dispel the pervasive fear. “We’ll find a safe place, find some food, and make it through— everything will be fine.” You try to infuse conviction into your voice, but the hollowness echoes back at you, revealing the truth you dare not acknowledge.

But maybe if you keep telling yourself that everything is fine enough times, reality will bend to your desperate wishes?

You’ve been walking for what feels like an eternity, your sense of time warped by the perpetual darkness above. There’s no sky to gauge the hour anymore— gone as the stars that once were.

Your feet ache, battered and throbbing with exhaustion, begging for respite. The need for rest weighs heavily on you, but the city’s relentless grip refuses to release you. The daunting truth forces a weary sigh from your lips.

Yuri trembles, tears mingling with the grime on her cheeks, and you can’t shake the thought that she might be falling ill. Dread gnaws at you—what if it’s something fatal?

Your legs refuse to carry you any further, and staying exposed on the desolate road is a dangerous gamble. You’ve sensed shadows trailing your every move—what do they seek? Your clothes, the rations you don’t have, your very survival kit? You dare not linger to discover their intentions, yet exhaustion demands a pause. You must rest, even as paranoia grips your weary mind, hoping for a brief refuge to steady your faltering steps.

Adrenaline surges, urging you to hasten your steps, desperate to lose the shadowy figures trailing behind. The cityscape thins as you approach its outskirts. The dwindling buildings offer fewer places to conceal yourselves. Despite the fewer options, you’re determined to evade capture. With a sharp turn, you pull a breathless Yuri around the corner, heart pounding in sync with the echoing footsteps behind you.

You slip into a ravaged boutique, its shattered door gaping wide for easy entry. The dim interior reveals racks of torn clothing and broken mannequins strewn across the floor. You guide Yuri deeper inside, settling her on the dusty tiles. Her pallid face stands out starkly in the oppressive darkness, a chilling reminder of the perilous world outside. The thought of losing another friend tonight claws at your gut, urging you to find safety and respite in this decaying sanctuary.

“How are you holding up?” you inquire, your voice tinged with apprehension. Despite your fear of the response, you must know.

She trembles, her voice quivering. “I’m not doing well,” she admits. Her eyes wide with unspoken dread. “I don’t think I’ll make it.”

“Of course you will,” you choke out, your voice cracking with emotion, unable to confront the specter of death. The memory of Hana’s bloodied face flashes vividly in your mind, tears tracing the path down your grimy cheeks. Why must this nightmare persist?

“You’re a lousy liar, you know?” she quips weakly, a grim chuckle escaping her lips as she coughs up blood, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. She studies the red stains on her palm with resignation, exhaling heavily.

You furrow your brow. Deep down, you know your attempts at optimism are feeble at best. In your friend group, you’ve always been the pragmatic realist, but now, you’ll play the role of hopeful optimist if it means coaxing a smile from Yuri’s pale face. You bite back any further words, aware that Yuri can read you like a book, predictable as always.

You slump onto the frigid tile floor of the store, grateful for a brief respite from the relentless march. The cold seeps through your clothes, a bitter reminder of the world outside, but your weary feet finally find a moment’s reprieve.

You’re uncertain how much time Yuri has left, but you’re determined to muster every ounce of strength to lead both of you to safety, far from the chaos—this inferno of a city, this relentless war that has begun.

How long will this last?

The shuffle of broken glass on the tile sends a shiver down your spine, sharpening your senses. Someone approaches, and you’re defenseless. Panic grips you—this is bad. Very bad.

Footsteps echo ominously, a chilling reminder of imminent danger. Yuri’s gaze meets yours, wide with fear and tears threatening to spill. The certainty settles in—this is how you die.

A looming silhouette emerges—a figure cloaked in darkness; their presence ominous and foreboding. Dread creeps up your spine as you realize the danger before you.

You scramble backward, but the shelves halt your retreat, trapping you in a corner with no escape. Panic surges as time slips away—your feet ache, and Yuri’s condition weighs heavily. The man advances, his silence more menacing than any threat, his cold, unyielding gaze fixed upon you.

Uncertain of the stranger’s intentions—murder or something worse? Your heart races, adrenaline surges through your veins as he moves closer. In a split-second decision, survival instincts take over. You lunge, sinking your teeth into his arm, tasting the metallic tang of blood. Like a desperate animal, you bite down harder, unrelenting until he screams in agony and collapses to the ground, clutching his injured limb.

“You fucking bitch!” he spits, struggling to rise despite the pain.

You hiss through clenched teeth, rising to your feet, closing the distance to charge at him, a wild glint in your eyes. “Try me again, and I’ll bite your fucking dick off.” The threat hangs heavy in the air, punctuated by the burning cityscape beyond. Your blood simmers with adrenaline, a primal urge overshadowing your usual self-control. You’re not yourself anymore, but one thing is clear; you’re more than willing to follow through.

He flinches, a flicker of fear crossing his face, and satisfaction courses through you. Your grin widens as he scrambles backward toward the shattered entrance, then finally turns and bolts, disappearing into the smoke-laden darkness.

You exhale sharply, unaware you’d been holding your breath. Returning to Yuri, still hunched over on the floor, clutching her stomach, you kneel beside her, heart pounding in dread as you examine her stomach.

Carefully prying her hand away, the sticky warmth confirms your fear— blood, seeping from her abdomen. Swiftly lifting her nightshirt, you reveal a small yet troubling wound. Fumbling through your backpack, your hands find the first aid kit amidst the chaos, extracting antiseptic to cleanse the injury. With trembling hands, you cover it with gauze and secure it with tape, knowing it’s a temporary fix— but this will have to do for now.

“I think debris hit me when the first bomb struck,” she explains, her breath ragged and filled with pain.

“It’s okay. It’s not that bad,” you manage to say, forcing a smile that fails to reach your eyes. Who were you kidding anyway?

You settle beside her, allowing her head to rest on your shoulder. “Let’s rest. You sleep, and I’ll keep watch,” you murmur, scanning the shadows with wary eyes.

Her head nestles against your shoulder and neck. “But you need rest too,” she whispers. Her voice is barely audible over the distant sounds of chaos echoing through the shattered cityscape.

“I’ll sleep later. Don’t worry about it; just go to sleep,” you command, the edge in your voice betraying the fear and exhaustion gnawing at you. You didn’t mean to sound so stern, but the cold reality of the situation weighs heavily on your shoulders. You wish someone could offer you the same reassurance— tell you this is all just a bad dream. Soon you’ll wake up and everything will be as it was.

Or for someone to tell you this is all just a movie, and you’re just an actress playing your part in some bizarre doomsday flick. But deep down, you know you’re no actress, this is no movie— sadly, this is real life, and you’re just a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a dead-end job.

Guess you don’t have that job at the café anymore. There’s probably no café left standing. The place likely went up in flames like much else in the city.

You listen to Yuri’s breathing, its slow cadence a brief respite from the cacophony outside—planes droning, people fleeing, and the distant echoes of screams. In just a few hours, these sounds have become the new normal, yet each one still sends a shiver down your spine.

You keep vigil through the restless hours as you had assured Yuri. Time blurs in the suffocating darkness, making it impossible to discern whether it’s night or day. Hours seem to stretch like endless tendrils of despair. With dawn or dusk lost to the smoke-filled horizon, you gently rouse Yuri, steeling yourself to resume your desperate quest for safety.

Yuri’s voice, usually vibrant and full of life, now emerges as a subdued whisper. “So it wasn’t just a nightmare…” Her words hang heavy in the air, laced with the grim realization that this dystopian nightmare has become your bleak reality.

“I’m afraid so,” you admit, your voice echoing in the desolate store. “We have to keep moving. Get out of the city.” Your limbs ache with every movement, a constant reminder of the night’s horrors. Yawning, you rise and gently pull Yuri to her feet. Before venturing out, you take a sip of water from your dwindling supply, feeling hunger gnaw at your stomach. Food is a distant luxury now, replaced by the urgency of survival.

Stepping out of the store, you survey the aftermath; where once vibrant flames danced, now only smoldering ruins remain. The landscape is awash in gray and ash falling like snow, towering skyscrapers reduced to skeletal frames or gaping maws of destruction. Smoke billows thick and acrid, clawing at your throat with every breath, forcing a cough to escape. This city, once teeming with life, now lies desolate and unrecognizable—a shattered testament to a world irreparably changed. This was your home, but now it’s a forsaken wasteland, a haunting reminder of the relentless march of destruction closing in around you.

If you manage to escape this city, this will probably never be your home again.

Pressing onward, you drag a weary, ghostly-pale Yuri in tow. Each step feels like a battle against the weight of the world collapsing around you, but you refuse to relent. The streets stretch out before you, barren and haunting, a maze of debris and ominous shadows. You move cautiously, every sound magnified in the eerie silence of the ruined cityscape, knowing that survival hinges on reaching safety, no matter how small the steps.

You walk and walk. The road stretches endlessly into the horizon, an unrelenting path of despair. Gradually, the landscape shifts from the shattered remnants of the city to the bleak desolation of nature, though nothing remains green. Everything is gray and charred, the outskirts bombed into an unrecognizable wasteland. Each step is a journey through the aftermath of destruction, a grim testament to the world that once was.

Body heavy and feet blistered, you can barely drag yourself forward, and Yuri is faring even worse. You decide to stop, the weight of exhaustion forcing your hand. The world around you is silent save for the distant echoes of disaster. You find a small, secluded spot to relieve yourself, then reach into your backpacks for the precious water bottles. The liquid is a lifeline in this scorched, desolate landscape.

“I think I’m dying,” Yuri pants as she collapses onto a stone, her face ghostly pale, lips tinged with blue, eyes glassy and distant. The sight sends a cold lump forming in your throat, a suffocating denial choking you because you can’t accept this as reality. It has to be just a stupid fucking nightmare.

You glance at your arm where you pinched yourself yesterday. The tiny scar is a mocking reminder of your futile hope. You barely register the pain; all you want is for this nightmare to end, for the world to return to a semblance of normalcy.

“You’re not dying,” you insist, voice trembling as you crouch down to meet her gaze. But her eyes are distant, unfocused, as if she’s already slipping away. A tear escapes down your cheek, cutting through the grime of this hellish reality.

“Stop lying, bitch,” she hisses, her voice a fragile blend of defiance and despair. She rolls her eyes in mock anger, the gesture marred by the blood she spits up, staining the ground like a cruel reminder of reality.

“I can’t walk anymore, and my stomach hurts so bad,” she pants, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face as she clutches her wound. Blood seeps through her shirt, a grim testament to her worsening state. You glance up at the sky, a bleak, gray expanse that offers no solace. Clenching your fist, you rage silently at the faceless enemies responsible for this devastation. It’s not just your friends; it’s the entire city, maybe the whole country. Fear gnaws at you as you realize you have no idea of the world’s state. Is it just your country? The entire world? You curse yourself for not packing a radio to stay informed.

You’re wondering if there would be any information on your phone, but you don’t want to use it, because you don’t have anything to charge it with. You want to save it for extreme emergencies. 

“We’re finally out of the city,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with hope. “Maybe we can make it to another house down the road that can help us.” The words feel hollow, and you both know the truth: Yuri isn’t going to make it that far. Her labored breathing and the pallor of her skin betray the grim reality.

She coughs up more blood, almost choking. “We both know the next house is in the next city, over a hundred kilometers away,” she rasps, each word a painful reminder of the hopelessness stretching before you.

You lower your gaze to the grimy, ash-covered road. She’s right, of course. It’s likely far more than a few hundred kilometers, and the trek ahead promises to be an endless, harrowing journey through desolation.

Ashes swirl in the air like snow, a haunting reminder of your ravaged city. For a fleeting moment, you glance back, taking in the sight of crumbling buildings, smoldering remnants, and the acrid stench of smoke that clings to your senses. The scene turns your stomach, and you double over beside Yuri, bile rising in your throat, the bitter taste lingering like a grim testament to the city’s devastation.

“I’m freezing… Will you stay with me? Wrap your arms around me?” she pleads, her voice trembling with cold and fear, tears welling in her eyes, mirrored in yours. You nod silently, your heart heavy with the weight of what’s to come. She collapses onto the ground, and you join her, enveloping her frail, shivering form in your arms, seeking warmth amidst the chilling winds that whisper of desolation and despair.

“Promise me you’ll do everything you can to get to safety, okay?” she stutters, tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with yours. Your heart breaks because you don’t want this reality. You can’t bear to lose another friend, but you’re helpless. You’re no doctor, and Yuri’s injuries are beyond your ability to heal. It’s a cruel truth that gnaws at your soul. Anger surges through you, directed at whoever orchestrated this devastation upon your friends, your city, your homeland. This world has become a cold and merciless place.

You’ve always been an ugly crier, and this is no different, but neither of you cares as tears stream uncontrollably down your faces. “I’ll try my best,” you manage to choke out, the words catching in your throat amidst the despair.

“When I’m gone…,” she begins, and a chill runs through your body at her words, “will you drag my body over to those bushes?” Her voice is strained, barely above a whisper, as if even speaking about her own death is too much to bear.

Even though your voice is hoarse, your wailing echoes through the desolate landscape, a mournful cry that seems to merge with the howling wind. You nod silently, tears streaming down your face, blurring the bleak surroundings into a haunting blur of despair and loss.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible as she lays her head down on your shoulder. Her breaths are faint and fleeting, each one a fragile thread in the unraveling tapestry of her life. You hold your breath, feeling the weight of each passing moment as her heartbeat dwindles, a painful echo of the world falling silent around you.

Your fists clench involuntarily, a futile attempt to grasp the reality unfolding before you: sitting beside your dying friend in this bleak, shattered world. This isn’t how life was supposed to be—witnessing the unraveling of everything you hold dear. You never signed up for this torment, this heart-wrenching despair that consumes you. 

Why? 

The question lingers like a haunting echo in the desolation.

Yuri’s breathing slows to a crawl, each breath a strained whisper of life. You turn your gaze to her face, her eyelids fluttering faintly—she’s clinging to existence. The agony etched on her features is unbearable, and a chilling realization settles in: maybe death is a mercy in this ravaged world. Her suffering is too much to endure, and part of you wishes she could escape it. It’s a cruel acceptance, knowing that letting go might be the kindest act left, even though you really don’t want her to go.

The silence closes in like a shroud, burnt leaves swirling in the air, whipped by the relentless wind. It’s eerie, the smoke and ash embracing everything. Your hand seeks Yuri’s, fingers tracing to her wrists, and there, you check for her pulse—absent, lost amidst the desolation.

You scream and cry, heedless of any who might hear amidst the desolate landscape. This world, so callous and unforgiving, engulfs you. Tears cascade down like a torrent, emotions unchecked. You gasp for air in the acrid, ashen atmosphere, your body trembling uncontrollably.

She’s gone. Another friend, lost to this merciless world.

You sit there, by the side of the road, time slipping through your fingers like sand in a storm. Hours pass, maybe more, the world reduced to desolation around you. A lone figure passed by earlier, casting a glance your way, but the urgency of survival drove him on, leaving you and your dead friend to the merciless elements. The city’s ruins loom in the distance behind you, a reminder of the chaos that has consumed everything.

You know you must move, but before you leave, there’s a promise to fulfill for Yuri.

You relieve yourself and step back onto the road, eyes fixed on the distant horizon that seems miraculously untouched by the ravages of war. That glimmer of hope pulls you forward. You have to reach it. No matter the distance, no matter the obstacles, you must get there. 

It’s your only chance.

You walk and walk—days blur into weeks. Your clothes hang off your frame, tattered and too big. Bombings have become a constant backdrop, each explosion a distant rumble you barely acknowledge. The earth’s violent shudders no longer faze you. Hunger gnaws at you, a relentless companion, its grip tightening until you can’t even remember your last meal. Water, your only steadfast ally, has kept you moving; without it, you’d have long since fallen.

You trudge along the desolate highway, the city a distant speck on the horizon behind you. You have no sense of how far you’ve traveled, only that the remnants of your home have shrunk to a mere dot in your vision. The road stretches endlessly ahead, a bleak reminder of the ground yet to cover.

Dizziness is your constant companion now, your throat is parched as the Sahara despite your efforts to hydrate. Water is scarce, and you’ve been rationing it for days. Hope feels like a distant memory, and though the elusive horizon you’ve been chasing for weeks appears closer, it still seems maddeningly out of reach.

Your body feels like lead, your feet swollen and throbbing with every step. 

Sleep is a distant memory, haunted away by visions of blood-streaked faces, final breaths, and echoing cries. Bloodshot eyes and a disheveled appearance mark your struggle; you’re still in your tattered nightdress, stained with blood and reeking of fear and sweat. 

No food, no shower, just the relentless march through this wasteland.

You’ve lost track of time—is it still September? 

The biting cold cuts through you, your torn and ruined shoes barely offering any protection. You trudge onward, desperate to find shelter, weary of hiding in the bushes from strangers who might wish you harm. Paranoia grips you; every rustle in the distance, every shadow makes you jump. Trust is a luxury you can’t afford. You feel like you’re unraveling, teetering on the edge of sanity.

The roses have withered, frost seeping into your bones. The birds no longer sing at dawn, and the grass by the roadside shrivels to brown. In the encroaching darkness, the cries of the forsaken echo—abandoned by fate and by man.

When your eyes land on a solitary house down a side street off the main road, you can hardly believe it. You’re nowhere near your end goal, the neighboring city, yet here it is—a lonesome house in the middle of fucking nowhere. You chuckle, convinced you’ve lost your mind. Why would there be a house out here, untouched by the chaos? You blink repeatedly, but the house remains. Your feet carry you forward, despite your spinning head and the jumbled mess of thoughts in your mind.

The house, partially concealed by tall trees and lush bushes miraculously untouched by bombs, seems like a relic from a forgotten world. An old jeep, battered but intact, sits beside the porch with its white picket fence. You approach cautiously, every step feeling surreal, and lift your hand to knock. Your bloody knuckles leave crimson smears on the pristine white door, a stark reminder of the nightmare you can’t escape.

You lose track of time standing there, every second stretching into an eternity, before the door is abruptly ripped open. You find yourself staring down the barrel of a rifle.

“Who are you?” a male voice demands, harsh and suspicious, but the words barely register. Your vision blurs, darkness encroaching, and the last thing you feel is the hard impact of the porch floorboards against your head as you collapse.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open, your eyelids feeling like lead, gritty with exhaustion. Your vision swims, a blur of muted colors and shadowy shapes. You blink, trying to bring the world into focus. Through the haze, you make out a figure sitting on a chair not far from you. Panic grips your chest. 

Fuck. 

Where are you?

Your pulse quickens, and you jolt into a sitting position with a startled gasp, blinking as your vision finally clears; you find yourself in a bed, surrounded by bandages and the sterile scent of antiseptic. You’re in someone’s house—a man’s house, and he's seated across from you, watching intently.

He sports long, unkempt black hair that curls at the ends, paired with a ragged shirt jacket, torn jeans, and a plain black tee. His knees jitter nervously, as if he can’t find solace or calm in this chaotic world.

He sits clutching the rifle that had greeted your face before you blacked out. A cold shiver courses through you, fear gripping your heart at the thought of imminent danger. But if he intended to harm you, wouldn’t he have done it already?

He clears his throat, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, harsh and demanding. His eyebrow arches in suspicion as he growls, “Who are you?”

His steely demeanor makes your throat tighten, but you swallow your fear and force out the words. “I’m Y/N. I live in the city. Well… I lived there, before…” Your voice trails off as the weight of your new reality presses down on you. Nervously, you bite your lip, eyes darting around the room. You’re in a bedroom—king-size bed, you assume. High open shelves are stocked with toilet paper, dry food, canned goods, plastic water bottles, multiple first aid kits, and warm blankets. The sight of these supplies leaves you gaping. “Are you a prepper?” you ask, disbelief tinged with a sliver of hope.

He scoffs, a bitter edge to his voice, clearly unimpressed by your assumption. “I’m not a prepper,” he snaps, eyes narrowing as he tightens his grip on the rifle. “Now, tell me what you’re doing here, unless you want me to shoot you.”

You gulp, your throat dry and tight— the cold steel of his rifle isn’t just for show. His steely eyes tell you he’s a man who will follow through on his threats. You need to speak quickly, clearly. “I’m fleeing from the city,” you sputter in a rush, words tumbling over each other. “My home is destroyed. I haven’t eaten in god knows how long, I’m thirsty, and I just want a place to rest and stay away from the war.” Your breath catches, lightheaded from the effort.

His eyebrows arch in surprise, the hard edge in his voice softening to a wary curiosity. “Have you been walking since the first bomb hit?” he asks, the malice momentarily replaced by a flicker of genuine intrigue.

You nod, exhaustion settling deep in your bones despite your unconscious respite. Time feels warped and meaningless. “How long have I been out?” you ask, the reality of your situation hitting harder as you notice you’re still in your tattered nightgown, a haunting reminder that it couldn’t have been long.

“Only an hour,” he replies, his voice a rough whisper. “I cleaned some of your scrapes and wounds.” He gestures to your arms and legs, now meticulously bandaged, the clean white stark against your dirt-streaked skin. The care feels almost alien in this ravaged world.

“Thank you,” you manage, offering a small, weary smile. The words feel foreign on your tongue. Despite the rifle and his guarded demeanor, you feel a sliver of tension ease in this fragile sanctuary.

“So you haven’t eaten anything in three weeks?” he suddenly shouts, disbelief cutting through his gruff exterior. His eyes scan you from head to toe, and you feel exposed, vulnerable under his intense scrutiny, making you squirm.

“Three weeks? That can’t be right... Maybe a week,” you mutter, your voice small as you fidget with the duvet covering your legs. You glance down at the bloodstained sheets, wondering why he placed you in the bed with your filthy clothes. But then again, in this shattered world, stained sheets are the least of your worries.

“It’s been almost three weeks since the bombings started,” he says, placing the rifle beside his chair. “I’m Yoongi, by the way. Sorry about pointing my rifle at you—it’s just...there’ve been people trying to raid my supplies.” He scratches his head, a nervous gesture that contrasts with the cold, hard edge of survival in his voice.

A sudden knock on the door startles both of you. You shiver on the bed, wide-eyed and afraid. Yoongi’s expression hardens as he swiftly picks up his rifle, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Friends of yours?” he asks, his voice low and tense.

Your eyes dart down to your trembling hands as a tear escapes, tracing a path down your grime-streaked face. “No,” you whisper, voice cracking, “Don’t have any more of those left.”

He notices the sadness in your eyes but remains silent, rising to his feet and heading toward the front door. You follow, a compulsion driven by a mix of fear and curiosity. As you move from the bedroom through a narrow hallway, you glimpse an open living room and kitchen space before reaching the door. Yoongi raises his rifle, mirroring the moment you first encountered him. 

Before he can react, the door bursts open, slamming into him and causing him to stumble back. A wild-eyed man, covered in dirt and smeared with blood, lunges inside. His crazed gaze locks onto you as he charges forward, a feral desperation in his movements.

“Give me food or I’ll kill you!” he shouts, launching himself at your exhausted body. You hit the floor with a heavy thud, groaning in pain, but adrenaline kicks in, sharpening your senses. As you claw at his skin, the man, wild-eyed and desperate, seems beyond reason, driven by hunger and survival—much like yourself. 

But you need to get him off you. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you use your legs to kick him in the groin. He hisses in pain, and you seize the moment, tumbling him over. His back hits the floor with a sickening thud. You straddle him, screaming and hissing, your hands instinctively finding his throat. You press down, your vision narrowing to the singular focus of survival, fueled by desperation and fear in a world gone mad.

He fights you for control, his nails digging into your sides, tearing your nightgown. In a violent twist, he’s on top of you again, pinning you to the floor. You struggle against his weight, every muscle screaming, the cold, hard surface pressing into your spine. The room spins around you, and the desperation in his eyes mirrors your own.

But then, he’s yanked off you, dragged by his hair, Yoongi’s grip unyielding. The intruder’s wild eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment before Yoongi raises his rifle. A deafening bang is sent through the room, and the man’s body crumples. Blood splatters everywhere, painting the floor in a macabre pattern. The scent of gunpowder mixes with the iron tang of blood, and the room falls into an eerie silence, save for the ringing in your ears.

You scream, the sound raw and primal, echoing in the suffocating silence. Your heart hammers against your ribs, each beat threatening to choke you. Nausea churns in your gut as the reality of what just happened slams into you. Who the fuck is this guy? He just killed a man! Disbelief crashes over you, and fear grips your chest like a vise. The room spins, your breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps as you teeter on the edge of hyperventilation, panic surging through your veins like ice.

You gasp for air, eyes wide with terror, as Yoongi throws the rifle to the floor. The stranger’s body lies motionless in a spreading pool of blood, a stark reminder of the brutality that surrounds you. Shivering uncontrollably, you try to crawl away from Yoongi and the corpse, each movement a struggle against your own paralyzing fear. Tears blur your vision as you sob, feeling like you’ve just traded one nightmare for another, the weight of this dystopian hell pressing down on you from all sides.

Yoongi approaches you cautiously, his voice low and soothing. “Relax, everything is okay,” he reassures, his hands extended in a calming gesture, fingers splayed to show he means no harm. Despite his gentle demeanor, you retreat further, wary and unsure if his kindness is a facade. The air is thick with tension, echoing the uncertainty of this dystopian world where trust is a luxury long lost.

“Okay? You just shot a man!” Your frantic scream echoes off the walls, each word laced with fear and disbelief as you feel the cold concrete pressing against your back. Panic rises, clawing at your throat. There’s nowhere left to go; you’re trapped, cornered in this unforgiving world.

“Yeah, he was going to kill us and steal my food.” his voice steady, as if justifying his actions were routine in this harsh reality.

You stare at him in disbelief, your gasping intensifying. “So that means he deserves to die?” The accusation hangs heavy in the air, tears streaming down your cheeks in rapid succession. Dizziness swirls through you, fingers tingling with adrenaline and fear.

“Relax,” he says again, his voice soothing yet unsettling as he moves closer.

You refuse to ease up. You want him gone, and you want this goddamn nightmare to end. You yearn for normalcy, for everything to revert to how it was before. You don’t belong here with this Yoongi, a stranger turned killer. How the hell are you going to escape this mess?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice steady yet tinged with an edge of authority. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be gone by now.”

His reassurances fall flat against the pounding of your heart. You struggle to process his words; your mind feels clouded, suffocated. Each breath is a battle, your chest constricting with a pain so intense, it threatens to overwhelm you.

“Please, calm down. You’re having a panic attack and you have to breathe calmly,” he urges, crouching before you. Your eyes widen with fear, anticipating harm from this stranger. Yet, as his warm hand gently rests on your shoulder, its reassuring weight steadies your erratic breaths. Tears still streaming, you gasp for air, but gradually, your breathing steadies, the tension in your chest easing with each controlled inhale.

“That’s good. Listen, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assures, his gaze piercing into yours to convey sincerity. You nod hesitantly. Despite the fact that he’s taken a life, his actions in tending to your wounds suggest he harbors no ill intent toward you. Surely, he wouldn’t go through all that trouble if his intentions were sinister, would he?

“I can’t believe you killed a man, just like that…” you mutter in disbelief, your voice tinged with horror. 

“Would you rather he killed us?” he asks bluntly, a shrug punctuating his matter-of-fact tone.

“No,” you reply, the certainty in your voice belying the tumult of emotions inside you.

“Look. It was either him or us. I’d rather live. This is just how life is now, I guess,” he says solemnly, rising to his feet and striding past the lifeless body toward the kitchen. He returns with biscuits and a water bottle. “Here, eat some crackers and drink some water. You have to start slow if you haven’t eaten in weeks,” he advises gently, handing you the items. Your fingers brush against his as you take them.

“You can take a shower; it’s in the bedroom. While you do that, I’ll get rid of the body.”

You nod, fingers trembling as you pry open the crackers and take a hesitant bite. They taste dry and unfamiliar, like they’ve been preserved for years. Your stomach churns in protest, unaccustomed to solid food after weeks of deprivation. Sipping water, you set both items down beside you. 

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, offering him a small, grateful smile, relief flooding through you as your heart finally settles into a steady rhythm.

“No problem. You can grab some of my clothes in the bathroom. That poor nightgown isn’t doing much to cover you,” he says with a slight chuckle. You glance down and realize half of your right breast is exposed, your hands instinctively flying to shield it from view.

You’re embarrassed, cheeks burning, and you scramble up from the floor, not saying a word because the humiliation is overwhelming. Your breast has been exposed all this time, likely since the scuffle with the man, and Yoongi didn’t mention it until now? You rush back to the bedroom, pushing away thoughts of Yoongi seeing you half-naked and what he might do with the body in his living room.

In the bedroom, you easily locate the in-suite bathroom at the end; it boasts a large bathtub, a sleek shower, a toilet, and a spacious sink, all in matte black with subtle white accents, strikingly minimalistic. Approaching the bathtub, you turn on the water, feeling its warmth soothe your battered hand. It’s a strange sensation, one you haven’t felt in what seems like an eternity, and a rush of anticipation flutters in your chest at the prospect of a proper shower. As the tub fills, you shed your clothes, discarding the nightgown into the garbage—it’s beyond salvaging. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, what meets your eyes is a stranger, not the person you once were but a mere shell. Your skin is streaked with grime, your face swollen, especially beneath your eyes, and your hair wild and unruly.

Finally, the tub fills to the brim, and you shut off the stream, testing the temperature with your hand—it’s perfect, pleasantly hot, promising a thorough cleanse. Eagerly, you step into the water, noting the array of shower bottles within reach. You grab one, twisting off the cap to release a refreshing minty scent that envelops you. The shampoo and conditioner bear the same invigorating fragrance. Yoongi must have a thing for mint, you think to yourself with a faint smile, grateful for this small comfort after enduring the trials of the past three weeks. 

The notion that so much time has passed feels surreal, almost impossible to grasp.

You let the warm water envelop and soothe your weary body, a brief respite from the horrors that haunt you—before the bombings, before this relentless war. The shower gel lathers as you wash away the grime, shampooing your hair with a sense of renewal. For a fleeting moment, the sensation of cleansing almost allows you to forget the devastation that brought you here. 

But guilt grips you tightly, a suffocating embrace. You feel the weight of being alive when your friends are gone, their lives snuffed out mercilessly. The simple joy of a bath, forever denied to them, brings tears to your eyes, mingling with the water surrounding you. 

You can’t stand to stay in the tub any longer, despite not feeling physically clean. Quiet sobs escape your lips as you stand, chest tight with sorrow for what has been taken from you, and for what you can never reclaim.

Hastily, you snatch a gray towel, wrapping it around your shivering frame as tears trace silent paths down your cheeks in the mirror’s reflection. The ache for your lost friends deepens with each droplet that falls. Drying off with hurried strokes, the plush towel offers some comfort against your skin. You manage to towel-dry your hair as best as you can, seeking normalcy in the routine.

Then, a glimmer catches your eye—a toothbrush. The realization hits hard: you haven’t brushed your teeth in three weeks. Your gaze darts around the bathroom, finding only one brush. Is it gross to use someone else’s? Disgusting, maybe? You search the cabinets in vain for a spare, but finding none, you convince yourself it’s okay. You’ll sanitize it thoroughly, make it right. With meticulous care, you rinse the toothbrush under the stream, scrubbing it clean before applying toothpaste. 

The brush feels foreign in your mouth, yet it scrubs away the layers of neglect, refreshing your senses in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

When you finish, you step out into the bedroom, scanning Yoongi’s dresser for any clothing that might fit. Not expecting to find undergarments, you ponder going without or resorting to his if necessary. Pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants, you cover your legs before grabbing a black t-shirt and slipping it over your head. Spotting a pair of cozy socks nearby, you hastily put them on and make your way into the living room, the unfamiliar garments a stark reminder of the upheaval your life has become.

You step into the living room, confronted by an unsettling contrast of cleanliness and calm amidst the recent violence. It’s as if the room has been meticulously scrubbed of any trace of the fatal encounter that unfolded mere moments ago. You can’t help but question whether Yoongi is unnervingly efficient at erasing the aftermath of death or if you’ve lost track of time while in the bath, leaving you to wonder what else might have transpired in your absence.

You spot a door tucked away in the dimly lit living room, its handle cold to the touch. Slowly, you push it open, and a shiver snakes down your spine at the grim sight that greets you. “Are those... bodies?” you choke out, a mix of revulsion and horror tightening your throat as you gaze upon the macabre pile in the corner of the yard. Yoongi turns around, his expression unreadable, having added the latest stranger to what appears to be a makeshift graveyard of those he’s encountered before you.

“Yeah?” he shrugs nonchalantly, as if it’s inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

“How many people have you killed?” you demand, hands on your hips, trying to steady your nerves.

He pauses, the silence stretching between you, each moment heightening the weight of his answer. “Five,” he finally admits, his voice carrying the weight of each life taken in this unforgiving world.

“Five?! That’s a lot— five too many,” you spit out in disbelief, the weight of his confession sinking into your bones. You can’t stand to dwell on it any longer. Death surrounds you like a shroud, and you’ve seen enough to last a lifetime. Turning away, you hear Yoongi’s footsteps approach from behind, each step a reminder of the grim reality you now face.

“Like I told you before, it was me or them. I was only defending myself and my home,” he shrugs nonchalantly, pushing the door open as you follow him into the living room. He settles onto the couch, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the pristine room that belies the violence it has witnessed.

“Did you have a nice shower? You smell nice,” he smiles warmly, pulling a blanket over his legs.

You gape at him—how can he be so calm? He just killed a man, and now he acts like it’s no big deal, no remorse, no hint of the violence that just transpired.

“I smell like you, and yes, your tub is very nice. Your clothes too. Thank you,” you reply, sitting down on the couch, keeping a deliberate distance between you. After what you’ve witnessed, it feels safer that way.

“You really held your own back there, with the guy. It was kinda hot,” he says, his tone as casual as discussing the weather or deciding what to eat.

Your mouth hangs open. Is this guy serious? 

“Something’s seriously wrong with you if you find that hot. Please don’t tell me you’re aroused or something. I’m not touching you or helping you with your boner—I barely know you,” you say, crossing your arms defiantly across your chest.

He chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that reverberates through the room, a stark contrast to the desolation outside. You gaze at him, stunned by the unexpected display of humor. 

“I’m not aroused and if I did have a boner, I could take care of it myself, don’t you worry. I just respect women who can fend for themselves,” he says with a smile, settling deeper into the worn cushions of the couch.

“Well, I know self-defense. My dad drilled it into me as a kid and teenager. Have you seen how messed up the world is? Even before this war or whatever it is, men were always preying on women or men, lurking in shadows, stalking, abducting them—doing who knows what. I had to learn to protect myself,” you explain, watching him nod in understanding, his eyes reflecting a grim acknowledgment of the world’s harsh realities.

“That’s good. Oh, I forgot to mention, I left your backpack next to the couch—by the way, you look good in my clothes,” he grins, rising from the couch and moving over to the kitchen.

“Want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers we can reheat,” he mumbles from the kitchen. You nod silently, your mind elsewhere as you walk over to your backpack. You hardly remember what kind of stuff you grabbed from home—hopefully clothes, maybe some underwear would be nice. Digging through it, you find only two pairs of leggings, three shirts, and a bra. Well, it seems like unlucky is just your color.

Doesn’t matter, you can go without panties. It might be a problem when your period comes, but that’s a worry for another day.

You hear a beep from the kitchen and join Yoongi there. Whatever he’s reheated is ready, and you take a seat at the round table positioned between the kitchen and the living room. Yoongi retrieves cold water from the fridge.

“So, you’re not a prepper, but you’ve stockpiled enough to survive indefinitely. Why?” you inquire between cautious bites, mindful of not agitating your stomach.

“Didn’t you listen to the government? They told us to prepare for anything, just in case. And I prefer to be ready. Call me a prepper if you want,” he shrugs, spearing his food with his fork.

“I noticed all your shampoo in the bathroom. What else have you stocked up on?” you ask, genuinely curious. You hadn’t prepared for any of this, refusing to believe something like a war could happen in your country.

“I’ve got spare clothes, solar-powered batteries, extra fuel for the truck, a backup generator for power outages, and even a well in the backyard in case the water supply is cut,” he lists with a chuckle. But your eyes widen almost to the point of popping out of their sockets; you’ve never encountered anyone so thoroughly prepared.

“What’s your deal then? You live out here by yourself in the middle of nowhere?” you choke out as you take a sip of your water.

“Yeah, I don’t like people,” he says with another shrug, and you almost spit out your water. Oh god, he’s probably one of those eccentric types.

“Let me rephrase that; I just prefer my own company,” he explains, his voice steady but with a hint of guardedness.

“Well, what am I doing here then?” you chuckle with a smile, though you feel some insecurities seep into your blood.

“You wouldn’t last another day out there. And it’s not that I don’t enjoy company. Maybe we can help each other out, stay alive together?” he shrugs again, and you begin to wonder if he can do anything else but shrug.

“Like make life more bearable together?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yeah. Just keep each other company. It is pretty lonely out here,” he sighs, carrying his plate back to the sink to clean and put in the dishwasher.

“We can do that,” you say, yawning and stretching your body, feeling the tiredness wash over you. You wish for a good night’s sleep, something you haven’t had in weeks.

“Sleepy?” he chuckles, flashing a pearly set of teeth and pink gums.

“Yeah. Honestly, I haven’t had proper sleep since the bombings,” you yawn again as Yoongi takes your plate and cleans it too.

“Then maybe we should go to bed?” he suggests, clearing the table.

“Yeah, if you can just show me to the guest room, that would be nice,” you yawn again, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling you down.

Yoongi burst into laughter again, his voice echoing through the desolate walls. “Guest room? Y/N, there’s only one bedroom. You’re bunking with me unless you prefer the icy embrace of the couch.”

Your eyes widen, reluctance shadowing your thoughts as the idea of sleeping in the cold chills you. Yet, the notion of sharing a bed with him unsettles you; he remains a stranger, and despite his seemingly gentle demeanor, your instincts keep you on edge. You sigh, resigned to the exhaustion that weighs heavily on you. “Sharing a bed will have to do,” you mutter, your voice tinged with apprehension and weariness.

You both walk together to his bedroom, the air thick with a strange tension that makes your heart pound erratically in your chest. It’s not the first time you’ve shared a bed with a man without any sexual connotation, yet there’s an odd intimacy in this moment that unsettles you. You forego any further preparation, having already showered and brushed your teeth — though you remember something. 

“I used your toothbrush earlier, I hope that’s okay,” you mention tentatively, eyeing the bed, its sheets faintly stained with your blood. They definitely need changing. “Do you have clean sheets?” you ask, turning towards the bathroom where Yoongi directs you to the cabinet with fresh linens and mentions he has a spare toothbrush.

You strip the stained sheets off and swiftly tuck in fresh ones, craving the comfort of a proper sleep. The thought of lying in clean bedding is a rare luxury now. There’s just one duvet, though, and you wonder if sharing it will be a challenge. Shedding the sweatpants, you opt for the black shirt, its length offering modesty. As you settle into the bed, pulling the covers snugly up to your chin, you relish the cocoon of warmth, a brief respite from the harsh reality outside.

Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, his chest bare and marked by scars on his shoulder, wearing plain black boxers. You gulp involuntarily. Damn it, you shouldn’t be ogling him like that, but your cheeks burn nonetheless.

He slides into bed beside you but maintains a respectful distance under the covers, leaving a gap that allows a chilling draft to sneak beneath the duvet, making you shiver involuntarily.

“Cold?” he asks, his voice devoid of the usual teasing tone that has marked the day. Instead, it carries a hint of genuine concern, almost comforting.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be a burden,” you sigh, shifting to feel the warmth against your front, trying to ignore the chill creeping up your back.

“We can huddle closer for warmth,” he suggests, and you ponder it briefly, realizing it might help you sleep better anyway.

“Okay,” you agree, and moments later, Yoongi edges nearer, his chest pressing against your back. Instantly, his warmth envelops you, quelling the shivers that had plagued you.

You drift into sleep soon after. Yoongi maintains his distance, his chest against your back serving as a reassuring anchor, his hands remaining still as he promised. Finally, the respite from constant danger allows you to embrace a much-needed slumber.

You’re drenched in sweat, heart pounding against your chest, breaths coming fast and shallow as you gasp, “Don’t leave me, Yuri! Please, Hana, don’t go. Please don’t die!” You twist and turn, tears streaming down your face, overwhelmed by fear and sorrow. Your eyes refuse to open, exhaustion and dizziness enveloping you, yet vivid images flash before your mind’s eye, forcing a scream from your throat.

A pair of strong hands grips your arms, shaking you gently, and you register a voice calling out urgently, “Y/N, wake up. It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe.” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. 

Right, you’re in Yoongi’s bed.

A stranger you met only hours ago. 

Despite his reassurances, your body refuses to comply, shaking uncontrollably as the remnants of the nightmare cling to your senses.

“Can I hold you? Maybe it’ll help calm you down,” he suggests softly. Even though you can’t muster the strength to open your eyes, his voice anchors you. 

“Please,” you sob, and he turns you gently, your back against his chest, enveloping you in his arms. His soothing shushes echo, reminiscent of comforting a restless child—surprisingly effective. 

Gradually, your racing heart steadies, the tremors subside, and your breathing finds a steady rhythm.

You open your eyes to darkness enveloping the room. “I watched my friends die. Their faces haunt me almost every night,” you sob, burying yourself deeper into his embrace. Forget the fact that he’s practically a stranger; his comforting presence and the safety of his arms offer solace you’ve longed for. After endless days of running, hyper-aware and on edge, it feels strangely liberating to allow yourself this moment of vulnerability. You’re still strong, but right now, in his arms, it’s okay to seek refuge.

You feel his hand on your head, gently stroking your hair. “It’s okay. It will get better with time,” he reassures you.

Sniffling, you surrender to exhaustion, finding solace in his arms once more. Despite your initial reservations and the day’s unsettling events, you feel an unexpected sense of safety with him. Weariness overtakes your caution, and you drift into a deep sleep, cradled by Yoongi’s reassuring presence throughout the night.

When you wake, a sticky, uncomfortable wetness between your thighs jolts you into full consciousness. You sit up and glance at Yoongi, still asleep beside you, his long hair tousled and face serene, lips slightly parted with steady breaths. Dread fills your gut as you peel back the covers. The sight of blood staining the white sheets freezes your breath, a scream clawing its way out of your throat, piercing the quiet of the room.

Yoongi bolts upright, momentarily disoriented, his eyes darting around the room for danger. His gaze falls on the crimson-stained sheets and your trembling form. Panic flashes across his face as he instinctively reaches for you. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice low and raspy with sleep, cutting through the air like a blade.

You force yourself to calm down, the panic subsiding as you realize the source of the blood. “No, it’s just my period,” you pant, trying to steady your breath and racing heart. It hits you with a mix of relief and embarrassment—over a month since your last one, but the sight of the stained sheets fills you with shame.

Yoongi’s tension eases, his shoulders relaxing. “Oh,” he says, understanding dawning in his eyes. There’s no danger, just the harsh reality of life. He gives you a comforting look, a rare softness in his hardened gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you ramble, sliding off the bed, mortified by the mess. “I didn’t wear underwear because my panties were ruined, and I didn’t want to trouble you for your boxers. I don’t even have pads or tampons.” Your words tumble out in a rush, the embarrassment amplifying every second.

Yoongi sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Relax, it’s okay,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “You can take some of my boxers. I’m not stocked up on pads or tampons, but you can just use cloth that we wash.” 

If you weren’t in a slight panic, maybe you’d notice how good he looks with bed hair and his bare torso, but instead, you rush out to the bathroom, still blushing from the unexpected intimacy and the rawness of the situation.

Yoongi joins you, a pair of his boxers in hand, as you futilely try to dry yourself with toilet paper. It’s no use.

“You should take a bath and wash off the blood,” he says, placing the boxers on the countertop. “I’ll take care of the bed.”

You nod, desperate to rid yourself of the blood, and without a second thought, you grab the edges of the black t-shirt you borrowed and pull it over your head, not caring that Yoongi is still there, probably watching you. His presence feels oddly comforting in this grim reality. 

“Nice ass,” he smirks as you step into the shower. You can’t believe he finds you attractive in this state—blood running down your thighs. How can you really look appealing like that? 

He’s either weird or into some strange shit.

You don’t reply, just shut the curtain fast, turning the showerhead on and letting the warm water caress your skin. The blood washes away, swirling down the drain as you clean yourself thoroughly. Damn, you really hate your period. Stepping out of the shower, you grab a towel and dry off. You spot some ripped cloth Yoongi left for you to use as makeshift pads. 

Yoongi is incredibly kind, you realize, and it brings a rare smile to your lips. You dress with the makeshift pads stuck in his boxers and then walk out, covering your breasts, not wanting to wear the shirt you slept in. The warmth of the shower lingers, but the cold reality of the dystopian world waits just outside the bathroom door.

In the bedroom, Yoongi has replaced the bloodstained sheets with black ones, blending seamlessly with the oppressive gloom outside. As he turns to meet your gaze, you can’t help but blush, standing there before him semi-naked. 

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow again?” you ask, your voice shaky with unsaid emotion and a confusing undercurrent of attraction.

He nods and rummages through his dresser, pulling out another black tee. You can’t help but wonder if black clothing is the only thing he owns, as if he’s trying to match the bleakness of the world.

“Thank you. I’ll just find my bra in my backpack,” you quip, the words sounding hollow as you step out next to the bed and search through your belongings.

“You don’t have to wear one, you know. You’re free to do whatever. If you’re more comfortable without one, it’s okay,” Yoongi says, his voice gentle yet firm. His words halt your movements. He’s right. You don’t really want to wear a bra; you’d only wear it because it’s the ‘proper’ thing to do. But he doesn’t seem to care about such trivialities, and comfort sounds far more appealing in this bleak reality. 

You stop searching for the item and simply pull on the shirt he’s given you, the fabric soft against your skin. 

As Yoongi gets ready with a shower and fresh clothes, you wander into the kitchen, your stomach growling. The dull ache in your abdomen also reminds you of your period, and you curse under your breath. Pain meds would be nice, but you have no idea where Yoongi keeps them. The thought of asking him feels like a small admission of vulnerability, something you’re not entirely comfortable with yet. But the pain is relentless, and in this world, there’s no room for stubborn pride.

Yoongi emerges from the bedroom, catching sight of you clutching your stomach. “Do you need painkillers?” he asks, his tone a mix of concern and practicality. He gestures to a cabinet. You nod, biting your lower lip as you move to find the pills, swallowing them with some water.

In the kitchen, you both work in a synchronized silence, preparing a simple meal. The quiet between you isn’t awkward; it’s a welcome respite from the chaos outside. As you eat, the distant sound of bombs punctuates the air, a grim reminder of the world beyond these walls.

Afterwards, you settle on the couch, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Yoongi sits beside you, the proximity offering a strange comfort. The silence stretches, filled with the unspoken understanding that, for now, survival is enough. The faint echoes of destruction fade into the background as you allow yourself a rare moment of peace, nestled in the fleeting safety of Yoongi’s makeshift sanctuary.

“Do you think we’re safe here?” you ask, turning to face Yoongi abruptly.

“For now, I think so,” he replies calmly, his gaze fixed on the flickering light from a nearby candle. The distant cacophony of destruction outside barely registers with him.

“You have a radio, right? Have you heard what’s going on?” Your curiosity is tinged with desperation. Three weeks of aimless wandering have left you clueless about the extent of the chaos—whether it’s confined to your city, your country, or if fleeing abroad could offer safety.

“Yeah, I do. It started with our country and the neighboring countries that were bombed, but now it’s escalated into a full-blown nuclear world war,” Yoongi answers, his voice tinged with resignation. “They say this might be the end of the world as we know it.”

Your throat tightens. 

The end of the world. 

Fuck. 

It’s a phrase that carries weight beyond comprehension. You fall silent, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Yoongi notices your unease and his hand gently encircles yours, a silent gesture of reassurance amidst the chaos engulfing the world outside.

“I understand you’re scared, and it’s okay. I’m scared too,” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the dimness, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of something indiscernible. His honesty offers a rare comfort amidst the uncertainty that permeates every corner of your existence. “But there’s not much we can do about it, except try to stay alive. Frankly, I’m happy you’re here. At least we have each other in this shitty world.”

His sincerity touches you in a way that words struggle to express. Despite the looming dread, his presence brings a semblance of solace. “I guess you’re right,” you muse softly, a fleeting smile gracing your lips. The mere thought of not facing this bleak reality alone lifts your spirits more than you’d expected. “I’m also happy to not be alone anymore.”

“Come here,” he invites, arms open, a silent gesture that beckons you to his side. Initially hesitant, you meet his gaze with a questioning stare before relenting, offering a gentle smile as you scoot closer. His arms envelop you, pulling you into a comforting embrace as you rest your head against his shoulder.

In this moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, you allow yourself the luxury of comfort. It doesn’t diminish your strength or resilience; it’s simply a reprieve, a respite from the relentless struggle for survival. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, its reassuring cadence grounding you amidst your racing thoughts, reminding you that in this fractured world, even fleeting moments of solace are worth cherishing.

You’ve been grumpy for days—blame it on your period, though Yoongi has tirelessly tried to ease both your pain and your sullen mood. He’s taught you the art of baking sourdough bread, introduced you to new games, and even guided you through painting sessions, all while the world around you crumbles bit by bit. Each night, he holds you close, his warmth soothing both your body and your restless thoughts. If you denied feeling a spark between you, you’d be lying. It’s an unspoken tension that has simmered since you first met, and you’re certain he feels it too, though neither of you acknowledges it or acts upon it.

The reason for your inaction eludes you—is it fear of rejection, uncertainty about what this attraction truly means amidst the chaos, or simply the desperate need for companionship in a desolate world? You wrestle with these thoughts, wondering if your feelings are genuine or born out of circumstance. Perhaps that’s why you’ve held back, because deep down, you want to desire him for who he is, not just because he’s the only person around, and certainly not solely out of physical need.

You realize you’re nearing the end of your period because since yesterday, every little thing Yoongi does seems incredibly arousing. Folding laundry becomes a sensual act as you watch the muscles in his arms move, his focused demeanor igniting a fire within you. Even mundane actions like drinking water capture your attention, the movement of his throat and the bob of his Adam’s apple now irresistible to you. It’s clear you’ve got it bad, and you feel like you’re slowly losing your sanity.

Yet amidst this chaotic world, you’ve come to a profound realization: it’s not merely Yoongi’s availability that attracts you, but the essence of who he is.

“Do you want to get drunk?” he asks abruptly, pulling your attention away from your swirling thoughts after dinner. Both of you sit motionless, avoiding the cleanup that beckons. You blink at him, incredulous, but the idea holds a strange allure. The prospect of drowning the world’s chaos in alcohol for a fleeting moment seems oddly appealing.

“Yeah. What do you have?” you inquire, leaning forward across the table, eager to hear his answer.

“Only the hard stuff,” he replies with a smile, rising to clear both your plates.

You nearly choke on his words, a momentary blur conjured by your horny mind. The double meaning triggers a rush of both embarrassment and arousal, betraying your thoughts once again.

You assist in tidying up, your heart pounding inexplicably loud in your ears. There’s a nervous energy tingling through you, a strange excitement, as you settle onto the couch. Yoongi locates two mugs and heads to a well-stocked cabinet filled with an array of hard liquors. The sight leaves you momentarily impressed — the man is prepared for anything.

Returning with a bottle of whiskey, he notices your slight frown, likely recalling your distaste for its taste. Yet, any strong spirit would elicit a similar reaction from you. He sets down the bottle, retreats to the kitchen for ice, then returns to pour the amber liquid into your mugs.

“Thank you,” you quip, raising the mug to your lips and taking a cautious sip, grimacing at the harsh taste, eliciting a chuckle from Yoongi. He sips his whisky casually, as if it’s a ritual he’s performed countless times before — which, given his ease, might very well be the case. The amber liquid seems to suit him, and you strive to mimic his nonchalance, the flavor gradually becoming more palatable with each swallow. Eventually, a subtle warmth spreads through your body, a faint buzz that hints at relaxation in this tumultuous world.

He pours more whiskey into your mugs, and you drink, feeling the world blur around you, but Yoongi remains sharply focused in your gaze. His laughter cuts through the haze, accompanied by glimpses of his pearly white teeth and endearing pink gums, as he shares stories of his friends and their reckless escapades.

“Then Jungkook would leave the poor girl hanging,” he chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that brings a smile to your face and colors your cheeks. 

“But that’s so bad,” you manage to reply between sips. Despite being thoroughly drunk by now, you relish Yoongi’s company and the friendship you now share. His presence makes the chaotic world feel momentarily lighter. You’re grateful he’s as intoxicated as you are, though you suspect he handles his liquor with more finesse.

Your eyelids flutter, cheeks warm as your gaze lingers on Yoongi, captivated by his sweetness and kindness amidst the dystopian chaos.

“What?” he chuckles softly, catching your prolonged stare.

“Your lips look really soft…” The words slip out, your filter completely gone, the confession hanging between you like an unspoken truth.

“Kiss me and find out,” he challenges, a glint of mischief in his eyes. His gaze, deep and compelling, draws you closer until your noses almost touch. With eyes closed, you lean in, meeting his lips in a gentle press. The warmth of his skin against yours, the taste of whiskey on his breath, sparks an unexpected thrill. Your hands find his, fingers intertwining, and a soft moan escapes your lips, lost in the softness and warmth of his kiss.

Your mind swirls, a dizzying mix of alcohol and the intoxicating scent of Yoongi enveloping you. You feel intoxicated by his presence, as if he’s a drug you never want to quit. Kissing him feels like an escape from the harsh reality of the world outside, a brief reprieve where everything is right.

But as you reluctantly pull back for a breath, both of you panting, his eyes are filled with desire and a knowing smirk. Without hesitation, he leans in again, kissing you fiercely. His urgency overwhelms you as he presses you down onto the couch, your hand instinctively gripping his neck, desire pooling in your stomach. You ache for him, craving more than just his touch.

He pulls away with a grunt, his voice rough with desire. “I really want to fuck you. But I want to do it sober.”

You groan softly, the heat of the moment tempered by the clarity of his words. Alcohol fuels your desire now, but you yearn for a clear-headed connection. You nod in agreement, and he pulls you up from the couch, his touch firm and purposeful.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other in bed in other ways,” he adds suggestively, leading you toward his bedroom. You follow eagerly, a wide smile spreading across your face, anticipation tingling in your veins.

In the bed, little else happens beyond kissing, the alcohol still clouding your senses. You manage to undress each other and slip under the covers; your bodies drawn together by an irresistible pull, seeking solace and warmth. More kisses follow, each one infused with a sense of fleeting bliss and exhaustion. Eventually, Yoongi spoons you as he always does, enveloping you in a cocoon of affection that feels more profound than anything you’ve experienced before. It’s a fleeting moment of respite amidst the chaos of the world crumbling outside.

When you wake, the throbbing pain in your head pulls you back to reality. You groan softly, slowly coming to, feeling Yoongi shifting beside you. His arms are still wrapped around you, in a comforting embrace.

His voice, thick with sleep, breaks the morning silence. “Morning. Do you have a headache too?” 

You chuckle softly, nodding as you nuzzle your back into him, his warm, nearly bare body—save for his boxers—shielding his erection. “Yeah,” you groan, feeling the fatigue lingering, yet also acutely aware of Yoongi’s touch, his fingertips gently tracing over your bare skin.

“Want to take a shower together? Might help with the headache,” he suggests, his voice still husky with sleep. You nod, both of you slipping out of bed and padding into the bathroom together.

There, you shed your minimal clothing—a shirt of Yoongi’s for you, his boxers for him. It’s the first time you’re both seeing each other naked, a realization that hangs heavy in the air. For a moment, you simply gaze at each other, skin tingling with anticipation and desire, yet neither of you utter a word. You silently drink in each other’s presence, wondering if he finds you as appealing as you find him. The way he licks his lips with hunger suggests he does. You study his body: soft yet lean, pale skin a testament to a life spent indoors, away from the harsh realities of this broken world.

His dick appears soft, yet it pulses with undeniable arousal, sending warmth through your skin and stirring a primal desire between your legs. His appearance is captivating, his dark brown pubic hair adding to his allure, compelling you to join him in the shower.

He turns on the water, and as it sprays over both of you, a shared chuckle breaks the tension. “Do you want me to wash you?” he asks, his voice low and thick with need. You nod, craving the touch of his hands on your body.

Yoongi finds some minty soap, lathering it in his hands before placing them on your skin. Instantly, you relax, feeling like putty in his strong hands. His touch is soft yet firm as he moves from your neck down your back, to your ass, and then along your thighs and legs. His hands travel back up to your neck, then, standing behind you, they move to your front. He slowly caresses your breasts, teasing your nipples into stiff peaks, and continues down your stomach, past your crotch, and along the front of your legs. The intimacy and the warmth of his touch make you feel more alive than you have in a long time.

Shivers cascade down your spine, heat flaring not from the water, but from Yoongi’s touch. Your breathing quickens with each passing moment, his low and raspy grunts filling your ears.

Your knees grow weak, and a blissful moan of his name escapes your lips as your head falls back to rest against his collarbone. “Do you like it, babe?” he murmurs, his voice a deep, seductive rumble that sends electric tingles down your spine and a rush of arousal pooling between your legs.

Your body quivers, and you bite your lower lip in a futile attempt to contain your desire. Finally, you relent, panting, “Yes.”

His pet name for you sends your mind spinning with thoughts of him, intensifying your longing. You gather your courage and turn to face him, your eyes hooded with desire. He licks his lips teasingly, his gaze sweeping over your soapy, naked form with clear appreciation. His hands continue their journey, gliding over your skin, teasing and igniting every nerve. 

“I want to wash you too,” you pant with a chuckle, grabbing the soap and lathering it in your hands. You place your fingers on his warm, sturdy chest, gliding over his pectorals and teasing his nipples, drawing a soft, whiny chuckle from him. Your hands travel down his stomach, deliberately bypassing his half erect cock, moving instead to his legs and down to his feet. Then, you make your way back up, sliding your hands over his back, down his shoulder blades, to his firm, round bum, which you squeeze with playful delight, before caressing down his thighs. 

You’re now sitting, face to face with his erection, and you can’t help but stare. To you, cocks have always just been cocks, but his looks almost like a work of art. It grows longer with arousal, and you stutter at the thought that he isn’t even fully hard yet. He already looks so long and girthy, and you can’t wait to feel him inside you.

You glance up at him, his eyes dark as obsidian, his mouth slightly agape as he watches you. Your hands move to his dick, now free of soap. He releases a needy groan as you wrap your fingers around him, beginning to stroke gently.

He keens at your touch, his back pressing against the shower wall, panting as the warm water sprays over you both. The only sounds are his grunts and the rhythmic patter of water, so you keep going, pleasuring him with your hand, feeling the intoxicating power of his reaction to you.

“Fucking hell, seeing you like that on your knees… you’re making me weak,” he pants, his black hair plastered to his head, his face flushed with a deep blush.

You smile, relishing the effect you have on him, and it spurs you to stroke him faster. In a surprising move, you wrap your mouth around his cock. He grunts in pleasure, relishing the sensation of your warm, wet mouth enveloping him.

You breathe through your nose, setting a slow, deliberate pace. His hands find purchase in your wet hair, fingers gripping as his body trembles with each movement of your lips and tongue.

He pants and grunts your name, the sound echoing in the steamy shower, until he gently pulls you off. “It’s really good. But I don’t want to come yet.” His voice is ragged, filled with both desire and restraint.

You rise to your feet with a smile, capturing his lips in a deep, fervent kiss, moaning softly into his mouth. Your hands snake around his frame, pressing your body tightly against his. His cock presses against you, igniting a wildfire of need within you. Pulling back, you gaze into his eyes, the intensity of your desire mirrored in his dark, lust-filled gaze.

“Let me finish washing you up, and then we can continue this in bed,” he suggests with a teasing smile. You nod, shivering as his hands glide over your body, washing away the soap with gentle, deliberate touches.

Just as you’re about to step out of the shower, he grabs your hand, stopping you in your tracks. “I haven’t washed your hair yet,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate.

Your stomach does a somersault, a horde of butterflies threatening to escape. No one has ever done this for you. No one. He steals your breath away with how soft and caring he is, while he still maintains his roughness. 

You walk back to him, and he’s already ready with shampoo in his hand, lathering the liquid on your scalp. You moan in delight at its minty scent filling your nose, feeling and loving the drag of his fingers on your scalp, giving you a thorough clean. Then he washes the soap away and does the same with the conditioner focusing on the ends of your hair. When he’s done, you turn around, wrap your arms around his neck, and kiss him. 

It’s wild to think that at first you were put off by his strong behavior—though he did point a rifle at your head, and killed a man in front of you—but this, this is truly something special you could never have imagined. Never had you thought you’d fall for this rugged, rough, but also very sweet and soft man.

You don’t say anything, but gesture for him to let you wash his hair too. You find the shampoo and gently give him a scalp massage, pulling moans of your name from his lips. You squirt a bit of conditioner into your hands and lather the ends of his hair. He closes his eyes while you work, and, damn, he looks so handsome, so serene like this.

You give him a chaste kiss. “I’m done.”

He chuckles, and you each do a final rinse, making sure no soapy residue is left. Then you both step out of the shower and grab towels to dry off. Playfulness bubbles between you, even though you’re both aroused, the tension almost tangible in the steamy bathroom.

“Do you have a condom? I’m not on the pill anymore, and I didn’t make it to my appointment to get an IUD inserted,” you ask, already debating whether you want to risk it. With no birth control, you run the risk of getting pregnant, and you don’t really want that, but you also really want to fuck him.

“I have condoms,” he says, opening a cabinet and pulling out a large box.

“Holy shit, 500 condoms! What are you going to do with those?” you ask, flabbergasted and laughing at the absurdity. You’ve never seen a man with so many condoms. You wonder if he has a lot of sex or what his deal is. Did he plan this?

“Before you ask, because I can already see those wheels inside your brain spinning, it was a good deal, and it was a long time ago, but they’re not expired yet,” he chuckles, the sound low and deep, shrugging slightly as he scratches his still wet hair.

You laugh, taking the box from his hands and walking naked into his bedroom. The absurdity of the situation doesn’t dampen your desire; if anything, it heightens it, making the moment feel even more surreal and intense. The world outside might be falling apart, but in this room, you both find a strange and intoxicating solace.

“Do you fuck a lot of women, Yoongi?” you ask teasingly, holding the box in your grasp.

“I haven’t had sex in over a year, so no,” he chuckles, though his tone darkens slightly.

“So what are you going to do with all these then?” you ask, grabbing a foil packet and watching as a few more tumble out.

“Hopefully fuck you many times,” he teases with a grunt, standing before you at the edge of the bed. “Would you like that? Fuck like rabbits until the world falls apart?”

Your heart races at his words, the raw intensity of his desire matching your own. 

For a moment, you had completely forgotten the state of the world, but with him, it hardly matters. “Fuck yeah. Take me on the bed, then fuck me in the shower, the kitchen, the couch, the floor—I don’t care, just get inside me,” you rasp, sitting down on the bed.

He pushes you down, and you giggle as he hovers over you. You shimmy further up the bed, and now he’s eye level with your exposed pussy. He licks his lips teasingly, his gaze dark and hungry. “Can I taste you?” he asks, his voice a sultry whisper.

You giggle, spreading your legs wider to make space for him. “Yes, please,” you breathe, your voice catching. You don’t care how needy you sound; the anticipation electrifies your skin, your body already trembling with desire.

One of his hands grips your thigh, and you let out an airy moan as he squeezes, drawing closer. “You look so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice a sultry promise. “Can’t wait to taste you.”

The world outside fades away, replaced by the intensity of his gaze and the heat of his breath on your skin. As he leans in, your senses ignite, every nerve ending alight with a mixture of need and surrender.

He takes a moment to savor your pulsating pussy, still damp from the shower, small water droplets glistening on your skin. With both hands, he gently parts your folds, groaning at the sight of your exposed hole. With eager anticipation, he dives down, his lips latching directly onto your sensitive clit, making you grab the sheets in pure ecstasy. His tongue traces a path to oblivion, and for that moment, you’re consumed by him, and him alone.

His tongue is a perfect blend of warmth, softness, and roughness, unforgiving in the way it laps and sucks at your clit, sure to bring you maximum pleasure in a short amount of time. It’s insane how skilled he is with his mouth, and you arch into his expert touch, your fingers tangling in his long black locks instead of the sheets. The world outside is forgotten, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of his tongue and the undeniable connection between you.

“Yoongi... it’s so good,” you moan, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. “Fingers, please.”

You can feel him smirk against your folds, his mouth never leaving your clit as a finger teases your entrance. Slowly, he slides the first digit inside you, and you let out a needy moan, relishing the small stretch as he works you open.

“Like this?” he asks, momentarily pulling away to flash you a teasing grin, fully aware of the power he holds over you and how much he’s affecting you with his skilled tongue and probing finger. The anticipation and his relentless teasing send waves of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you breathless and craving more.

You bite your lip and nod, your body trembling as he begins to finger you with increasing vigor. It doesn’t take long before he adds a second finger, the slight stretch sending jolts of pleasure through your core. Your fingers clench in his hair, your legs closing around his head as you edge closer to your orgasm.

“I’m gonna come,” you pant, tugging at his hair, the desperation in your voice driving him to suck harder on your clit and thrust his fingers faster. The intense rhythm of his movements sends you spiraling, each stroke and flick of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge.

Sucking noises fill the room, amplifying your sense of being utterly consumed by bliss. Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you gasp and moan his name, the sound raw and desperate. The coil inside you finally snaps, and you clench around his fingers, your release surging through you like a tidal wave.

“Yoongi…,” you moan, your body vibrating with intense pleasure, tingles cascading over your skin. Your clit throbs with oversensitivity under the relentless ministrations of his tongue. He pulls away, smirking at you with lips glistening with your essence, the early morning sun filtering through the curtains and catching on the wet sheen.

In your bliss, you barely register that it’s the first time you’ve seen sunlight in weeks. The world outside may be changing, but in this moment, nothing else matters but Yoongi and the ecstasy he’s brought you.

"You taste so good. Are you ready for my cock, babe?" he smirks, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, savoring your essence.

“Yes, please, fuck me now. I want you and your dick,” you pant, your voice laced with need. You’ve been waiting for this moment for days, finally free from your period. Not that it would have stopped you, but you’ve stained the poor guy’s sheets enough already.

Yoongi moves closer, tearing open the foil packet and pulling out a condom. He puts it on with practiced ease, then pushes your legs further apart, kneeling in front of you. He spits on his cock, teasing it with his hand, and the sight sends a shiver down your spine. He’s finally going to enter you, filling you completely, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice low and filled with desire. You nod eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. One of his hands squeezes your thigh, and you feel the head of his cock teasing your waiting entrance.

No one has ever called you beautiful before, and you’re momentarily speechless. Instead, you give him a shy smile, your face heating with a blush.

Slowly, he begins to enter you, and you moan at the delicious stretch as he pushes in deeper. Yoongi grunts, “Shit. You’re so tight!” The comment makes you chuckle, inadvertently tightening your walls around him.

“Fuck. Don’t do that yet. I’m seriously gonna come any minute if you clench like that.” You stop laughing, trying to steady yourself, focusing on relaxing your inner muscles to give him space.

Finally, he bottoms out, fully sheathed inside you. “Damn. You’re really squeezing my dick. I’d forgotten what this feels like,” he gasps, his voice filled with pleasure and awe.

“Hopefully it’s good?” you ask breathlessly, your arms reaching to hold your thighs and press them down to your stomach, giving him even deeper access.

“Fuck, yeah. It’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he groans, smiling as he begins to pull out only to thrust back inside you, eliciting a moan of pure pleasure from your lips.

“You too, Yoongi, you’re amazing,” you murmur, biting your lip, reveling in the sensation of his thrusts, his balls slapping against your pussy with each powerful movement.

He leans down, your legs falling to the side, and captures your lips in a heated kiss while continuing to thrust into you. Your tongues dance together, and you taste yourself on his lips. He groans into your mouth, the sound driving your lust higher, and you teasingly bite his lip. 

He kisses you again, then pulls away to trail kisses down your throat, over your collarbones. The intimacy of the moment strikes you, making you realize how deeply connected you feel with him. You’re consumed by this, by whatever it is that you and Yoongi have right now, and it feels overwhelmingly perfect.

His lips trace a path down to your breasts, latching onto a nipple and teasing it stiff with expert flicks of his tongue. He sucks hard while his other hand finds your other nipple, rolling and tugging it between his fingers. You writhe beneath him, moaning uncontrollably as waves of pleasure surge through you. Your hands lie flat beside you, completely surrendered to his touch.

“Fuck—Yoongi! Do you… do you want me to ride you?” you gasp, your voice choked with pleasure.

“You want to?” he asks, his mouth leaving your breast to meet your gaze, eyes dark with desire.

“Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t ask,” you chuckle breathlessly, pushing him away gently. He gives you his hand, helping you up from the bed. He lies down, his cock hard and glistening with your juices, ready for you. You crawl over to him and straddle him with vigor, your stomach burning with lust. Grabbing his cock, you guide it to your entrance and then slowly sink down, letting him fill you completely. 

“Ah, fuck. It’s so good!” you moan, your body shuddering with pleasure as you begin to ride him, each movement bringing you closer to ecstasy.

When you look down, his eyes shine with awe and raw arousal, his hands gripping your hips as you begin to set a steady pace. 

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he rasps, your name escaping his lips in a passionate grunt.

“I always look good,” you chuckle, feeling bold and safe in his arms, reveling in the rare self-praise.

“Shit. Confidence looks sexy on you,” he moans, his hands sliding from your hips up to your breasts, fondling them with a firm, appreciative touch.

You smile back, your thighs working overtime to bounce on him, hands braced against his chest. You lean down to kiss him, pulling away just enough to whisper, “Yoongi, I’m close again. Are you close too?”

He grunts, his cock twitching inside you, a clear sign of his impending release. “Yeah, I’m close. I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long.”

“Will you please touch my clit?” you ask, your eyes hooded with lust. His fingers land on your clit, working circles, sending electric pulses through your still-sensitive nerves. 

“Shit,” you moan, followed by his name, as your body clenches and you release fluid around his cock, stopping your movements and panting for air.

“You did so good. Let me take over now, ‘kay?” he asks, biting his lip. You nod, feeling blissfully tired. His hands travel back to your hips, gripping you firmly as he begins to thrust up into you. His pace is fast and hard, hitting your already sensitive g-spot, making you cry out in both pain and pleasure, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck,” is all he says as he comes into the condom, filling it with his warm release. You scream his name and shake, slumping down onto his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asks, gently nudging your cheek, feeling the tears there and brushing them away.

Out of breath, you manage to say, “Yeah. I think I came again.”

He chuckles, stroking your hair as he hugs you close. You linger in the moment, savoring the intimacy—him still inside you, albeit softening. It’s blissful. The safety he provides, his minty scent, the warmth of his embrace. You feel cherished and secure in his arms, wishing you could stay like this forever.

“Damn. I feel so tired now, but at least I don’t have a headache anymore,” you chuckle, your head resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart gradually syncing with yours.

“Me too,” he laughs, the sound resonating through his chest, filling you with warmth.

“Maybe we should just stay like this until you get hard again, and we can go for another round,” you suggest, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his warm skin.

“You’d like that, huh?” he teases, his hands threading through your hair.

“Yeah,” you affirm, feeling overwhelmed by his presence yet craving more of it.

Safe to say, you remain nestled together, igniting another round and many more throughout the day. You’re amazed at Yoongi’s stamina, though he did mention something about his balls aching, so as night falls, you settle into a comfortable embrace in bed. 

In the days that follow, you fuck on every imaginable surface, putting those 500 condoms to good use.

One day, the sun that had graced your windows for weeks disappears, replaced by an eerie gray sky again. The familiar sound of something flying in the air makes you shiver and crouch down in fear. 

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, his face etched with concern. The fear in your eyes tells him something’s terribly wrong.

“Bombs,” you mutter. As the words leave your lips, the first explosion shatters the ground nearby. You scream, terror coursing through you. Not this again. You thought you’d grown used to it, the bombings having become sporadic and distant. But now, they’re hitting too close to home.

Yoongi rushes to the window and peers outside, his expression tense. “It’s close. We can’t stay here. We need to leave,” he says, urgency lacing his voice.

Your eyes widen in fear and panic. “What do you mean? Leave?”

“Yeah. It’s not safe to stay here anymore. We can take the truck, try and stay alive. It’s better than staying here and dying,” he says, already moving about, pulling out pre-packed bags.

“You have ‘to go’ bags ready?” you ask, staring at him in disbelief.

“Yeah. I didn’t think I’d have time to pack anything in a rush,” he explains, four bags already laying at your feet. “There’s food, water, clothes, and a medical kit,” he says, then walks up to you, looking you in the eyes. “It’s going to be alright, okay? You’re safe with me.”

You gulp and nod, the sound of another explosion reverberates through the walls, shaking the ground beneath you, fear propelling you into action. Grabbing two of the bags, you follow Yoongi outside to the truck.

The world outside looks bleak. Thick clouds of smoke and ash cover the horizon, turning everything gray. Trees are falling, and in the distance, buildings blaze with fire. The scene mirrors the devastation of your hometown—bombed, ruined, and left you with nowhere to go. Now, you wonder, where will you go?

Your ears ring, and your head spins. Your breaths come quick and shallow as the acrid smell of fire, death, and destruction fills the air. You’re tired of it, longing for the world you once knew. But that world is gone, replaced by this new reality of chaos. 

You follow him to the truck, glancing at Yoongi. Despite everything, you find solace in his presence. This new life may be filled with death and destruction, but with Yoongi by your side, you know you have a fighting chance.

“Hurry. We need to grab more supplies from the shed,” Yoongi urges, pulling you along after you’ve tossed the bags into the truck.

Inside the shed, Yoongi opens a large box, revealing an arsenal of firearms stashed from top to bottom. Your mouth falls open in disbelief. “You have more than just one rifle?”

He chuckles, the sound tense against the backdrop of imminent danger. His movements are swift and precise. “Yeah. Like you guessed, I was prepared for this.”

You gulp, the gravity of the situation sinking in. You’ve never met anyone like Yoongi—someone so prepared for the worst, for the end of the world. Someone ready to fight for his life, and now, for yours too. 

He hands you something, and when you look down, you realize it’s a knife, sheathed in worn leather. “Why are you giving me this?”

“To defend yourself. You said you could handle yourself, so use this,” he replies, his shoulders shrugging as he stuffs a variety of guns into a backpack, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as if it’s just another day in the office.

“Yeah— with my bare hands. I’ve never used a knife before, let alone a gun,” you stammer, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. The world has become so twisted that now you need to carry a weapon just to stay alive.

“I don’t care. I’ll do my best to protect you, but if something happens, you need to be able to protect yourself,” he says, his voice firm but his eyes soft. He hands you a leather harness, and you look at him with wide, questioning eyes.

“Put this on, so you can holster a gun and the knife,” he says, motioning for you to turn around as he helps you secure the leather harness.

“You make it sound like it’s zombies out there,” you gulp, the gravity of the situation hitting you hard. Everything is escalating again, and you know you need to leave—fast.

“Babe, it might as well be zombies. It’s either them or us.”

You freeze for a moment—those words, ‘them or us’ send a chill down your spine. Even though it makes you feel sick, you know he’s right. If you want to survive, you might have to make some very uncomfortable decisions. You clench your hands, fastening the leather harness around your shoulder, then holster the knife and the small gun Yoongi has given you. You pray you never have to use it, but if it comes down to it, you know it will always be you and Yoongi before anyone else.

Yoongi hurriedly grabs more supplies from the box, stuffing them into his backpack and securing them to the belt he now wears. You notice an additional knife, a smaller multi-tool, flashlights, batteries, and finally, he hauls canisters of fuel into the truck’s bed.

“Come on, let’s get going,” he urges, darting around the vehicle. You yank open the passenger door, heart pounding, and jump in. Yoongi climbs in, turns the key in the ignition, and the truck roars to life.

As Yoongi reverses out of the driveway, a low-flying plane thunders overhead. You glance out the window just in time to see a bomb drop. The next moment, your ears ring painfully as your home for the past months disintegrates in a fiery explosion. Plywood, drywall, banisters, and concrete fly through the air, and you scream, tears streaming down your face.

Yoongi remains unfazed, his focus unbroken as he speeds down the main road, leaving the obliterated remains of the house behind.

From the window, you watch in horror as the house disintegrates, consumed by smoldering flames. The structure collapses, reduced to rubble in seconds. Gulping, you feel your body tense and your mind race, barely processing the close call.

“Try to take deep breaths,” Yoongi advises, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed you were on the verge of hyperventilating. Placing a trembling hand on your chest, you focus on its rise and fall—proof that you’re still alive. Everything will be fine once you escape this nightmare, you tell yourself. Everything will be fine. But no amount of positive thinking can mask the grim and harsh reality. Tears blur your vision as you cry, the enormity of your new world crashing down around you.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Yoongi says, his hand landing on yours, grounding you. It always does. You’ve only known Yoongi for a few months—maybe half a year—but time has become a strange, elastic concept since the bombings started. Despite the short duration, you’ve grown dependent on him, on the safety he provides. The thought of losing him, like you lost your friends, terrifies you.

“I just hope we make it out,” you choke out between sobs, your fists clenching and unclenching. You know you need to calm down; fear won’t help you now. But the prickling sensation of dread crawling under your skin feels all too real, a constant reminder of the uncertain future and the precariousness of your life.

His grip tightens, offering a small but significant comfort. “We will,” he assures you, his voice steady despite the chaos. “I promise.”

The landscape outside the truck is almost unrecognizable. The once lush green trees and bushes are now gone, replaced by gray ashes and fire. Everything is barren, dying. 

Bombs continue to drop around you, each explosion sending a shiver down your spine. A lump forms in your throat, but you’re thankful for the truck’s metal shell that muffles the sounds of chaos. You don’t have to hear the people dying, unlike back in the city where the screams still haunt your nightmares.

The road is bumpy, marred by craters and debris, a cruel reminder of the unrelenting reality of your new life. Each jolt and rattle of the truck underscores the harshness of this world, a stark contrast to the life you once knew.

“If anybody comes up to us, shoot first and ask questions later. Got it?” Yoongi’s voice is stern, his grip on the steering wheel like a vice. You gulp and turn your head towards him. “What?” you ask in disbelief. You don’t want to shoot anyone. Your hand finds the gun holstered in your harness. You really don’t want to.

“You don’t know what people want. They might want to kill you. Just shoot them in the leg so they can’t walk,” he explains, his focus sharp on navigating the wreckage of the desolate road. The once-bustling streets are eerily empty, a haunting silence hanging in the air.

You think about his words for a moment, trying to rationalize. Shooting someone in the leg isn’t as bad as killing them, right? It’s a compromise you can live with, or so you hope.

“I really hate this,” you groan, your tears subsiding. Your heart still races, but you force yourself to focus on Yoongi, his voice, and the urgency of getting the hell out of this town. The reality of your situation presses down on you, heavy and suffocating, but you know you have to keep moving forward.

“Where are we going?” you ask, changing the subject. You don’t want to think about killing someone, or shooting them. Better think about something else.

“One of my friends’ places, maybe we can stay there,” Yoongi says, his voice thick with emotion. You can tell he’s worried about his friend—wondering if they’re okay or not.

“Jungkook. Remember I told you about him?” he asks, a fleeting smile crossing his lips. It’s a melancholy smile, tinged with fear and uncertainty.

You nod, gripping the door handle as the terrain grows rougher. The world outside the window is unrecognizable, a desolate wasteland of gray ash and smoldering fires. The once lush and vibrant landscape is now barren, dying, the remnants of civilization crumbling away.

Time blurs as you drive, the hours indistinguishable from one another. Eventually, you spot the outlines of houses on the horizon, but they are no longer standing. They’re crumbled and reduced to rubble, much like Yoongi’s home. The sight tightens your throat with dread, an eerie premonition of what might await you at Jungkook’s place. Your heart breaks for Yoongi, for the fragile hope he clings to in this devastated world.

Yoongi stops the car in front of the destroyed house and jumps out of the truck. His face is unreadable, but you catch glimpses of sadness and anger as he clenches his fists and frowns, taking in the wreckage.

You get out too and join him, your throat and heart tightening at the sight. You scan the ruins for any sign of his friend but find no one. You’re unsure if that’s a good thing or not. “Maybe he made it out?” you suggest, your voice meek and filled with sadness as memories of losing your own friends flood back, and tears well up in your eyes.

“Maybe,” Yoongi responds blankly. You reach out and grab his hand, lacing your fingers with his, offering the support and comfort he’s given you so many times before.

“It’s going to be okay,” you reassure him, slowly beginning to believe your own words. With Yoongi by your side, you feel like you might actually have a fighting chance in this godforsaken world.

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning into you. The ashy air caresses your cheek as you both turn back to the truck. 

You get in and drive off, the road ahead uncertain, but the bond between you stronger than ever. You’re in search of a place to stay, a place to escape this relentless dystopia, and for the first time, you feel a glimmer of hope.

It feels like you’ve been driving forever, the sky a perpetual twilight, offering no clue to the hour. You push through, finally finding a piece of nature that remains green, untouched by the devastation. Yoongi stops the car and begins unloading the bags, including some you hadn’t noticed before.

“You’ve got a tent too?” you ask in disbelief. By now, you shouldn’t be surprised by his preparedness, but each new revelation still catches you off guard.

“Yeah. We can also sleep in the truck though,” he replies, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger.

“The tent is fine. But do you think we can keep warm?” you wonder aloud, unsure of how cold the night might get. You can’t even recall what month it is—April, May? The days and weeks blur together in this endless struggle.

“Yeah, we’ll just huddle together,” he assures you. His confidence is comforting, and you believe him. He sets up the tent with practiced ease, pulling out a thin mattress. After a small meal, exhaustion overtakes both of you, and you head into the tent. Yoongi wraps his arms around you, his body warmth making you feel safe and secure.

Despite your weariness, you struggle to fall asleep, feeling restless. Sensing this, Yoongi soothes you with his hands, leading to you making love, feeling the spark between you, so vital in this broken world, helps you finally drift off to sleep, your bodies intertwined, finding solace and unity in each other amidst the chaos.

In the morning, you think, the air is thick with smoke, small rays of sunlight filtering through the dense clouds above. You stretch and yawn, watching as Yoongi builds a fire, the two of you eating a small meal to regain some energy. The warmth of the fire and his presence beside you offer a fleeting comfort in the bleakness of the world. As you kiss, savoring each other’s company, the air feels warmer than you expected, a small reprieve in the otherwise harsh landscape.

As you sit there, a sense of unease washes over you. The hairs on your arms stand on end, and you lift your head from Yoongi’s shoulder, scanning the area for any signs of danger. The rustling in the nearby bushes makes your heart race, but you see nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, pulling you tighter against him.

“I just feel like we’re being watched…,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if afraid the very air might betray you.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have made the fire,” he replies, his voice tense. “It gives away our position.” He drags his feet through the dirt, smothering the fire with soil and stones.

“Just to be safe, I think we should move,” he suggests, standing up and pulling you with him. His grip on your hand is firm, reassuring.

You nod, the weight of the situation sinking in. Better to be cautious than caught off guard. The world around you is hostile, every shadow a potential threat. Together, you gather your things and move on, seeking safety in an uncertain future.

Then you get back on the road. You’ve traveled so far out that you have no idea where you are, but you hope you’ve left behind whatever presence you felt before. You turn to Yoongi, smiling at him, feeling a glimmer of safety and happiness despite the bleakness of your life. He’s your light, keeping you hopeful in this desolate world.

Suddenly, a harsh sound pierces the air, followed by a deafening explosion. The earth shatters next to the truck, sending it spiraling into the air. You scream, clutching onto anything you can, as the vehicle flips and lands on its roof. Your seatbelt catches you, holding you in place as the world turns upside down. The ringing in your ears is unbearable, distorting your voice as you try to speak. “Yoongi—are you okay?” you manage to choke out.

He grunts, “I’m okay. What about you?”

“I’m fine,” you pant, feeling the blood rush to your head. The urgency to escape floods your senses. 

Yoongi frees himself from his seatbelt and falls to the ground with a thud, groaning in pain. Despite the agony, he pushes through, helping you free yourself and dragging you out of the wreckage. Both of you are alive, miraculously. The injuries seem minimal—Yoongi’s knuckles are bleeding, but that’s about it. You look around at the desolate landscape, the truck lying on its roof, shattered glass everywhere, and you realize just how close you came to losing everything. But as long as you’re together, you have a fighting chance in this godforsaken world.

“Fucking hell, my head is spinning,” Yoongi grunts, wincing in pain.

You suggest grabbing the bags from the wrecked truck, finding some painkillers for both of you, and treating his bruises. He nods, his eyes scanning the desolate surroundings. “We should ditch the truck and move on by foot,” he says, standing up and looking toward a large hill on the horizon. “Maybe we can make it up there?”

“Good idea,” you agree. You grab the bags, your weapons, and, hand in hand, you begin navigating the rough terrain. The landscape is a mix of green patches and dying vegetation, the minimal sunlight choking out what little life remains. Without photosynthesis, you wonder how anything will survive.

You walk until exhaustion sets in, reminding you of the long trek you made before meeting Yoongi. Weary, you decide to make camp, forgoing a fire pit this time. Setting up the tent, you collapse into sleep, the days and nights blending together under the perpetual gray sky.

One morning, after what feels like endless walking, you attempt to scale the hill. It looms vast and imposing, perhaps more of a mountain than a hill. As you drag your tired bodies up the elevated trail, Yoongi breaks the silence. “Do you also feel like we’re being followed?”

You nod, a shiver running down your spine. You’ve felt the presence since yesterday, a constant shadow lurking at the edges of your perception. But what can you do until it reveals itself?

“Keep your hand close to your gun and knife, okay?” Yoongi instructs, his voice tense. He remains on guard, eyes darting around as you continue your climb. You don’t have the energy to chase shadows, especially when survival depends on reaching the top of this mountain hill. The weight of the unknown presses down on you, every step a reminder of the perilous world you now inhabit.

The air grows thinner and colder as you ascend, prompting you to make camp again. You eat and attempt to sleep, though you’re always alert, wary of whatever or whoever is following you. Despite the tension, you manage a light sleep. 

In the morning, you stretch your body and gently kiss Yoongi awake, then strap on your leather harness and weapons. As you step out of the tent to grab something to eat, your blood runs cold. A man is rummaging through your supplies, his eyes wild with hunger. He turns, and your gaze locks with his. 

Panic grips you.

Yoongi emerges from the tent, instantly assessing the situation. His hand flies to the gun in his jeans pocket, drawing it with practiced speed as he steps beside you. The man looks between you and Yoongi, unafraid. He’s a mess, dirtied by war and bombs, eyes red and feral. For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’s even human.

“Touch her and die,” Yoongi warns, his voice cold and venomous. 

The man charges at you, and for a moment, you freeze, memories of a similar encounter at Yoongi’s house flooding your mind. But this time, your instincts kick in. Your hand finds the gun, you draw it, and aim at the stranger’s leg. Heart pounding, you clench your teeth, close your eyes, and pull the trigger. 

A scream rips through the air.

Yoongi is at your side in an instant, taking the gun from your trembling hands. The stranger falls to the ground, clutching his thigh as blood oozes from the wound. You pant furiously—you did that. You hurt someone. The realization makes you feel sick.

“You just defended yourself. It’s okay,” Yoongi reassures, patting soothing circles on your back. 

You nod, trying to believe him. You didn’t kill the stranger; you defended yourself. It’s a grim comfort in this bleak reality, but it’s something.

“What should we do about him?” you ask, still panting, your body tingling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.

“Just leave him,” Yoongi replies with a shrug, quickly gathering your things and dismantling the camp. The stranger’s screams of pain echo through the air, but Yoongi shows no mercy, just cold pragmatism. You’re grateful he doesn’t kill the man outright, though you know he will likely die anyway.

You move on, leaving the wounded stranger behind to fend for himself. Deciding against climbing all the way up the mountain to avoid the bitter cold, you continue your journey. Time becomes a blur of setting up and breaking camp, bombs still scattering the ground around you, but you keep pushing forward, driven by the hope of escaping this nightmare.

Eventually, you find a small hill overlooking the sea. The view is hauntingly beautiful—a stark contrast to the desolation around you. “Do you think we could swim to safety?” you ask, staring at the sparkling blue water, a surreal contrast to the barren landscape.

Yoongi chuckles darkly. “I think we’d die of exhaustion and drown before making it to another country or island.”

“We’re probably gonna die of radiation anyway now,” you spit, setting your bags down on the ashy ground. The sea, still blue and inviting, feels like a cruel joke.

“Yeah, we might feel some radiation effects in a few years, if we’re alive by then,” Yoongi says, putting his bags down too.

You both sit in silence, the weight of your predicament settling in. The world as you knew it is gone, replaced by a harsh, unrelenting reality. But for now, you have each other, and that fragile connection gives you the strength to carry on.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, surrounded by a world that has fallen apart, crumbled into something unrecognizable, gray, and dead. But he’s alive, and so are you. You’ve made it this far, and it makes your heart pound. Your lips crash into his—hungry for his touch, for the feeling of being alive, for safety.

The kiss ignites into a frenzy of lustful touches as you strip, indifferent to the fact that you’re outside—there’s no one else around anyway. You kiss him deeply, touching him like it’s the last time. The world is ending, and your desperation fuels your desire. You grip his hard cock, your mouth finding him, sucking, kissing, pleasing until he stops you with a growl, saying he wants to be inside you. You want that too. Laying down on the ground, you welcome him into your warm walls like you’ve done many times before. He knows how to please you, his touches and kisses driving you wild. 

You want this moment to last forever, but you’re acutely aware of the uncertainty of your future. You don’t know if you’ll be alive tomorrow, next week, or next month or even in a year. But you know Yoongi, and he grounds you. 

With him, it’s okay if the world is ending—as long as you have him.

Bombs continue to fall in the distance, and tears escape your eyes, a bittersweet reminder of your probable fate. But at least you have Yoongi by your side. Your breaths mingle, your hands lace together, and he kisses your neck, making love to you like it’s the last time. 

Time on this earth feels borrowed. You lose yourself in his touch, in his kisses, feeling breathless and alive despite the encroaching darkness.

→ Author’s note(2): hi! Since I posted the teaser I’ve been really stressed, lol. Because I felt so pressured by your expectations, so I really hope that this has turned out well 🥹 I love that so many people are interested in the story, so I just hope I did it justice! Please let me know? Again, this is based on my very real fears, but mingled with fiction. I tried my best to make an open ending, so you’re free to interpret it as you please (this is very intentional because of something I might explain later, lol). Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed it. I had my husband beta-ing it, and he fixed at lot of my poor gramma, got flustered by the smut and said it was too descriptive, and it said this wasn’t as detailed as I usually write smut 🤣 Anyway, he said he wanted more ‘survival’ with oc and Yoongi— and I completely agree. But I don’t have any more words, and I’m honestly afraid to make it too much into ‘The Last of Us’ or something else I watched (seeing as I’m not really familiar with writing apocalyptic stories, lol). But I hope it was still okay, at least 🥹

What did you think?? 💜

→ Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @lovelgirl22 @gimeow @sweeetas @viankiss @goldietigers294 @this-most-assuredly-counts @futuristicenemychaos @funnygirls-things @ysljoon @livingformintyoongi @as-hs-blog @urmomluvsrose @yasmineixyjay @purpleheartsandarock1 @alextgef @coree730 @wobblewobble822 @coldcoffee2121 @zzoguri

[changbunnies]

Lowkey, I Need You (To Move Out) 18+

♡ Pairing: Changbin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, angst, fluff, smut with plot, mutual pining but especially lots of pining from binnie

♡ Word Count: 12k

♡ Summary: Changbin has a problem– he’s in love with his friend with benefits. And not only is he in love with her, but she’s also his roommate. Torn on what to do, the only thing he knows for certain is that something has to change soon– but is he even brave enough to spark that change, and risk their friendship?

♡ Warnings: miscommunication, but it's resolved quickly!, bin is lil insecure but we're here to make it better !!, gets a bit emotional because truly this is a love letter to changbin and how much i adore him

♡ Smut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, switch!bin with a heavy sub lean, as usual changbin is an extremely soft and perfect lover, pet names (baby, bun, bunny, honey, sweet + good boy), oral (m + f rec), fingering (f rec), nipple play, begging, a tiny bit of edging, spit as lube, cock warming, unprotected piv, creampie, praise kink, body worship, face sitting

♡ Notes: this was written in response to the topic of binnie being excluded, because as a bin biased girlie it's my job to show out for him when he needs the extra love! i've been wanting to write a fwb for SO long and in true changbunnies fashion this turned out longer than i intended it to be but i just had so much fun writing it and giving binnie the attention he deserves, so i hope you enjoy it too !!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

What do you do when you realize you've fallen in love with your friend with benefits? And what do you do when said friend is also your roommate? The conclusion that Changbin has reached is simple: spiral.

Well, not that spiraling is an actual choice in this scenario– he can't stop it from happening despite how desperately he wants to. He knows you aren't looking for a relationship right now, that you like what you have together because it's casual and fun.

You swore off dating apps and relationships after having your heart broken one too many times, and the only reason you're friends with benefits with Changbin is because you trust him– a trust that he is loath to break by dropping the revelation that he's fallen in love with you.

You were away from your shared apartment for the past week and a half, on a trip back to your home town to visit family. It was exhausting, but fun enough when your parents weren't driving you up the wall by pestering you with questions about when you're going to start bringing a boyfriend back home with you, you told Changbin on the phone last night whilst packing to come back to the city.

He hated the way his heart sank to the pit of his stomach when he considered the fact that he'll never be the boyfriend going home with you to meet your family. And he wants to be, fucking hell, does he want to be yours.

He wants to tell you he loves you and have it mean something more than the platonic love between friends, to take you on dates and freely hold your hand when walking through the city streets together, to share a bed with you for more than just a fuck.

How many times has he wanted to pull you back to him when you start to get up from his bed? To reach out and beg you to stay when you start to get dressed? To knock on your door late at night and lay everything out on the line because the way it keeps him up at night is becoming unbearable?

Fuck, he can't keep dwelling on it– you've been on your way home since this morning, and you're due back any minute now. It'll be disastrous for Changbin if you walk through the door and realize something's off with him.

His heart twisted when he checked his phone and saw a new text, one excitedly telling him you're almost home and that you've missed him– but was it really him you missed, or just fucking him? He didn't know anymore, and he was afraid to find out.

Changbin jumps when he hears the lock to the front door click, taking a breath to calm his racing heart as he rises to his feet to help you with your luggage and welcome you back home. 

He’s spent enough time spiraling over what to do this past week, he can’t afford to anymore; not if he wants to keep his sanity intact, anyways. He can do this– once you get settled, he can have a heart to heart with you, and everything will be fine. Even if it’s too much to confess his feelings, surely there’s a way to go about things where you’re both still happy, right?

Changbin did a lot around the apartment to make it perfect for you upon your return– cleaned and dusted every common room until they were spotless, made sure not a single dirty dish was left in the sink, emptied every trash can.. He even unclogged the drains and scrubbed the tub! He just wanted to make sure you didn’t have a single thing to do, that you could just relax and unwind in clean comfort after your trip. 

But you don’t spare a single glance around the apartment once you enter– you look just at him, smiling as you kick the door closed behind you, and drop your luggage to the floor to squeeze him into a hug. 

He blinks a moment in surprise at how quick the action is– he didn’t even have the chance to get a word out before you were on him. Still, he quickly returns the hug while trying his best to prevent the happy, almost relieved sigh you let out as you bury your head into his chest from giving him false hope.

“You really missed me this much?” Changbin asks with a small giggle– why is he even asking? So much for not giving himself false hope. He just blurted it out without thinking, really; but he can’t pretend the way you affirm it doesn’t make his heart swell. 

It was the longest you’d ever been apart from Changbin since moving in together, and it put a lot of things into perspective. Like, you really did miss him, of course you did, he’s your friend! But there was something more– you don’t think you’d ever missed someone so fucking badly before. 

Like, staying up all night because you can’t stop thinking about him type of ‘I miss you.’ Wanting to text him or call him at all hours of the day just to check up on him and ask what he’s been up to even though you’re supposed to be focusing on your family and reuniting with childhood friends.

You missed everything about him– his smile and cute laugh, the way he smells, his big arms wrapped around you and squeezing you close. You wanted to hear his voice again, and not through the grainy speaker of your phone, wanted to see him without your parent’s shitty old wifi connection lagging your call, and making him pixelated and blurry.

Changbin is your home, you realized; wherever he is is where you want to be. As long as he’s there, you’d have everything you need to be happy. Is that too sentimental of a feeling for just friends?

Yes, you know it is– and every time you felt it for him before, you shoved it down as deep you could, not ready to get your heart broken again just yet. Better to hold onto him for as long as you can, before he cuts things off to start dating again.

But of course, you can’t deny you also missed him in other, less than innocent ways. The squeak he lets out when you surprise him with a kiss, the cute way he blushes and giggles when you compliment him or call him his favorite pet name, the way he’ll easily drop to his knees for you the moment you tell him you need him. 

He never cares what he’s in the middle of or what he needs to get done– if you tell him you want him, he’s ready for you, eager to please. Even if he loses sleep, if it makes him late for work, if it means the food on the stove is going to burn– none of it matters if you need his tongue on you. And you’ll reward him, you always do; with sweet words and touches that makes his heart feel like it’s going to beat out of his chest while his cock throbs.

“Missed you more than you know,” you say in a near whisper, pressing your lips to his like you’ve been eager to do since walking through the door. Changbin practically melts when you kiss him, as always; he just can’t help it– he’s forever going to be putty in your hands. 

Was he right in his fear that you only missed him for the sex? Maybe, but he can’t even dwell on the idea anymore– not when the urgency in which you start touching him underneath his shirt while sliding your tongue in his mouth makes him weak at the knees.

Fuck it, maybe that is all you want him for these days, but he’d never stop giving you what you want. Use him over and over, run his heart into the ground when it’s done, what does it matter? At least in this moment he’s yours, even if it’s only temporary. 

You grab Changbin by the waist and turn him around, pressing his back against the front door to the apartment. One of his feet very nearly gets caught up on your luggage on one of his steps back, but you kick it to the side, away from the two of you. His sound of surprise is muffled by your mouth on his, as is his gasp when your hands travel up to squeeze his pecs.

You can feel his body shudder when your thumbs brush over his nipples, letting out a whine when you pinch them between your fingers. He’s breathless by the time you pull away, watching you with that eager look in his eyes that makes you crazy for him. “B-Baby, what are you-” he tries to ask as you fall to your knees, though the last word dies in his throat when you look back up at him with a smile. 

He still remembers the first time he slipped up and called you “baby.” You were on top of him, riding him so good that all he could do was babble on and on about how good it felt while gripping the bed sheets beneath him. “S-So good, oh my god, baby, it’s– you’re so good, feels so good,” he whimpered, whining loudly when you stopped moving to just look at him.

Changbin was going to ask why you stopped, beg you to please, please keep going, but then it hit him all at once– he called you ‘baby’ when it was never something either of you had done before. And instantly, he looked up at you utterly mortified with himself, ready to apologize over and over again for crossing the line in your friends with benefits relationship.

While the arrangement didn’t come with strict rules, such as no kissing for example, he still was concerned that it was a touch too far in the ‘romantic relationship’ direction. But to his surprise, and relief, you smiled at him, calling him sweet names in return after picking your pace back up. You continued to try out names, gauging his reaction carefully until you found the one that seemed to make him react the most.

And now here you are, looking up at him with his cock pulled out of his sweatpants and throbbing in your hands, calling him the name that turns his brain and body to jelly. “Want to show you how badly I missed you, bunny,” you told him before pressing a lingering kiss to his already leaking tip, his pre-cum smearing over your lips.

Thank fucking God you pressed him against the door, because if he didn’t have the support he’s pretty sure his legs would’ve given out. It’s not often that you’re the one on your knees for him, and the sight is so erotic it makes his brain feel like it’s going to melt out of his ears– not to mention the way you’re talking to him on top of it.

“So hard and leaky already,” you comment gleefully, sticking out your tongue to lick over his tip, “you missed me too, didn’t you, bun?” 

“Y-Yeah, missed you, I missed you so much,” Changbin replies breathlessly, struggling to keep his hips still and not rut against your hands. He bites his lip, restraining the whimpers that threaten to endlessly spill when you open your mouth to take him in.

You don’t waste any time getting the corners of your mouth used to the stretch, or for Changbin to get used to the feeling after having gone without it for so long; you take him all at once, until his tip is touching the back of your throat and your nose is pressed against his pelvis. 

His head falls back against the door as he squeezes his eyes shut, slapping his hand over his mouth to muffle the obscenely loud moan you draw out of him. Normally he pays no mind to his volume because he knows you prefer him loud, but he’d be beyond embarrassed if any neighbors walking the hall heard him just on the other side of the door. 

You swallow around his length, and it takes effort to not gag given how thick and heavy he is, but you manage just fine. Breathing through your nose, you stroke his cock with your tongue whenever you need to give your throat a tiny break, sometimes pulling back to take a bigger breath and let more air into your lungs before sucking him into your mouth again. 

Changbin cards his fingers through your hair, but doesn’t pull– just holds your head in an effort to ground himself. His thighs are trembling, and he’s seemingly given up on trying to be quiet, or is simply too far gone to care anymore, the hand he was using to cover his mouth now clenched into a fist at his side.

“W-Wait, wait, baby, please wait, don’t wanna cum yet,” he pleads as his stomach clenches, the twitching and throbbing of his cock growing more in intensity. He’s lifted his head from the door, looking down at you now and meeting your gaze as you blatantly ignore his request and continue to swallow him down your throat.

“Please, please, your pussy– want your pussy, honey, please,” he tries again, chest heaving as he begs, the fingers threaded through your hair now clenching into a fist as well, but still, he doesn’t pull you off him. That’s one of the things you like most about Changbin– he’s so strong that it’d be easy for him to make you do whatever he wants, but he doesn’t. 

Even now, as desperate as he is to be inside your pussy, he’s obedient, first and foremost. How can you resist giving him what he wants when he’s so sweet, perfect and well behaved? You pull off him with a loud ‘pop,’ watching the way his cock throbs pathetically against his stomach as his impending orgasm begins to ebb away.

You expect him to take a longer moment to recover, but even with how breathless he is, he’s leaning down to pick you up from the floor. You can’t help but let out a squeal as you’re lifted from the ground– you know very well that Changbin is strong, but it always surprises you how effortlessly he can lift your weight. Excites you too, if you’re being completely honest. 

He has you in a full princess carry, one arm supporting your back while the other is under your knees. You know he won’t drop you, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway for the extra security. He shows his appreciation for you with so many kisses over your face that you can’t help but giggle, and he holds you tighter when his kisses cause you to squirm in his grasp.

“Don’t tickle me with kisses when I can’t escape you,” you half-heartedly complain, and he giggles with you, pressing one more to your nose before he starts walking away from the front door. “We’re going to your room,” he informs you, figuring that’s where you’d prefer to me after having been away from home. 

Your luggage lies forgotten on the floor as he makes his way past the open kitchen and living room, and into the hallway leading to your rooms. Standing in front of your door, you lean in his grasp to twist the door knob, and he gently nudges the door open further with his foot. Your bedroom is just how you left it a week and a half ago, and Changbin sets you down on your bed carefully.

“Are you going to undress yourself for me?” you ask with an expectant tilt of your head, and he blushes ever so slightly as he shyly giggles and nods. It never fails to make him a little shy when you watch him undress like this, but he also takes pride in the way you look at him. Hungry, but somehow still tender and sweet. 

He starts with his sweatpants and underwear, considering his cock is still out from when you pulled them down just enough to get it out. Kicking his feet out once they’ve fallen to the floor, his shirt is next, and he very quickly pulls it up and over his head. “My baby,” you coo at him after beckoning him closer, and it makes his head spin. 

It’s the first time you’ve used a possessive term with him. Your baby.. Yes, whether you know it or not, he’s yours. Only yours. 

“You’re so handsome, you know that?” you continue, smiling when the pink on his flushed cheeks deepens, “And sexy, and adorable, and lovable.” You love complimenting him– even before you were friends with benefits, you’d tell him sweet things whenever you could. It took him a long time to grow into himself and get comfortable and confident in his own skin, and he deserves the pride and joy he feels now. 

Lovable is a new one, and he tries not to let it root itself inside his head– you certainly do love him, but just as a friend, he knows it. You’ve always been sweet to him, and he’s certain that your doting on him and sweet gestures increased only because of the slight change in your relationship, and no other reason. 

Regardless, does the reason matter? You’re complimenting him earnestly, and that’s enough. Even if it’s said without romantic intent, you do mean it– and that’s all he needs, really.

“Help me out with my own clothes now, won’t you, sweet boy?” you ask, and he gives you an excited nod that makes you giggle again. You lift your back off the bed so he can help you with your top and bra, then lift your legs so he can help you out of your pants and underwear when you let your back fall against the bed again. 

He kisses you the entire time he’s getting you out of your clothes, only breaking away when he has to. “Gonna get you ready for me,” he breathes out near the shell of your ear before planting a kiss there, and then trailing them down your neck. He slides his hand between your legs as he does, and you spread them apart for him to make his task easier for him. 

You both know you can handle the sting from his cock stretching you out, sometimes you even crave it– but you can never deny his desire to be sweet to you. If he wants to stretch you out on his fingers first, you’ll let him do it every time. 

“Oh, honey, you’re so wet,” he gasps as he runs his fingers between your folds. It shouldn’t be much of a surprise, really– you always get soaking wet when you and Changbin are being intimate. Still, it always surprises him as much as it did your first time together; he supposes there’s a part of him that still can’t believe you’re this physically attracted to him, even with how much you shower him with compliments. 

Of course, if you knew he had that thought, you’d shower him with even more of them, until there wasn’t a single doubt left in his mind. He’s perfect, truly; there’ll never be anyone who can compare to Changbin.

You don’t need him to start slow or careful, but he does regardless, starting by pressing just one of his fingers to your hole before sliding it inside. He knows you can take more at once, would even enjoy the sting that would follow, but he wants to be good to you! When you’re full of him, so thick that you’re full to the point it’s almost too much, he wants it to be pure bliss. 

Changbin pumps his finger in and out of you slowly, waiting until he’s certain you’re about to start whining for more before adding a second, and after just a little more he’s adding a third. He keeps his fingers still for just a moment, making sure you’re well adjusted before he starts to thrust them in and out in the way he knows you love.

And God, even though it’s you that’s getting fucked right now, he feels like he’s going a little crazy. He’s so addicted to the noises you make, the way your breathing starts to hitch and turn more shallow, how your eyes roll back when he hits that gummy spot inside you. You’re so fucking slick, and squeezing his fingers so tight that he can barely even think straight– not that he was entirely to begin with. 

Is it just because it’s been over a week since the last time you were together? He never thought himself so insatiable or easily worked up, but fuck, you just unlock something in him. He’s had sex plenty of times before you started sleeping together, had plenty of fun experiences with different partners, but only you make me feel so.. needy.

“Binnie, baby, want your cock now, give it to me, please,” you whine, voice impossibly pretty and breathless. “Ah but– are you sure, baby? Don’t want me to make you cum first?” he asks as he slows down the motion of his fingers. 

“We’ve both waited long enough, haven’t we?” you ask, rhetorical; it’s much more a statement than a question. You look at his cock, still leaking steadily and impossibly hard, and then look back to Changbin’s face. “Let’s cum together. That’s what I want,” you tell him, and you can’t help but notice the way his cock twitches from your words in your peripheral. 

Of course, he can’t resist doing whatever you want– especially not when there’s a promise to cum together at the end. So he slips his fingers out of you, and before he can even ask what you’d like him to do, you’re putting your hands on his shoulders and guiding him to his back. 

He falls to his back easily, swallowing as he watches you crawl on top of him. You’ve done it countless times at this point, but it never stops being sexy and exciting to watch. Your hands planted firmly on his chest, and your legs straddling his body, you move your hips back and forth, rubbing your pussy up and down his length to get it wet. 

His tip rubbing against your clit feels so fucking good too, but that’s not why you’re doing this; so you quickly move on before you get carried away and end up grinding on him until you cum. Reaching your hand between your bodies, you grab his cock at the base and angle it where you need it. 

Changbin watches with eager eyes and bated breath, his hands holding your hips for extra support. Even when you start to slowly sink down on him, and you’re both gasping and breathless from the pleasure, he’s careful to not squeeze you too hard. He’s always so tender and careful, even when doesn’t need to be, and you love him for it. 

And true to what he hoped, there’s no sting when you’re fully sat on him, the stretch nothing but pleasurable for you. Because of this, it also means you don’t have to start slow– and so within just a few short moments, you’re bouncing on him rapidly, leaning down to kiss him as you do. 

He has long since stopped being embarrassed about the noises you draw out of him, whimpering and moaning freely as the pleasure seeps into every pore of his body. Your tongue once again slips its way into his mouth, and he meets it eagerly with his own, happy to slide it around yours. 

Bouncing on his cock, and kissing him like this, he can’t help but be reminded of the very first time you slept together. You had just freshly agreed to the friends with benefits arrangement, both of you lonely and in need of some intimacy, but being done with relationships for the time for your own reasons. 

You took the lead, and it was the first time anyone ever had– he was so used to being the macho man in charge for his lovers, that he found it interesting and exciting that you wanted to be the one in control. You told him what to do, how to do it, praised him and guided him along, had him lay down while you crawled on top and did all the work for him after you were ready to take his cock.

And to his surprise, he instantly liked it– loved it, even. He never considered before then letting someone else have the leading role in bed, but after you started, it just felt natural. And when you leaned down and kissed him in that moment, when everything was so different for him and exciting, it felt like everything shifted, like the entire world titled on its axis. 

Maybe he’s been in love with you since then, but only fully realized what he felt recently. Maybe he’s been in love since even further before, but didn’t have the tools then to put that feeling together, because the line between friend and lover can sometimes be blurry. Maybe he’s been a fool this entire time, and continues to be one now– because he knows what he feels now for certain, but is still too scared to admit it to you. 

He’s thankful that your tongue in his mouth prevents him from speaking– because he’s certain if it wasn’t, he’d end up saying something he shouldn’t. It doesn’t stop him from having the thoughts internally, however.

“You’re so perfect, I love you, I love you so much, I need you, need you to need me, love you,” his brain is screaming as his orgasm approaches once more. The noises leaving him growing more in volume and desperation is enough of a warning for you on its own that he’s close, but you can feel him throbbing too, eager for release after how close he was to cumming earlier.

You reach your hand between your bodies once more, this time to rub your clit with your fingers. It makes your pace falter a bit, but Changbin is more than used to helping you in the last stretch like this. He helps you keep your pace with his hands, and thrusts up into you in time with the fall of your hips onto his.

“C-Cumming, oh, bunny, you’re making me cum,” you whimper, biting your lip and furrowing your brow as the circles you draw on your clit grow messy. You gasp when your orgasm hits you, your breath catching in your throat as your mouth hangs open in a silent cry. Changbin was already close, and the way you squeeze around him as you cum unravels him too. 

His cum shoots inside you, hot and sticky, his entire body trembling as he whimpers and whines beneath you. He’s not sure when he closed his eyes, but when he opens them he sees you looking down at him with such a beautiful smile that he truly feels like he died and went to heaven– because fuck, you’re an angel. 

Changbin reaches a hand up, tucks your messy, fallen strands of hair behind your ears, smiling when you coo and call him a “sweet boy,” again. You let your body fall against his chest, resting your head in the crook of his neck as you close your eyes and let out a content sigh. “Baby?” he questions, giggling a little when you mumble about being tired against his skin. 

“We have to get you cleaned up,” he reminds you, though the way he strokes your back surely doesn’t give you any motivation to get off him. “And you need to go to the bathroom before you fall asleep!” he adds, and you hum an acknowledgment, but still make no effort to crawl off him. Instead, your body relaxes even further, and soon enough you’re not even responding to him talking to you anymore.

You’ve fallen asleep much quicker than Changbin would’ve ever expected; he’s sure you’re tired from the days you spent away and the trip back home, and the fact that you fucked him immediately upon getting home likely didn’t do you any favors in keeping the fatigue at bay.

But he’s still here in your bed, beneath you, your body warm and soft and entirely limp as serene snores leave you. He’s not sure if he should try to wiggle his way out from under you, or just stay like this and sleep together. He knows what he wants to do, but.. he’s never spent an entire night in your room, nor have you done so in his.

And all he can think about while he looks up at your ceiling with you in his arms is how much he loves you but can’t tell you.

Fuck. What does he do now?

It’s been days since Changbin has had the chance to speak with you, but whether or not that’s entirely a good thing remains to be seen– because even with the distance to sort himself out, his mind remains addled and plagued by the desire to be with you as a lover. 

Thankfully, you haven’t noticed anything off with him– mostly because the distance since arriving back home was due to your own need to catch up on sleep, unpack your belongings, and get ready to go back to work and resume life as usual. Whenever you’re not sleeping, you’re busy, and that works for Changbin– or it was supposed to, anyways.

All he’s done the last few days is get back into his spiral. Confess his feelings or not, risk your friendship or keep everything to himself, move out before he loses his mind or stay until the day you decide you’re done.. He wishes there was a simple, easy answer. More than that, he wishes he could guarantee that you’d stay with him if he laid his feelings bare for you.

And he misses you. You’re only a room away across the hall, but he misses you. And he doesn’t fucking know what to do with himself anymore. He’s been trying to sleep for hours now, but all he can do is toss and turn and think about you, how bad he needs you– not just emotionally, but physically too. Because the moment he started thinking about you, it was only a matter of time before he began to reminisce about the sex you’ve had. 

Is his brain fucking against him, or what? As if it wasn’t bad enough he was in a spiral over the possibility of you rejecting his feelings, now he can’t stop thinking about how pretty you looked after your shower this morning. He only saw you in passing, as he had to head out for work and you had to get back to catching up on the work emails that piled up in your inbox while you were away, but God..

If it wasn’t for the fact that you really needed to get your work done before going back to the office when the weekend’s over, he would’ve dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the hallway and eaten you out until you were begging him to stop (or forcing him to by pulling his hair.) He wouldn’t even have cared about his own job– Chan would forgive him, he always did.

And truly, this is agony. Worse than agony, it’s torture. He needs to go take a cold shower and calm the fuck down so he can start thinking rationally again– as rationally as he can manage to in his lovesick state, anyways. With a heavy sigh, he throws his blankets off himself and reaches for his glasses on his nightstand. After putting them on, he rises from his bed, hoping the shower will be enough of a reset to let him get some sleep.

Opening his door, he’s surprised to see you’re awake. Well, he can’t see you just yet from the hallway, but he can see that the lamp in the living room is turned on, and can faintly hear the tv playing lofi focus music. And even though he probably shouldn’t, he can’t resist walking over to check in on you. 

He can hear you typing away on your laptop as he gets closer, and you look away from the screen and turn your head in his direction when you hear his footsteps over the softly playing music. “Oh, Binnie!” you smile at him, and it’s so genuine it makes his heart flutter. He’s so fucking screwed. “Couldn’t sleep?” you ask him, taking a small break from responding to emails to give him your attention.

“O-Oh, yeah, well I was trying to sleep, but..” he trails off when he sees you glancing down his body, to the painfully obvious erection straining against his shorts. “Had a problem?” you finish for him, and his face instantly flushes red. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve caught him with an erection, but it always makes him feel so perverted when it happens this way. 

“I can help you,” you offer, shooting him that pretty smirk that always turns him into jello. Fuck, you’re a siren, and he’s helpless to resist you. But still, aren’t you busy? As much as he’s willing to fuck up his own work performance for you, he’d feel terrible if his neediness made your own work harder for you. 

“I-I was going to shower and take care of it myself, but I saw you were awake and I just wanted to see what you were doing and.. Anyways, you don’t have to! Seriously, I know you’re busy! It’s okay, I don’t-” he babbles, and you giggle at him. He’s just so cute, especially when he’s trying his best to be considerate to you. 

“C’mere. I can’t help you right this minute but good boys like you know how to be patient, right? You can sit pretty here until I’m done with my emails?” you ask, patting the spot next to you on the sofa. Shit, you always know just what to say to him. 

He listens to your siren song, coming to where you beckon him to sit like the obedient boy you know him to be. “Take your cock out for me, baby,” you instruct, and again he listens, not a single ounce of hesitance as he slides his shorts down enough for his erection to spring free. He watches as you set your laptop on the coffee table and stand up, curious as to what you’re doing.

Changbin gulps when you slide your own shorts down your legs, as well as your panties, and fuck, he’s excited, but more than that he’s confused. He thought you told him he’d have to wait until you were done with your emails.. So why are you undressing already..? 

Maybe this is to keep him hard and eager– make him sit there with a view of your bare pussy so that by the time you’re done, he’s desperate and begging for you. Maybe you want to test the limits of your “good boy,” see how riled up you can make him while you work until he snaps and bends you over the sofa, taking you as he pleases. 

You stand in front of him with your back facing him, and though it’s a bit awkward and challenging, you reach behind and take his cock into your hand. “Spit on it, get it wet for me,” you tell him, and though his mind is still reeling from the unexpected development, he does as you ask. 

You spread his saliva around his length as best you can with your fingers, and when you’re content, you carefully press his cock to your hole. It takes you a second to get the angle right thanks to the position, but once you’ve got it, you slowly start to sink down. Changbin gasps and whines, bewildered by what’s happening right now. “B-Baby, I- what- what are you doing? I thought- I don’t-” 

“You’re still going to wait,” you tell him after you’ve fully sat in his lap, doing your best to keep your voice steady and firm despite how deliciously his cock is stretching out. “Be good for me, and stay still ‘til I’m done, okay? And then I’ll take care of you,” you tell him, and again he whines as he watches you lift your laptop from the coffee table and set it back in your lap. 

It’s a little awkward to type like this, but you think the fun that’ll result from it is worth it. Changbin eagerly nods his head, but then he remembers that you can’t see him in this position, so he speaks the best he can. “Y-Yes, I’ll be good for you,” he says with a shaky breath, biting his lip when you squirm ever so slightly to get more comfortable.

You lean back into him, his chest pressing against your back, his face close enough to your neck and shoulder that you can feel his labored breaths tickling your skin. He hears a click on your touchpad, opening a new email he assumes, followed shortly by the sound of keys resuming as you respond to it. 

Why is this so fucking hot? His dick is fully pressed inside you, and you’re not even paying attention to him– just continuing to type away on your laptop as if he’s not even losing his mind beneath you. Or should he say behind you? Both? 

He bites his lip and closes his eyes, trying his best to keep staying still like you told him to, his hands clutching the sofa cushions to keep them from wandering without permission and distracting you from your work. 

And God, he’s trying so hard to be quiet too, but it feels so impossible. The more you type away and click open new emails, the more he throbs. And the more he throbs, the more your pussy reacts by squeezing around him. And then he can’t help but whimper, his eyes rolling back when you adjust in his lap and cause the tiniest bit of friction. 

Click, more typing. A few more clicks, more typing. Click, click, more typing. How long has it even been? Since the moment you sank down on him and started working, he feels like he’s lost all sense of time. All he knows is that your pussy has been squeezing him so good– and it’s so wet now too. Is it just as exciting for you as it is for him? Do you like it? Or is it how good he’s being for you that’s making you soak his cock? 

“B-Baby, are you almost done? Please tell me you’re almost done,” Changbin whines, the desperation in his voice palpable. You chuckle as you click send on another email, wishing you could see his face right now– you’re sure he’s absolutely debauched. “Not quite,” you answer, and you can practically hear the pout in his whine.

Changbin is many things, but impatient and disobedient is not among the list. And he’s trying so, so hard to keep staying still, but he doesn’t think he can take it much longer. Honestly, you’re not sure if you can either– you’re quickly losing focus on your emails, and you’re fairly certain at least a handful of them were written less than professionally. 

Still, you click open another one, trying not to react to the way he desperately whimpers. He can’t be bad, he can’t– so his only option is to keep sitting here, and take it. “You’re- you’re almost done now, right?” he asks after another few minutes of waiting– at least, it felt like that to him. For all he knew, in reality it could’ve been more like 30 seconds. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t wait anymore?” It’s a bit of a mean question, you know– especially since you already know the answer. But still, it’s fun to ask, and you love how whiny and breathy his voice has gotten in the time you’ve been sitting on his cock. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m really trying, I just- I-I’ve never wanted to fuck you so bad before, I’m going crazy,” he practically cries, and you’re sure that if you turned around, you’d see his plump lips formed into the cutest, most devastating pout. “But I’m- I’m good,” he continues after taking another shaky breath, “I won’t move, not unless you tell me to, I promise.”

Fuck it– you still have work, but who cares? Surely your boss will understand if you couldn’t get to every email right? You got through most of them, and that counts for something, doesn’t it? That’s the justification you give yourself anyways as you close your inbox. 

“You want to fuck me, Binnie?” you ask him, and he eagerly nods just as he did before, remembering again at the last moment that you can’t see him. “Yes, yes! I really, really want to,” he replies, letting out a salacious moan when you start to lift off him. You shut your laptop and place it back on the coffee table before you turn around to look at Changbin.

Just as you expected, he looks deliciously debauched. Lips swollen and bitten red, face flushed, eyes sparkling with hope and desire as he looks up at you. “You’re right baby, you’re good. Such a good boy,” you coo at him, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. “How do you want me?” you ask him when you pull back, and his brain has to work overtime to stop itself from short circuiting from the question.

If you’re letting him pick, there’s one clear answer that’ll make him the happiest. “Lay down- on your back, please. Want to look at you, want you to look at me,” he says, and you smile at him as you lay back against the sofa, spreading your legs so Changbin can crawl between them. He kisses you as he takes his cock in his hand, pressing it against your hole before pulling away to look at you for approval.

“Go ahead, fuck me, bunny,” you encourage him sweetly. A shiver runs down the length of his spine as he starts to push back inside you, another obscene whine from deep in his throat leaving him when he’s fully inside. He leans down to kiss you again when he starts to fuck you earnestly, because that’s all he can think to do with his overwhelming wave of emotions. 

He’s thrusting fast from the start, all the pent up desperation and need for you pouring out of him ceaselessly. Your eyes always stay on his, even when he hits your spot in the way that normally makes them close or roll back, and it makes him crazy how you’re catering to his desire to have you looking at him.  

Your eyes are so pretty, so warm in the way they look at him. Everything about you is warm– your hands when they hold him, your body when it envelops him, your voice when you speak to him. The way you smile at him when he enters the room, the way you laugh at his stupid jokes, it’s warm, all of you is so, so warm. You’re home, you’re comfort, you’re bliss.

He feels like he’s unraveling in his entirety as he looks down at you, his pace quickly growing sloppy as his cock throbs. He can’t handle the way you’re looking up at him, can feel the tears threatening to well up in the corners of his eyes. He’s so overwhelmed by it all– by the pleasure, by the way you look lying beneath him, by how much he loves you. 

“You’re so beautiful, oh my god,” he whines, every thought that’s been running through his mind falling from his lips as he squeezes you in his arms. He knows he should shut up, should bite his lip or slap his hand over his mouth before he says something he shouldn’t, but the words just keep pouring out of him. 

“You’re so pretty, so fucking pretty, I can’t take it sometimes,” he continues, whimpering when you bring your fingers to your clit and start to squeeze around him tighter. “You- you make me so crazy, you’re perfect, so perfect, and- God, ‘m so close, love you so much, I love you,” he stutters, his eyes rolling back as he feels you start to cum with him. He presses his cock fully into you one last time, his cum spurting out in thick ropes until you’re full.

He’s panting, glasses fallen down to the tip of his nose, body trembling as he slowly starts to come down from the high. “Binnie,” you call him softly, and it’s not until he opens his eyes and looks at you again that what he said hits him like a ton of bricks.

He told you he loves you. While he was fucking you. He told you he loves you.

There’s no way to turn it out around as platonic in this scenario– it’s so fucking obvious how he meant it. To say he’s mortified is an understatement; and when he tries to speak, all that comes out are pathetic stutters, every explanation he wants to offer dying in his throat. Your eyes are watery as you look at him, and suddenly his throat feels impossibly dry, his hands clammy as he pulls out of you. 

He fucked up so bad. He ruined everything, he knows he did– this isn’t how he wanted to tell you, he wasn’t even ready to tell you. And now you know, and you’re looking at him with so much concern he feels like he’s going to shatter. Not anger, not sadness, but care– a care entirely different from what he’s seen on you before.

It’s pity, isn’t it? You don’t share the sentiment and you pity him for blurting it out like that. “You love me?” you ask him, your voice soft but cautious, unsure. “I..” Changbin tries again, but honestly he just wants to cry. Every emotion, every word, lodged in his throat and stuck, but still he tries to explain himself. “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean-”

You’ve always loved Changbin. Since the early days of your friendship, you’ve loved him. How could you not? You’d never met someone as sincere as him, his every action so affectionate and caring. A gentleman through and through, always making sure the people he loves are taken care of, always the first to offer a helping hand when someone is in need. 

But you’d given up on the idea that you could have something more so long ago– and becoming friends with benefits with him told you that he didn’t love you romantically. He was the first to offer, and people don’t offer that arrangement if it risks their feelings getting exposed; so he didn’t love you that way, you were certain. 

You told yourself you were okay with that. You were done with relationships, so tired of having your heart broken after pouring all of your love and faith into someone. And sure, you’d be heartbroken again when Changbin inevitably decides to move on, but at least it was a heartbreak you accepted would come, you’d be ready for it– that’s what you always told yourself.

But he loves you? Like, is in love with you? And he’s mistaking your surprise, your teary eyes, your struggle to wrap your head around the fact that he loves you as much as you love him as rejection. You can see it in the panic in his eyes, the way he stumbles over his words, the tremble in his voice– he thinks you don’t love him. 

How could he ever think you don’t love him? 

“Changbin, I-” you try again, and somehow the fact that you’re using his full name hurts worse; it's like a confirmation that you’re done with him, with this. It’s irrational, but the part of his brain that’s trying to talk sense into him is drowned out by the panic and fear of rejection, as if he can protect himself from the pain by accepting the fact that you don’t love him now before you say it out loud. 

“I need- I need a minute, I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, because even though he knows it’s coming, he can’t bear to hear it yet. He scrambles up from the sofa, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill as he rushes back to his room. He falls to his bed, burying his face into his pillows and lets out a trembling breath. 

Tomorrow.. He can’t avoid this, knows he needs to accept it sooner rather than later, but for this tiny moment, at least until tomorrow, he’s still yours.

Changbin isn’t avoiding you. At least, not on purpose– he just hasn’t gathered the courage to leave his room yet. He feels a bit like a hypocrite; he prides himself on his communication skills, and yet in the face of an honest conversation and acceptance of rejection, he flounders. Is he pathetic? You’d have every right to think so. 

Are you going to move out now? Should he? No, he should stop beating around the bush and just talk to you. You’re not in love with him, but you do love him– and that’s supposed to be enough, he told himself so many times that it is. 

You can work past this, can’t you? It has to be possible. He just doesn’t want to lose you, even if it breaks his heart he can take not having you romantically, is totally fine without the sex– but losing you as a friend? He can’t bear that.

He sighs, covering his face with his hands as he lies in his bed. He slept like shit, and he’s sure you didn’t fare much better– a thought that adds to the guilt he feels. But fuck, he needs to face this. The only thing that would be worse than losing you as a friend because being friends with benefits blew up in his face would be losing you because he was a spineless coward. 

Changbin grabs his phone, checks the time– it’s still early in the morning, but you’re usually awake by now. With another sigh to steel himself for what’s to come, he gets up from his bed and faces his door. He takes a breath, another attempt to calm his nerves, and walks to his door, quickly twisting the knob and pulling it open. 

“Oh!” you squeak in surprise, jumping where you stand before him. Changbin jumps too, with his own little shout of surprise coming out. How long were you standing outside of his door? Were you trying to work up the nerve to talk to him too? You blink at one another for a moment, and to Changbin’s relief, you’re the first to crack, letting out a little giggle. 

He giggles too, and though it’s a bit awkward given what happened late last night, it’s a relief that you’re not mad at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Changbin explains through his giggles, and God, your smile is so cute. You cover your mouth as you try to stop giggling, eyes crinkling and sparkling as you look at him, “No, no! It’s my fault for standing outside your door like this.” 

It eases him, feels more like the normal he’s used to with you– the normal he hopes and prays you can still share after this. “Can I come in?” you ask him, and of course he lets you, stepping to the side so you can enter his room. Your body language is still relaxed, but when you look at him again, your expression is serious.

Part of him worries that the lighthearted moment you just shared was a lapse in judgment on your part, and that you’re about to chew him out for running away last night– not that he wouldn’t deserve it if you did. But what you actually end up saying is a much stronger shock to his system. “Why do you think I don’t love you?”

“Wh-What? I-I.. I don’t-” Changbin stutters, blinking at you in utter shock, not even entirely sure how to respond.

“Because I do. I love you so much, Seo Changbin. The idea that you think I don’t hurts me,” you tell him, entirely sincere. That’s the part of his impromptu confession that kept you up at night, the part that upset you? Not that he loves you when he shouldn’t, or that your friendship might be ruined?

“If you think you’re not enough for me, you are– if you think you aren’t deserving of love, you are. Tell me what it is, so I can make sure you never question how much I love you again. Okay? I need you to promise me that.”

Changbin blinks, frozen, a million thoughts and emotions running through him. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know the answer. There was such a big chunk of his life where he wasn’t happy with himself– the way he looked, the soft parts of his personality, his desires that felt so grandiose and impossible.. 

He thought he had to live to what other people expected him to be, that it was the only way they would love him. It took him years of effort, of stumbling and falling and getting back up to get where he is now. More confident in his body, in the way he walks through the world, in the love he pours into his family and friends.

But there’s that part of his old self that still lingers– a part that calls to him late at night, that makes him question if he’s allowed to be this happy. That reminds him it’s still there when he’s weak and unsure, that crawls up his spine whenever you smile at him, that won’t let him believe that you could love him. 

Changbin isn’t the same lanky, insecure boy he was when he first met you, but maybe he is. He looks different than he did then, but maybe that part of him is still there, underneath the built up muscle and maturity. Maybe it always will be, maybe there’s no way to ever make it go away– but maybe he doesn’t need to.

He thinks of all the times you were there for him, from the very first day you met. How you always encouraged him to do what makes him happy, how you supported him through his every decision to better himself. 

“I think you’re perfect the way you are, but if going to the gym would make you feel better about yourself, you should do it!” you told him when he brought up the topic of trying to bulk up and fill out his body. “You’re so adorable Binnie, seriously, how can you be so cute?” you grinned, pinching his cheeks the first time aegyo slipped out in front of you. 

No matter which version of himself he showed you, you loved him. Each part, no matter how different and against expectations, you cared for. And even with all the work he put into himself, there was still the part of him that tried to change in his romantic and sexual relationships. Trying to live up to what he thought his partners wanted, trying to adapt himself to them. 

But so effortlessly, you dismantled the expectations he put upon himself. All the times you called him sexy and adorable in the same breath, made him believe that he could be both at the same time– that he could be manly and intimidating, sweet and loving, sexy and cute all at once, and it was all still genuinely him, all worthy of love.

Maybe it’s impossible to shove insecurity completely aside; it’s likely that it’ll always linger. Even when it’s small, and tucked away, and very nearly forgotten, it’ll be there, waiting. And maybe that’s okay, because when you have someone who loves you as you are, who reassures you and listens to you and comforts you, it’ll start to fade back out as naturally as it came in.

“I don’t know why,” he answers honestly, his bottom lip starting to quiver. His best guess is that his fear of losing someone he loves so much expounded upon his underlying insecurities, made them flare to the point that he felt like he could drown in them. 

“I just know that I love you. And I need you, and not like- not like that, I just- ..I never want to be without you,” he continues, refusing to get choked up by his emotions and let it stop him from saying what he needs to. “And I promise- I’ll tell you, anytime I’m unsure of myself, I’ll tell you.” 

You step closer to him, reach up and cup his face in your hands, rub the tears that threaten to fall from the corners of his eyes with your thumbs. His heart skips a beat when you smile sweetly at him, when you lean towards him to press a soft kiss to his lips, to tell him you love him. “You said I was perfect,” you say as you kiss him again, and then again, “but so are you. You’re the loveliest person I’ve ever known.”

You press more kisses over his face, complimenting each feature as you go. His deep, dark eyes that can be so piercing or so soft depending on the situation. His full cheeks, so cute and endearing when they’re pink from a blush, but so handsome and complimentary to his face. His downturned smirk when something amuses him that can easily turn into a fully bright upturned smile when he’s happy, and makes his nose scrunch adorably. 

“Honey,” he breathes in a soft whine, unsure of what to do with all the excess affection. You guide him back to his bed, crawling atop him when he falls back against it, continuing your trail of kisses down his neck. “You deserve this,” you tell him, smiling against his skin when you feel him squirm beneath you, “deserve it all, and more.”

Changbin brings one of his hands to the back of your neck when you pull back to look at him, bringing you back down to him so he can kiss you. He doesn’t want to hold back anymore, to try and hide how badly he needs you. He kisses you like a man starved, hungry and desperate. His desire is carnal, every inch of him aching for your attention. 

Your hands sweep over his torso, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging at it. He gets the hint, and separates from you so you can take it off him. He watches you remove yours too, heart thumping in his chest as you reach behind you to unhook your bra. He tries to lean up to kiss you again when you’re finished, but you push him back down.

He whines at first, but quickly swallows it down when you smile at him in that pretty way that makes his stomach flare with butterflies, his cock twitching as it hardens beneath you. Your hands travel his body, compliments about each and every inch of him freely falling from your lips. His arms, thick and warm and comforting. His chest, so strong and beautifully sculpted. His stomach, soft and cute, as perfect as the rest of him. 

You kiss him too– everywhere your fingers touch, your lips follow. Soft, tender, overwhelming– his heart is beating so fast and hard, all your words, touches, and kisses make his blood feel like molten lava, every inch of him unbearably hot. It chokes him up too, how sweet you’re being to him; you’ve doted on him plenty of times, but never like this.

You take one of his hands in yours next, bring it up to your lips to press achingly soft kisses to it. The palm first, and then his wrist, before you turn it over to kiss his knuckles. You kiss the tip of each of his fingers, and his breath hitches as he watches you, goosebumps erupting all over him when you gently put it down and pick up his other hand to repeat the actions. 

You treat him with so much reverence, shower him with more love than he knows what to do with. He’s trembling with emotion, aching with desire, overwhelmed by how much he loves you, how beautiful you look. He’s going to cry– seriously, he doesn’t know how much more he can take before tears start spilling out of him. 

“Honey, please-” Changbin whines, and to his relief, you pause to look at him. “Please, I- let me make you feel good, please? I want to, I- I want to show you how much I love you too,” he begs. You intended to take care of him, to shower him in affection until you inevitably made him cum, but you meant it when you said you can never deny him his desire to be sweet to you.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” you say, and you watch as he chews on his bottom lip, face heating up further as he considers what to say. He knows what he wants, he’s thought about it so many times– it’s just the admitting and asking for it part that makes him a little shy. Still, you treat him so well, and you always indulge him, so.. The only thing to do is just go for it. 

“I want.. Want you to sit on my face. Please? Please, please sit on my face,” he begs, and God, that has to be the sexiest thing he’s ever begged for. It makes your stomach flip, and if your legs weren’t straddling him, you definitely would’ve clenched them together. Lifting yourself off him, you make quick work of the remainder of your clothes. 

Changbin scoots down the bed, so your legs will have more room when you return to him, chucking his glasses away, not nearly enough care in him for where they land. He looks at you, with a devastatingly sweet and bashful smile, his arms reaching out to help you when you start to settle above him. Your knees on either side of his head, he wraps his arms around your thighs. 

The latter half of his face is obscured by your body hovering over him, but looking down, you can see his eyes, sparkling with eager excitement as he keeps your gaze. You lower yourself just a little, nervous to sit your entire weight on his face and suffocate him, but Changbin doesn’t want you to hover, he wants you to sit. 

So using the arms he has wrapped around you, he pulls you fully down to him. You gasp– partly because of the surprise, and partly from the feeling of his tongue meeting your pussy. He focuses on your hole first, lapping up all the slick that drips out of you before he drags his tongue up to your clit, licking in a long, fat stripe.

He wraps his lips around it, sucking and flicking it with his tongue until you're writhing above him before he alternates back to licking you up, bottom to top, drinking all you offer. You bury your fingers in his curly hair, and he moans when you tug on it. He squeezes your trembling thighs, letting out happy hums whenever you moan for him.

He sticks out his tongue and lays it flat for you when you start to roll your hips, letting you grind against his face and use him however you see fit to. You shiver when your clit bumps against his nose, your breaths becoming harsher as you drive yourself closer to release on his tongue.

“Oh bunny, you’re so good to me, so good, ‘m gonna cum for you,” you cry, voice whinier than you would’ve otherwise liked it to be, but the way Changbin whines eagerly in response tells you how much he loves it. A few more rolls of your hips, and you’re cumming, your thighs squeezing around his head as you keep a tight grip on his hair to keep yourself steady. 

Changbin enthusiastically laps up your release, continuing until you're squirming and whining from the sensitivity. He loosens his hold on your thighs when you do, letting you lift your leg over his head and fall to the side of the bed a little ways away from him. Both of you are breathless, but Changbin is the first to recover, and when he does he sits up and crawls over to where you landed.

He grabs your face, gently, of course, and pulls you into a kiss. His face is slick with your essence, and you can taste yourself all over his lips and tongue. “You looked so pretty,” he tells you softly between kisses, “You’re so gorgeous when you cum for me.” He carefully spreads your legs and slots himself between them, sliding his tongue around yours as he does. 

“Want to give you my cock now,” he breaths, pulling away just enough to look at you with those eager, pleading eyes that make you weak. “Want to keep making you feel good, want to- want to watch your eyes roll back when I make you cum again.” 

“Sweet boy,” you coo, spreading your legs wider for him, offering yourself to him, “do it, baby. Give it to me.”

He kicks off the remainder of his clothes in record time, taking his cock in his hand and spreading the dribbling pre-cum over his length until it’s completely wet. You’re more than ready for him, but he’s as careful with you as always, pushing each inch inside slowly. 

You reach out to him and pull him down to you, kissing him hard and sweet, drinking in the whimper he lets out when he’s fully inside you. His entire body is trembling, still worked up from all the attention you gave him and sensitive from fucking you just last night. There’s a part of him that still feels vulnerable too, but he’s safe with you, and he knows you always will be. 

He loves you well, but you love him better; and he’ll spend every moment he has showing how much he appreciates you. He doesn’t need to prove his worth, doesn’t need to do anything apart from be himself– the love you’ve given him has shown him that. You understand him, better than anyone ever has. 

You love him, you always have, long before who he is now, and will continue to long into the future. All he has to do to repay all you’ve given him is love you. Love you honestly, openly, freely– because he’s enough as he is.

When he starts to move his hips, you both moan, Changbin just the slightest bit louder than you. He tucks his arms under your shoulders and pulls you closer to him, chests touching as he steadily builds a faster pace. He’s squeezing you in his arms, whining in your ear about how good you feel around him.

He’s so high-strung and sensitive that he doesn’t think he’ll last long, but oh, is he going to try. But shit, he’s still so emotional too– he thought he would’ve recovered by now, but it keeps hitting him in waves. And when you kiss him, it makes him dizzy– not just with lust and desire, but with passion, adoration.

The way he looks down at you when he pulls away takes your breath away, so sentimental and loving. You take his face into one of your hands again, and it takes everything in him to not get choked up again. Your love is his greatest comfort, but it also makes him ache– because no one has ever loved him as sincerely as you do. 

“Do you need to stop?” you ask him tenderly, once again wiping the tears from his eyes. His heart feels like it’s going to burst from all the emotion, but he quickly shakes his head, offering you a sincere smile, “N-No, no, I’m fine! I just- I really love you,” he admits, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips to show you he means it.

“And besides, I might go actually insane if I don’t fuck you, cause seriously, how are you so fucking sexy?” he follows up. “Oh, shut up,” you giggle, playfully slapping his arm. “This is supposed to be about you, you know? My sweet bunny and how perfect he is- maybe I need to remind you?” 

Changbin curiously tilts his head at your words as you lock your legs around him and using what strength you have, and with the help of gravity and momentum, you force him to roll to his side, and then to his back. You smile down at him, your roles easily flipped, while he stares up at you, mystified and easily the most turned on he’s ever been. 

“Oh-” is all he manages to utter, his cock throbbing furiously inside you. He could’ve easily fought it– he’s physically much stronger than you, after all. But he just loves when you force him into the positions you want, loves to be malleable and pliant for you. 

You plant your hands firmly on his chest, bouncing on his cock fast, the sound of your thighs slapping together just barely louder than Changbin’s obscenely loud whimpers. “Oh God, ‘m gonna cum,” he whines desperately, too wound up and sensitive to resist it, his hands clutching at the bedsheets so hard his knuckles have turned white, “please, please, please, can I, please? Please, let me cum.” 

“I love you so much, Binnie, want you to cum for me,” you tell him, bringing one of your hands to your clit so you can cum with him, the way he always loves to. It causes you to squeeze tighter, and he gasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he trembles. “Give it to me, baby, be a good boy and cum for me.”

He does just as you ask, a messy string of “I love you”s falling from his lips until he’s too far gone to keep talking, tears streaming down the sides of his face as his eyes roll to the back of his head, and then close. His noises are high-pitched and pornographic, his entire body shaking with the intensity of his cum spilling inside you.

His vision is blurry when he starts to blink open his eyes, but soon enough you come back into focus above him, looking down at him affectionately. He smiles at you, a goofy, sweet one that makes you giggle. He wraps his arms around you and drags you down to him, pressing kisses to your lips over and over again. 

Changbin tells you everything he’s wanted to this entire time as he does; how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, how he can’t imagine his life without you in it. He blushes when you do the same, while once again making him promise he’ll tell you if doubt ever starts to creep up on him. 

The journey to loving yourself isn’t easy; it’s a long winding road, uneven and easy to stumble on. But when he falls, you’ll be there to catch him. You’ll remind him how loved he is, the value he has simply in being, how he brightens every day you share just by existing. 

You’ll always be here, growing older with him, supporting him as he continues to grow and change, each experience turning him into a newer version of himself. And in every change, in every season of his life, you’ll continue to love him. Always.

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