#he says while staring into the bathroom mirror white knuckling the sink

[starvingnarcissistmusic]

I should really make a non music blog so that people who like my music don’t get bombarded by random unrelated stuff but this is like tangentially related sort of so whatever

God I just love Mal Du Pays. I am always a sucker for “the enemy is you / the enemy is a manifestation of some part of you” trope in any media but MDP has by far gotta be one of the best applications of it I’ve ever seen.

I mean even just the design of it is brilliant. Obviously inverting a characters colors to get the evil / darker version isn’t anything new for this trope, but ISAT is unique in that you have quite literally been STARING AT MDP THE WHOLE GAME, every single time you die and every single time you loop back. Turning the non diegetic game over screen into a diegetic encounter is incredibly clever and immediately gives MDP that sense of crushing pressure that makes it so memorable.

Also literally any game where the game over music is later established as the motif of a character automatically just wins me over by default. It’s such an effective tool in immediately conveying just what MDP is, even before any of the dialogue starts. It’s the end of this journey. It’s the pain of a home you’ve never known. It’s an entire universe collapsing in on you at once. It’s the end. It’s the end. It’s the end.

And I think, it’s a little Fucked Up, that Siffrin’s sadness looks identical to him. Every other sadness we see in the game is very distinctly not human in appearance, incredibly abstract and inhuman pretty much all around the board. But Mal Du Pays? The sadness of our main character? Pretty much the same. Literally a color swap. I think that’s incredibly telling. A being born of Siffrin’s grief and pain and agony, and the form it takes is his own silhouette.

Thematically, it’s very On The Nose that Siffrin’s worst enemy is simply himself, but at the same time, it’s exactly what you expect. I remember getting to MDP for the first time, seeing Siffrin walk through the void and just… knowing what would come next. Of course it would be another him. For Siffrin, his hell is himself. This nightmarish half-life, devoid of a past and with nothing but a quickly collapsing future, his worst impulses and fears and agonies and pains personified, and all it looks like is his shadow. Of course, what else could be here, at his lowest of lows, but a reflection? Of course there would be nothing here but you. It’s always only ever been you. Mal Du Pays is a mirror. A mirror that hates you like you do, that loathes you like you loathe yourself. In the worst, most monstrous way possible, it tells you exactly what you’ve been telling yourself your whole journey. And so you believe it, let it sink its words into your skin and bury you in the misery. Because maybe then, maybe when you finally give in, it won’t hurt anymore.

(A cold comfort is still, however little it may be, a comfort.)

And then you’re saved. The King is defeated, your friends came back for you, you manage to come up for air again. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Everything is still coming to an end. You’re still going to be all alone. And so, you sink again.

Notice how Bigfrin doesn’t have a face in this panel? This is Siffrin at their most self destructive, most desperate, lower than lower than low. And in a way, I think that by quite literally looking like the Sadness they nearly created, they’re symbolically drawing a parallel there. Siffrin fully embraces what Mal Du Pays represented, to the point that their new form looks just like it. Even if they didn’t manifest MDP, they are just as horrible. After all, the mirror goes both ways. Mal Du Pays looks just like Siffrin, but that also means that Siffrin looks just like Mal Du Pays. And maybe, in Siffrin’s head, they’re one and the same. Maybe they’ve always been.

Oh god it’s 1 in the morning. I did not mean to make this that long lmao w h o o p s

uhhhhhh in summary tldr mdp is very good isat is also very good play isat

(also if you want more MDP content, I sort of wrote a whole song about it. So listen to that if you’d like. Im goin to bed)

[suempu]

Loooooved your Laios nsfw headcanons!!! they made me so giggly 🥰🥰 I’m curious if you would write more about the scenario you mentioned where he gets unintentionally hard while cleaning you? I feel like that’s just a sweet (and hot lol) scenario that would be fun to read more about!

so glad you liked it!!

this is set after yours and his’ first time, a segment from this post !! no prns for reader !!

<3

“laios, are you hard?”

“…. i’m sorry.”

you chuckle before turning to face him, giving him an exaggerated raised eyebrow. “are you that needy?”

he flushes for a bit before whispering. “i can’t help it. you look really nice…”

“so insatiable.” you tease before bringing his mouth to yours. you start rubbing his wet skin, teasingly caressing his shoulders and chest while he moans into your lips.

peppering kisses on his jaw, you pull away to pinch his cheek lightly. “what? had one taste and suddenly you can’t get enough?”

he lets out a half grumble-half moan, nosing into your hair. you can feel his hard on only getting stiffer on your lap, making you lightly roll your hips down on him, the water sloshing from your movement.

“it’s gonna get worse i-if you do that.” laios whispers.

“that’s what i’m hoping for.”

you lightly grind against him, smirking when his face scrunches up as he breathes out a trembling moan. tightening your thighs together around his dick, he pants as he grips your hips, his cock throbbing underneath the water.

“faster, please…” laios whimpers out your name, looking into your eyes pleasingly.

“hm… nah.” you suddenly stand up from the tub, the cold air on your wet body. he lets out a confused gasp and stares at you wide eyed, knuckles white as he clenched his fist tightly.

sounding like a kicked puppy, he whines, “what did i do to deserve this?”

“we’re doing it on the sink, big guy. i don’t wanna swim in cum water…. for now at least.” seeing him visibly perk up in excitement when you don’t deny him makes you giggle as he gets up to join you in front of the bathroom sink, your lewd bodies making a fog on the mirror.

let’s just say you both end up wrinkly after all that.

[l0vergirlwrites]

hold steady ; steve harrington

synopsis: life has hit you hard since the events of spring break. but the softness of steve reminds you that you’re not alone, & that you shouldn’t be ashamed for how you’re handling everything.

warnings: post-season 4 setting, descriptions of grief & guilt, mental health issues & trauma, written with fem!reader in mind (but can apply to other identities too)

wrote this while listening to role model’s song “so far gone” feat. lizzy mcalpine!

you’re being dramatic you internally told yourself in the mirror, trying to make yourself believe the statement so you’d calm down.

you weren’t sure what time it was. the house was quiet, aside from the soft hum of the cold air passing through the vents. you tried making the sound of it louder in your head in hopes it’d ground you. but it wasn’t working.

so, you continued to stand in the bathroom with the nightlight plugged into the wall, staring at yourself in the mirror’s reflection. you couldn’t get over how different you looked now in comparison to who you were before spring break. something inside you seemed to have died a bit more than last summer, & you could tell from whatever aura you were emitting.

you had originally came here to wash your face after one of your bad dreams; to remind yourself that you’re in the present, you’re safe (for now), & that the past can’t hurt you anymore—at least that’s what your therapist wants you to do, but it doesn’t help as much as you wished it would. you just hoped the sound of the sink running wouldn’t have woken up steve.

he’s been in a bad place like you, despite how hard he’s working to help rebuild hawkins. with soup kitchens, garage & yard sales, donation boxes littered at every street corner, & community programs that have emerged since the town was practically ripped apart, steve’s been doing what he can to help.

you know steve’s got good heart, so you weren’t surprised with how involved he’s been. but you also know how his tiredness has been eating him alive, interfering with his sleep & energy whenever he’s home. tonight was the first night he feel asleep at before midnight, & you didn’t want to disrupt his r.e.m. cycle.

so, if crying in the bathroom while clutching the counter meant that steve could continue sleeping without any interruptions, you’d do it.

luckily, most of your crying was silent except when the occasional hiccup or whimper escaped your lips. you tried keeping it together, but it was hard. the weight in your chest was excruciating, but you’ve been through this many times before, so you knew you could handle it.

you just needed to hold onto the counter tighter to stay upright & it would pass, right?

moments later, when another shaky breath was exhaled, you could hear a door creak open from the hallway, footsteps padding slowly along the soft cream carpet flooring, getting closer to where you were.

you heard a groggy voice call your name from behind the bathroom door in search of you.

you tried staying quiet, hoping he’d just go back to bed because you didn’t want to talk about it, but you knew he wouldn’t. steve insisted he slept better with you beside him.

“are you in there?” he asked, bending two fingers to knock softly on the wooden door.

you closed your eyes shut, feeling the weight on your chest pang heavier. “i-i’ll be back in a minute” you said as clear as you could, but the strain in your voice wasn’t convincing.

steve knew you, & sometimes you hated it.

“can i… can i come in?” he hesitated, afraid of scaring you away.

you didn’t have to say anything because you knew he’d come in aways, soon finding you with your head hung low & knuckles white from your grip on the counter.

he didn’t have to say anything either as he came closer, his warm touch infiltrating your space as you felt his chest press into your spine, head nuzzling into your shoulder while his arms wrapped around your stomach. the feeling of him made you choke out a sob.

you felt like you didn’t deserve his sweetness, but your brain was lying to you.

“you don’t have to do this alone. unless you want to” he mumbled into your shoulder, treading carefully because he knew your pain all too well. it’s a hard thing to navigate & he doesn’t want you to feel cornered.

you shivered, tensing up again until you reminded yourself that it’s just steve, that he loves you, that you don’t need to hide—but it just feels like the opposite.

“i know” you said unevenly, breathing in but whimpering when your chest tightened uncomfortably. “everything is just… hard” was the best way you could put it.

steve nodded against you, kissing your shoulder as a way to tell you that he knows, that he hears you.

“i don’t want to feel this way forever” you cried, head dropping low again as your eyes pinched shut. “i just want to go back to before so badly. w-we don’t deserve this—all the shit we’ve dealt with—it’s so unfair” you begin to shake, chest raising up & down with a little more speed than before. the scars on your body burned with each passing second, as if they were still fresh from the claws of demo dogs & demo bats—flashes from the past you wish wouldn’t play in your brain.

with tears blurring your sight, you didn’t fight it when steve peeled your hands away from the counter, when he turned you to face him, or when he pulled you tightly to his chest, letting your face press into the crook of his neck & your hands bunch up the material of his t-shirt.

“i know, baby. we shouldn’t have gone through it. it’s not fair at all” steve agrees, shutting his eyes & letting out a shaky sigh into your hair because he feels the same way.

he feels the same anger & frustration & emptiness that you do. hell, he knows the whole party does too. it’s just how it is.

steve lets you cry as much as you need, lets you grip his back to hold steady & dampen his t-shirt because it helps remind him that you’re still here, that you didn’t face the fate that many others did during spring break & long before. that he still has you to love & work through the mass amounts of grief & fear that are still embedded inside you both.

“i’m sorry for waking you up” you sniffled loudly. “i know you’re exhausted”.

“don’t be. you needed me. i sensed it” he mainly said the last bit to make you scoff, laugh or anything of the sort. but it was true—he swore he had a sixth sense for you.

lifting your head back, brushing the tear stains from your eyes with the backs of your hands, steve continued giving you gentle touches. he knows that it’s calming for you.

“i don’t know what’s wrong with me” your lips frowned as you looked at him, his eyes shining a tiny bit from the nightlight.

“i feel like i can’t get back to normal. l-like i’m broken—stuck in a loop” you admitted, trying to find comfort in steven’s repetitive touches.

“you’re not broken,” steve started, moving a hand to hold your cheek, thumb smoothing against your skin. “you’re just healing. & no one expects you to be fine—i’m sure as hell not” he assured you, heart melting when you leaned into his hand.

opening your mouth to speak, the words won’t come out, as if they were stuck in your throat. so steve continued.

“what you went through…,” his bottom lip trembled at the thought, memories of all the blood & screaming & fear racing back. “you didn’t deserve any of it. i-if i could take that pain away, i would—in a heartbeat. b-but i can’t” his tone sounded defeated.

“i wish i could take yours away too” you breathed out, raising one of your hands up to run through his hair.

there was always a part of steve that blamed himself for what you went through. you had a part of you that felt the same thing.

“you always tell me that things take time—that as each day goes by, we’ll feel a little less hurt, a bit stronger than before,” he looked deep into your eyes, leaning his head closer to yours. “we just have to believe it. even if it feels like a lie sometimes” you nodded your head in agreement.

collapsing back into steve’s chest, you smiled a bit when you felt his cheek press into your hair. “i hope me talking about my… stuff… isn’t like weighing you down, you know? ‘cause i know you have your own—“

“hey, hey, hey,” he pulled you back, both of his hands holding your face now. “none of that, okay? i want you to talk to me about this—about anything you feel. i don’t hide from you, so you don’t gotta hide from me” he said sweetly but firmly, kissing your forehead before you could blink.

you couldn’t control the tears that brimmed your eyes, or the shaky sigh that left your lips at his words. you felt extremely lucky.

“i think i’m gonna need you to remind me of that sometimes. is that okay?” you asked, hands resting atop of steve’s chest while his brushed more of your tears away. the pain in your chest didn’t fully disappear, but it was better than nothing.

“more than okay” he smiled, pulling your face closer to his so he could kiss you, hoping it could melt away some of your pain for the night.

not long after, steve led you back to bed, just like you did for him the other night when he too had a meltdown. he pulled you to his chest when you both had settled under the comforter, your breath fanning his neck as you shut your eyes, trying to focus on the good & not the bad.

“i love you” you whispered in the dark, pressing a kiss to the skin of his collarbone.

he felt his heart skip a beat like clockwork at those words. “i love you too”.

[moutainrusing]

cry

Despite being name-called ‘Snivellus,’ Severus had always considered himself to be above foolish snivelling and grovelling. That was child’s play. He was better than that.

Except maybe he wasn’t, because his eyes were watering now. It was just— He didn’t know what it was, just, everything felt like it was breaking behind his tear ducts. He was on the verge of collapsing for absolutely no reason, and he needed to stop, because Severus didn’t snivel, no matter what Potter and his cronies jeered. He was above that, he was cold and callous and didn’t let anything get to him, he was shielded with darkness, he’d literally invented spells to stop this. Spells to block any tears.

What was happening to him?

Now they were streaming down his face.

Salty, and the chemical would react disastrously with the potion he’d brewed for himself to avoid hunger. Why was he crying? He was Severus Prince, he did not need anything, so why cry for it? He’d engineered his body through potions and spells to be able to withstand the harshest of conditions; he didn’t need to eat, he didn’t need to sleep, he didn’t need to feel, because he didn’t cry. He was the one who judged other people for crying. The kids were the ones who cried. He was better than a kid. He’d never been a kid. He’d never been foolishly hopeful, he’d never been stupidly inane, he was nothing like a baby.

So why was he crying?

The disused bathroom on the sixth floor. No one went there. It was close, so he decided to slip into it, and no one would see his slip-up. After he’d gotten himself together, he would remedy the error in his emotions with another potion. Or spell.

He turned the door handle and entered, his hair covering his entire face as he stared at the ground. No one could’ve seen him when his hair and posture kept him hidden.

Looking up, he saw his face in the cracked mirror and recoiled, clenching his hands around the brink of a chipped sink as his body dry-heaved. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes were rimmed red, and he was crying, sobbing, weeping, all of it, rolling down his chin and dripping like paper in the rain, he was pale and cloudy, and he felt something he didn’t even know.

It made him want to scream, he was gasping for something and he didn’t know what it was, his cheeks were stretched thin, and he wanted to put his fist in his mouth, bite until his knuckles were white. His chest was too tight, as if he was wearing one of those corsets his father forced his mother to wear, dance for him while he threw bottles at her and Severus remembered crying then, like he was crying now, but he’d sworn that would be the last time he’d cry.

He was a filthy liar. His cheeks were stained with it. Salty streaks and snotty nose. The flesh of an animal. A weak, pathetic child.

Abruptly, the door handle turned, and in horror, Severus turned his head towards it, grasping his wand, only to see the puffy, teary face of Potter.

When Potter saw him, his face twisted to reflect the horror upon Severus’s.

He raised his wand and threatened, “I’ll Obliviate this from your memory, Snivellus.”

Severus’s wand was also drawn. One-on-one, and they were equally matched, though Potter was loath to admit it. He often used the same ‘dark’ spells that Severus did, didn’t he? Even though he acted above it.

“We both know I’m better at that spell than you,” Severus drawled. He didn’t wince at the hitch in his voice when he said that. There’d been no hitch in his voice. He didn’t sound breathless as if he’d just cried until he’d emptied the air from his lungs.

But Potter laughed cruelly at the hitch, “Ooh, has Snivelly been snivelling?”

“Like you can talk,” Severus muttered.

“I said,” Potter gritted his teeth, “I will Obliviate you.”

“You wouldn’t. Haven’t you turned a new page for Lily?”

“Don’t say her name with your unwashed mouth.”

“Oh, you’re defensive today,” Severus observed. “Lover’s spat? Is that why you’re crying?”

“I’m—” And Potter dropped his wand, dropping to the floor with it as he buried his face in his hands.

Severus blinked. No one ever cried in front of him. “You’re—” He swallowed. “You’re blocking the door,” he decided to gesture lamely.

Potter looked up at him, and surprisingly, burst into laughter. So now he was both wailing and cackling. Severus was stuck with a monster. “You just—” Potter inhaled for breath as his lungs continued cracking up, “You don’t care.”

“...What?”

“You don’t care, not like Sirius, ‘cause if he saw me crying, he’d trash talk everyone who wasn’t me. I don’t know, actually, I’ve never cried in front of him. But he always acts like we’re better than everyone.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, “You do that too.”

“Yeah, well,” Potter scoffed. “That’s just us around each other. We trash talk everyone else and inflate our own egos. That’s how he’d care. And Remus, he’d wring his hands and offer me smiles and chocolate as if that fixes everything, or maybe he’d give me a worried look, ‘cause he’d care. And Peter would tell me I’m awesome or something. They’d all try to cheer me up. Lily would, her friends would, random students in this school would care, ‘cause James Potter is crying. Even the other Slytherins would care, in a different sort of way. They’d see me crying and humiliate me for it, but then there’s you.”

Awkwardly, Severus mumbled, “I’d humiliate you.”

Potter laughed again, doubled over his bent knees, “You weakly stated that I was blocking the door, mate.”

“You… are blocking the door.”

Eyes brightly curious, Potter looked up at him, “You want to leave? You still look like you’ve been crying.”

Glancing at the mirror again, Severus grimaced.

“Why’re you crying anyway?”

“You never said why you’re crying,” Severus bristled.

“‘Cause I dunno,” Potter shrugged. “I really don’t know,” he grinned, and tears fell over it. He looked like a painting. A sad one, of someone falling into mad ruin.

“You broke down when I mentioned lover’s spat,” Severus pointed out.

“Huh,” Potter hummed. “Maybe my subconscious is tryna tell me something. I just feel like I’m being pulled in multiple directions, you know?”

Severus clenched his jaw. “I don’t.”

“Really? So why’re you crying then?”

“Weren’t you gonna hex me for seeing you cry?”

Potter narrowed his eyes, “I could still do that later. But will you let a man cry for now?”

“I’m letting two men cry,” Severus deadpanned.

Potter snorted. It was unbecoming. “I’m not gonna hex you right now, ‘cause you’re just as bad as me,” he gestured to Severus’s face. “And,” he added. “You don’t care.”

He seemed to marvel at that fact, looking at Severus as if he were supernatural. Severus rolled his eyes, “I do care. Not about you crying, specifically, but I don’t like crying in general. Only kids do it,” he sniffed critically. Or maybe it was sad. Matter-of-factly, he stated, “I invented spells to block my tear ducts, but something must have gone wrong. So now I’m crying.”

Potter laughed at that again, “Oh, that’s so something you’d do. You’re mental. I think you’re crying ‘cause it all built up inside you until it burst out of you, like a geyser or something. ‘Cause everyone needs to cry. I dunno why I’m crying, I just am ‘cause I need to.”

“If everyone needs to cry, Potter, then why are you trying to hide it?”

Sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his neck, “‘Cause even if it’s normal, people still judge you for it.”

“I am judging you. I think you’re a kid.”

“I am a kid,” Potter grinned. “You’re a kid.”

“I’m older than you,” Severus argued.

“You are?” Disappointedly, Potter shook his head, “Then how could you let someone younger than you bully you?”

Severus wasn’t sure how to combat that. He sort of had just allowed the bullying to continue, even though he should’ve probably reported it, or been more mature about handling it… he was older than Potter. He settled on, “Black’s older than me. So that was someone older than me bullying me, and what was I meant to do about that?”

For some reason, Potter’s eyes brightened at that, “Can I guess when your birthday is? If it’s between mine and Sirius’s, then it could be in November, December, January, February or March.”

There was a pause as Potter looked at him expectantly. “Are you… gonna guess then?”

“Aw, you’re not gonna give me a clue?” Potter pouted.

Severus gave him a flat look.

“You know mine and Sirius’s birthdays! Actually, how do you even know them?”

“Because, as you said, you two act like you’re better than us all. So you’ve drilled those dates into our poor, unfortunate minds.”

“Drill your birthday into mine?” Potter teased.

“What? No.”

“But you know my deepest darkest secret!”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Come here,” Potter gestured. He wrinkled his nose, seeming to realise something, “Literally sit down. You look so dorky and gangly just standing there.”

Shuffling forward, Severus gracelessly dropped to the floor, leaving a good metre between them.

“Closer.”

“No.”

Huffing, Potter leaned forward. Severus leaned back. When Potter grabbed his collar, he froze, but all that happened was Potter whisper-yelling into his ear, “You know that I cry.” He gasped dramatically and let go of Severus to stare at him with wide eyes. “I cry,” he mouthed, slapping a hand over his lips.

“That’s a rubbish secret.”

Potter held up the hand that had been over his mouth defensively, “Yours is more rubbish.”

“My secret isn’t my birthday.”

“Then tell me your birthday!”

“Why’d you even want to know?”

“Because,” Potter began as if it were obvious. “Then I’d know your star sign, and we’d work out why you’re crying!”

“I know why I’m crying.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Well, you don’t know when you’re crying.”

“You’re right,” Potter smiled. “I don’t.”

“That’s it, then.”

“Yeah. Can we keep crying here like grown men, then?”

“...You’ll tell no one?”

“I’ll keep it to myself if you keep it to yourself,” Potter agreed.

“Deal.”

And for a moment frozen in time, two boys sat on the floor of a bathroom and cried, and neither of them cared about why.

[unhappy-last-resort]

Golem's Treasure

Fandom: Morimens

Genre: Yandere

Main Characters: Uvhash, GN Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Stalking, erotic descriptions of blood-sucking, vaguely vampiric, implied nsfw, prob ooc, most definitely has some grammar or spelling mistakes because it's almost 2AM

A/N: So, Sensabo got me into Morimens and we both love Uvhash. He's kinda neat.

Hot water trickles down your skin, washing off the last of the soap and stress from the day and you breath in the humid air of your shower, a rare moment of warmth and peace in your dangerous day to day life but, time doesn't stand still for you, not even in the shower. With a sigh you shut off the water and pull open the curtain with a high-pitched screech of the metal hooks sliding over the pole, ready to dry yourself off and get ready for bed. Your favorite towel sits neatly folded right where you left it, and the steam floats in the air making the rest of the bathroom much less cold than you feared, along with the man crouched in the corner, watching you.

Unsurprisingly, you shriek and haphazardly yank the shower curtain forward, fumbling loudly much to the amusement of your intruder- whose cackles are bouncing off the walls and hurting your ears.

“Your frightened expressions are my favorite! I should do this more often- By the way, you make a lot of interesting noises in there, I was tempted to go and see what you were doing.”

You clenched the curtain so tight your knuckles were white and mustered all your rage into what you hoped was the angriest glare he’d ever seen in his life and thrust your head out from behind the curtain. “Uvhash! What the fuck are you doing?!”

The creature in question stretched his long arms, his joints moving against each other, pulled by invisble muscle and you absently wondered if he was like one of those deep sea fish that have see through organs- or if he even has other organs beyond that ominous heart. “I just wanted to spend time with you.” He shrugged, as if this was normal and an invasive and terrifying progression of his behavior.

“You- “spend time” with me by stalking me while I shower?”

“Is that wrong?”

Strangling, murder, disembowelment, decapitation, throwing a shower brush at him...Yeah, none of those will work. He would find all of those equally amusing and would leave you a bloody mess and still living Uvhash on your bathroom floor. Why do you have to deal with this again? What did you to deserve this? Whatever, take a deep breath and get him out.

“Uvhash.” You say in your sweetest voice straining with rage. “Please leave the bathroom.”

The corners of lips sink from a contented smile into a scowl, his eyes sharpening in protest at your apparently unreasonable request. “Wh-”

“Now.”

His shoulders heave in a sigh before he gathers his limbs and stands up, reluctantly turning to the door and giving you one last look- which you return with a glare and an aggressive point at the door- before exiting. Leaving in you privacy, finally. Hopefully.

You rush to dry yourself off, praying that he’s taken a hint and left your dorm entirely, and tightly wrap your towel around yourself. You wipe the steam off your mirror and stare at yourself. You thought back to your graduation; your tombstone sitting quietly, waiting patiently for your coffin to one day come be buried and stand as testament to your fight- one that would join thousands of others in the past and future in your sacrafice to try and erradicate the Dissolution that threatened to devour humanity.

Then, you thought of Uvhash; a golem created thousands of years ago for the purpose of bloodshed, never before having experienced human joys and whims- his memories only contain of boring days and nights spent in an arena, chained to his master where his happiest memories were ripping someone apart. You thought of his yellow eyes and the gaping hole in his chest that proudly displayed his heart, one of the most vital organs for a human, out in the open with seemingly no protection. He'd let you get close enough you could reach out and grab it, feel it beat in your palm, but maybe you shouldn't have even stood within arms reah of him, because he seemed to take it as invitation of sorts.

You didn't blame him, per se- not after having seen the moments before his first death- but still, the "gifts" he left at your window and doorstep have become increasingly concerning. At first it was little things like mice and birds, you didn't appreciate them and you told him that many times, but he never seemed to understand, or ignored you entirely. Then, it started being things like finger bones and teeth, at first they were old an ancient, and then they started having bits of rotted flesh and blood still on them.

You started wondering if he would ever leave a body at your door, or maybe you're just crazy. That would make you two a perfect pair, wouldn't it? A thousand year old, blood-loving golem and his human companion who has long since lost their mind due to his antics.

You really wish he would take to human courting customs.

Enough of that, you still have the issue of changing. If only you hadn't left your PJ's out in your room. Why didn’t you bring your pajamas in here with you? Why did you have to leave them out in your room? Then again, you weren’t expecting someone to break in. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your hand around the cold, metal door knob and opened it.

For a moment, you didn’t notice anything. There was the one lamp you had turned on by the door, illuminating part of your room with warm, yellow light, fending off the shadows that lurked in the corners of your mind, and providing some much needed comfort. Your pajamas were resting on the otomen just a few steps away and Uvhash was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe he really did leave. You turn off the bathroom light and delicately step onto the plush carpet to your pajamas, one step, two steps, three steps and your pajamas are right in front of you.

“Are you changing?” Long, white hair falls into your vision as he reaches over to thumb the thin fabric. “It’s soft.” He says curiosuly and picks up the pajama shirt like he's going to inspect it further.

You shudder and snatch the shirt out of his hand, just barely keeping yourself from screaming again. “Can you please-”

“Fine, fine, I’ll turn around. You humans are always so sensitive.”

You bite your lip, some unspeakable emotion roiling in your stomach. You glance behind you, his long white hair covering his back and pooling around his feet like snow. You know Uvhash isn't stupid, despite the opinions others may have because of his more animalistic behavior, and you also know he isn't very familiar with modern human customs- or, human anything beyond what their bodies are made of- but something about this, about what he just said, about his sudden understanding of your want of privacy rubbed you the wrong way. Like maybe he was perfectly aware that hiding in your room like this wasn't acceptable.

"Could you…" He perks up slightly at your voice, invisble muscle shifting benath his transluscent skin. "Could you leave, actually?"

You eye your desk where the case of your key sits quietly, awaiting to be take n on a mission again and a reminder of every Awakener you've met and connected with.

"Going to use that thing again?" There's another shift, one you can't see, but you can feel. The air feels dense, it sits on your skin like a weight, there's a warning in the slight turn of his head, in the stillness of figure.

You bit your lip and slowly, silently, and uncomfortably slip the towel off and put on the silky pajamas. The cool fabric providing little comfort to you as you were accutely reminded of the being behind you.

“Okay.” You mumble, picking up the towel. You toss the towel into the hamper and hesitate for a moment before you reluctantly turn to the golem who is, predictably, watching you again.

"Um," You gesture at nothing, to his indifference. "Do you need something?"

He does nothing for a moment, and then his lips curl into a smile. "No."

You take a breath and nod, not sure what to do or what he wants. You could maybe call Ramona, or Doll, but you'd need to get the communicator first, and then you'd need to turn it on, and then one of them would need to actually pick up at this hour.

You scratch your head roughly. "So, why are you here?"

"I want to spend time with you."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Will you leave once you've done that?"

He considers for a moment, his eyes still never leaving your figure. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" You groan and rub your face before deciding to give up and walk over to your vanity to start your skin care routine and hopefully by then, he'd leave and if not, there is the emergency rope by your bed.

You watch Uvhash come up behind you as you shuffle in your seat, his golden eyes meeting yours in the mirror before moving down to your hands with mild interest. “Lotion?” He scrunches up his nose.

“Yes, Uvhash, do you have opinions on it?” You shoot a glare at him through the mirror, which he misses by a fraction of a second.

“You don’t need that stuff.” He blows a puff of air through his nose.

You ignore him and gather some of it on your fingers and bring it up to your face, but before it could touch your skin, his long, sharp fingers wrap around your wrist and pull it away as he leans in, his voice rumbling against your neck. “I said you don’t need it, it ruins your scent.”

You yank at your hand, trying to pry it out of his iron clad grip. "My scent? I don't care about that! That's not what it's for!"

Maybe he pulled you, or maybe you lost your balance, but either way your back hit his chest and his face was in full view. He doesn't have whites in his eyes, he has red, and sometimes it truly gives him the appearence of a demon. He stares at you for a long, long moment before you feel a finger trace over your jaw and his thumbs absently brush your lips and his voice came in a whisper. "I prefer you like this."

You stare at him in a stupor as his other hand slowly wraps around your throat, tilting your jaw up just enough for his lips to brush over your neck, his hot breath burning your skin as he licks a strip on your skin. He watches you in the mirror as he pushes you forward and your palms press flat against the vanity and he opens his mouth, unusually sharp canines pushing against your skin.

Every other sense seems to dull as more pressure coalesces into two points on your neck, the skin stretching, unwilling to break beneath his teeth and then, with one, small push, the tension breaks and his teeth sink into your flesh and you ease a sigh, relaxing into his grip as his teeth disappear in a budding stream of red that flows down your neck and chest, blossoming on your silken pajamas like spider lilies.

His white hair falls over your shoulders and cloaks over the two of you as your knees tremble and he curls over your slowly sinking figure, letting go of your wrist to instead hold your waist. You can feel his grin against your skin and see the glint in his eye as he watches you in the mirror, like a hunter watching the fawn he’s been wanting finally caught in his trap.

You can feel the heart in his chest beat against you as he pushes his teeth in deeper, drawing more streams of blood as his hand slips under your shirt and cradles a breast, his sharp nails digging in your skin, his hips pressed flush against your ass as a low groan reverberates in his throat.

He'd always said how much he wanted to taste your blood, but in a way it felt too ridiculous to take seriously in spite of his history. After all, this was the campus of Mythag University, plenty of Keepers and Awakeners were here- aside from your graduation day- this place was safe.

Now, as you watch him lick and suck at the freshly made puncture wounds and how you inexpicably find yourself leaning into it, beckoning him to continue with soft sighs and barely concealed little moans, you know you were wrong.

This place isn't a safe haven from harm, and it's not free from beastly whims, but maybe- you shudder as he leaves your neck and his hands slide down- maybe that's alright.

Just for one night.

[ateriblewriter]

Unacceptable (j.h)

a/n: requested! Thanks for the request hon. I’m not sure how I feel about how this turned out. But I have three more requests, but if anyone wants anything please ask. I’m not afraid to take a stab at things.

Warnings: indications of self harm and scars, mentions of anxiety, anger?, coping mechanisms

Enjoy

“You ready babe?” Jack wrapped his arms around you, placing his chin on your shoulder. You had been looking at yourself in the mirror for a while now staring at the flaws that adorned your arms and legs. Many of them had faded over the years, some covered up with butterfly tattoos, yet the more prominent ones were still visible. Especially in the summer sun.

“Do you think they’ll notice?” You thought out loud, completely ignoring your boyfriend’s question. You normally didn’t care what people thought of the marks, but this was Jack’s family who would be seeing them for the first time. Their opinions of you mattered more than they should.

“No. don’t think they will. And if they do, you don’t have to say anything, it’s none of their business.” Jack traced over one of the butterflies on your forearm, trying to reassure you that you had nothing to worry about. Typically any soft touch like that over the tattoo was comfort for you. After all that’s one of the reasons you got them. But today the simple gesture wasn’t helping soothe your anxieties. Maybe you should bring along some clothing that covers the imperfections a little more. You didn’t want Jack’s family to feel uncomfortable around when they were just trying to get to know you better.

“Hey. Deep breaths. Five,” Jack turned you around to face him. You nod and start to list five things you could see around you.

The bathroom door, blue and white tiles on the floor, your makeup spread around the sink, the shower, towels piling up on the floor.

“Good. Four.” The cold tile on the floor, Jack’s hands, your clothing, the fly that just landed on your shoulder.

“Three.” Jack’s calm voice, the beat of his heart, his brother’s laughing about something in the distance.

“Two” The smell of home on your clothing, a bottle of Jack’s cologne sitting on the counter

“Almost there, One” You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. The taste of your chapstick on your lips.

“Everything will be alright. We’ll put another pair of clothing in your bag, if you need them.” Your boyfriend spoke in a soft quiet voice, trying to bargain with the anxiety swirling around in your mind.

Everything will be alright. They’re not going to care and the four of you are going to have a great day. You kept repeating to yourself as Jack took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.. Who cares what they think anyways, you’re not that person anymore. You are better in a lot of ways. Of course you had your days where nothing was going right and you would have a bit of a meltdown. But Jack was always there to help you through it.

“Oh my god. What is taking you guys so long?” Luke barged into the room. He had lost at rock paper scissors and was sent by Quinn to retrieve the couple. He must have spooked the couple, they had a look on their faces like they had just been caught doing something they shouldn’t have been, but at the same they weren’t doing anything. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes you are. Y/N was just about to give me a makeover.” Jack thought on feet, grabbing one of your eyeshadow palettes. “What color do you think I should use Y/N?”

“Hhmm. Red. Definitely red.” You laughed, grabbing a brush and the makeup back from Jack. “Do you want in on this action Lukey?”

Luke was at a loss for words as you could feel his gaze moving up and from your arms to your thighs. Your smile left your face as you Instinctively you try to pull down your non-existent sleeves. Panicking, you look to Jack who gives you an encouraging little nod. Breath. Everything will be okay.

The rest of the day went rather smoothly in your mind but there were times that were more awkward. Luke must have mentioned something about the marks on your body to the rest of his family because when you were lounging in the sun you could feel their stares, and every now and then quiet whispers could be heard as well. Some were just in your head, others were spoken out loud barely audible between Jack’s brothers. It was hard trying to ignore everything and make the most of the trip with your boyfriend. Everything came to head at fire that night.

You were is the house with Ellen and Jack was outside with the boys.

“Honey, you know there is help out there.” Ellen mentioned nonchalantly as you helped her finish cleaning up from dinner. You were almost done when the comment caught you off guard.

Words escaped you as you couldn’t figure a way to tell her that you did get help. You were recovering. A pit of shame formed in your stomach as you shut down. A million thought ran in and out your brain as she continued to lecture you about getting help. It was getting too much to handle. You tried to remember to breath. But breaths kept escaping and not coming back in return. You needed to get away from here.

“Y/N? Where are you going?” You walked away from her to the room that you shared with Jack. Locking the door behind you, you started to panic again. The looks, the words, the anxiety, the mistakes, it was all coming back to you, You needed to find some sort of release. The answer you were looking for was in a bag in the bathroom.

“So what’s the story with Y/N’s scars?” Luke blurted out when he thought Y/N was far enough away from the fire.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Jack nearly shouted at his little brother. He was always a pretty calm person, but when it came to Y/N he was a bit more over protective. He knew what she went through and wanted to make her safe from the scrutiny of other people, especially those in his own family.

“It's just a question Jack, calm down. I want to know too.” Quinn wanted to diffuse the scene but was curious himself. He was surprised that Luke had the gumption to do so. “The butterfly tats have something to do with it, right?”

“It’s not my story to tell. And Y/N doesn’t have to tell you guys anything.” Jack wanted so badly in that moment to hit his brothers like he used to when he was younger, but with his dad there it would probably cause more problems than solve any. They had been acting weird all day around his girlfriend, like she was possibly going to break at the slight notion. He was sick of it.

“The way you have been treating her all day is unacceptable. Don’t think she hasn’t seen the staring and heard the whispers. She notices things, she’s not stupid.” If he noticed how his family was treating you, then you definitely did. It wasn’t okay. “You guys have been judging her before you even got to know her.”

“Mom, where's Y/N? I thought she was with you.” Jack furrowed his brows when his mother arrived at the scene without you. His mother shrugged not wanting to talk about the little conversation she had been trying to have with you before you wandered away. “Mom, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! She just walked away. I tried to tell her about different ways she could maybe get some help. And she left me standing there.” Ellen caved and told what she had been lecturing you about.

“What have you done?” He knew you didn’t like what people confronted you about your past problems, especially when you were on your own path of recovery, He could only imagine how this could have set you back. He needed to get to you, make sure you are okay.

Jack raced back to the house to find the door to the bedroom locked. Sniffles could be heard from behind the door. Fuck. What was going on? “Y/N? Babes? Can you open the door?” He asked calmly.

It took you a minute to get over there. At first you didn’t want to. You wanted to be alone. But you figured if you wanted to leave this place, you would need a getaway driver.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” You lifted your red wrist to reveal the hairbinder that you had been snapping against your wrist. It was red and sore, but it was better than certain things you could be doing. “Can we leave now? I don’t want to be here anymore.” Jack agreed with you, maybe sometime away from his family until they could figure out how to behave correctly was needed.

Please let me know what y’all think. Also if you have any thoughts, comments, or complaints. I’d like to know ‘em!

[33max]

idk what this is but it’s set in monaco 2018 and tw for angst and blood

It was never intentional, or at least that’s what he will do his best to convince anyone who asks when they see the damage.

It happens in a split second.

He’s white-knuckling the porcelain sink in the bathroom of the garage, staring at his reflection in the mirror, looking into his own blue eyes and wondering how they can look the same as they always do yet he is barely able to recognise himself.

He’s better than this. He’s better than whoever this version of him is that fucking crashes out in free practice. He’s not supposed to be here in the pretty fucking disgusting mechanics bathroom while nineteen other cars qualify and all he has is a broken car and a shit ton of regret.

And then before he even knows what has happened he is staring into a broken mirror. Cracks splintering out from where his forehead made impact and shattered his reflection, blood smeared against the glass.

He doesn’t remember moving, not really, but he does remember the fucking hatred swallowing him whole. Erupting out of him in an uncontrollable knee-jerk reaction.

Blood runs into his eyes and turns his vision red.

Fuck.

He wipes at his forehead as if hoping it’ll fix everything, but the wound is still there, still oozing bright red blood down his face and onto his race suit. This isn’t something he can fix in the cramped bathroom of a garage.

There’s a rapid knock on the door, and then Daniel is laughing outside. “Let the pole man piss!”

It confirms Max’s suspicion, that he had the car to be on pole today. He ruined his shot.

He thinks about staying quiet, pretending he’s not in here, but he can’t hide out forever. Daniel finding him like this is probably the best-case scenario, maybe he’ll just mind his fucking business and go back to ignoring Max.

He puts his cap on to cover the worst of the damage, pastes a neutral expression onto his face, and opens the door.

“Fuck,” Daniel says, the smile sliding off of his face. “What happened?”

[wrecklessimagine]

Spencer Reid request please! I'm black and I remember when you did a request with Spencer being with a black woman and I LOVED IT SO MUCH. I was wondering if you could do another one where he shows her emotional intimacy for the first time and she's not use to it because she's never had a connection with someone besides physical? And it helps her feel like she's enough and worthy. I hope that makes sense, I struggle with this on a daily basis 😔

I'm sorry that it has taken me so long to work through these requests. I don't know if you're around any longer. I don't know if you finally found someone to write this for you. But, if you are still around, I hope you enjoy this. To the other nonniepot that made a request, I'm adding this request to this story:

Can you please do one where the reader's ex is the unsub and Spencer or anyone else didn't know about the relationship but he's really sweet about it while she's feeling horrible about not telling him? The two are also secretly dating?

Freefalling

The bones in your legs evaporate. Your vision rubberbands as the screen comes closer and further. Closer and further. Closer and further. That bright auburn hair. Those piercing green eyes that had sucked you in from across the library.

No, it can't be. It isn't possible.

"Y/L/N?" Hotch asks as his brow stitches itself together.

You heard him, but you couldn't move. Not when his face was on the screen.

"Y/N?" Spencer asks softly.

You feel his hand come down onto your shoulder. His long, dexterous fingers softly stroke your shirt. Tears spring to your eyes and your back stiffens like a board. No, you can't show emotion. Not for him. Not for anyone.

"Excuse me," you say breathlessly before slipping away.

You hear the team calling out for you, but it only makes your legs move faster. Your braids slap against your back, timing your footsteps as they pick up the pace. Your piercing gaze locks onto the bathroom as you bob and weave through the police station, desperate to find privacy.

It felt like you couldn't breathe.

"Y/N!" someone calls out.

Your shoulder slams into the bathroom door. You rush to the sink. Your legs wobble as your ribcage catches the edge of the countertop. And as you take stock of your ebony face, now as pale as the puke tan walls that surrounded you, your stomach caves in on itself.

Before you vomit into the sink.

"Oh, God," you choke out as your breakfast comes up.

Your body locks out. A cold sweat drips down the nape of your neck. You white knuckle the edge of the bathroom countertop as his face rakes way through your mind, over and over, like a terrible nightmare you can't get rid of.

Your ex.

Holy fuck, your ex was the unsub.

"Here, I got your braids," Spencer says softly.

You whip your head up, staring at him with reddened eyes in the mirror. "This--is the--."

But, Spencer shakes his head softly. "You ran into the men's room, Y/N."

Your eyes graze over the mirror and settle on the corner of the urinal poking out in the reflection for you to see. Your entire body shivers. Your facade is dropping. It's crumbling, and your mother's voice in your head rings out louder than ever.

Buck it up, girl. This world won't care about you the way I do.

You can't speak. Every time you go to open your mouth and say anything, your stomach starts up again. The room tilts. The world spins on an axis of its own. And as your stomach turns itself inside out, you feel the rhythmic stroking of Spencer's hand against your damp.

You have to pull it together.

There's no other choice.

The worry grows in Spencer's voice. "It's okay. I've got your braids. Just let it out, Y/N."

"I'm--oh, God."

"Sh-sh-sh-sh-shhhh," he coos softly. "Get it out, then we can talk."

You shake your head as you struggle to gain control of your breathing. "I'm fine. It's fine. All is fine. I'm--."

You feel Spencer wrap your braids against your head, securing them in a self-imposed knot. Your brow furrows deeply as something cool starts fluttering against the nape of your neck. It's too much, and not enough. He's too close, and not close enough. And as you lift your head slowly, watching the beautiful man whom your eyes had taken straight to your heart, you can't help the words that fall out next.

"That's my ex, Spencer."

His eyes flash to yours in the reflection of the mirror as his body stills to stone. "Our unsub?"

Your lower lip quivers. "He's who--he, uh--he was--damn it"

And as the dry-heaving commences, the tears fall once again as your mother's voice racks your mind.

You're going to have to be strong in this world, princess. It's the only way you'll survive.

This world won't cherish you the way you want it to. It's best you learn those lessons now.

Show emotion to no one. They will weaponize it against you. That is your plight as a black woman in this world.

"Come here, we've gotta get you calmed down," Spencer says softly.

You shake your head with as much energy as you can muster, which to be honest, isn't much. "I'm okay, really. I just need to rinse my mouth and--."

That's when Spencer turns you to him, grips your chin, and tilts your puffy eyes up to his. "You're not fine, Y/N. You're far from it. But if you talk to me, I can help you."

Never trust the police, princess. They will never have their best interest at heart.

You pat your chest. "I can't--I can't catch--."

Spencer pulls you close, tucking your head against his chest. "I've got you. I've got you, and I'm not going anywhere."

And that's when the truth comes out. "He almost got me."

Spencer stills. "What?"

Your entire body racks itself with shivers. "One night, when I was sleeping over at his place, I woke up tied down to his bed."

It was Spencer's turn to vibrate, but not with sadness. He clings to you, smoothing his hands up and down your back. "What did he do to you?"

Your whimpers come softly. "Nothing. The knots weren't very well done. It was easy for me to slip out, and I just left. I left all of my things and I just--."

He buries his nose into your braids. "It's okay, I've got you. You are so brave, Y/N. My God, how strong you've had to be for so long, carrying that around."

"I swear to God, I didn't know. If I had known--."

He rocks you softly side to side. "You couldn't have possibly known. Men like him are good at what they do."

"But, it's my job, SeeSee," you whisper.

He nuzzles your gaze up to his before he looks you square in your eyes with a very serious face. "On the clock, yes. But, no one can possibly hold you to that same standard when you're off the clock. No one should have to live that way. And I don't know who convinced you that you needed to, but I'm determined to show you that you don't have to. Not if you don't want to."

Your eyes search his. "I don't even know if that's possible."

And as Spencer smooths away your tears with his thumb, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "You're not leaving my side for the rest of this case."

Your heart takes flight, even though your mouth is trained to say something else. "SeeSee, you don't--."

Then, he cups your cheeks and brings your face to his. "I'm not speaking to you right now, Y/N. I'm speaking to that voice in your head."

Shock roots you in place as you gaze up and to his stern hazel eyes.

"I'm speaking to the voice in your head that won't leave you alone. The voice that keeps chirping at you to stay strong, even when it is impossible. You've had a hold on this woman for far too long. You've taunted her long enough. And I don't care what it takes. And I don't care how long it takes. But, you will release this beautiful woman. No one will get to her so long as I'm around, not even you."

And for the first time in your entire life, your walls come tumbling down.

As you collapse into the man you love and sob for the girls you still feel you could have saved.

[timotey]

Ficlet: If You Don't Tell Me

Secret Crush on You. Toh/Nuea. Hurt/comfort. Unbeta'd.

Toh realizes that he inadvertently hurt Nuea during sex.

(Yes, Secret Crush on You, a drama I watched mainly for Billy Patchanon because, well, it's Billy Patchanon! *hands* I've carried this idea in my head ever since that last naughty scene when Toh asked to top and Nuea happily let him. And since I'm back to work tomorrow, it was to write it now or forever hold my peace. Ergo. Nobody will care, I bet, but needs must and all that jazz.)

***

Toh opens the bathroom door with apprehension. His heart is hammering so hard it’s making it difficult to breathe and his hands are cold and clammy. He’s feeling a little queasy - has been ever since he woke up and noticed the rusty stains on the bed sheet, little flecks of dried blood that meant… 

That meant he hurt Nuea last night, while they had sex. He hurt Nuea. He hurt him. Toh swallows rapidly, he has to or he’s going to be sick.

Nuea is in there, in the bathroom, having just come out of the shower. He has a white towel wrapped around his hips and he’s drying his hair with another. When he sees Toh, he smiles wide at him, as if everything were in perfect order, as if Toh didn’t do the unspeakable last night.

“Good morning,” Nuea greets him cheerfully. “Sleep well?”

Toh just stares at him. He just stares because how can Nuea be so normal when… when Toh… when…

Nuea frowns a little, lowering his hands, hair still wet and unruly, when he notices the look on Toh’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asks with concern.

Toh has to say it out loud, he has to confess to his sin. “I hurt you. Last night,” he manages to get out without faltering.

And Nuea knows, he knows what this is about, of course he knows, but now he freezes and his eyes widen a little, as if he were the one caught doing something wrong, he!

A moment later, Nuea grins again but this time, it looks fake, it looks forced. He jerks his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “It’s nothing, really. Stuff happens, you know.” Then he turns away from Toh, towards the sink, and hides his face behind his towel again, rubbing, rubbing so hard he might have no hair left before he’s done.

Toh stares at him, at Nuea’s broad back, at the little love bites peppered across his skin, at the little bruises peeking from underneath the towel wrapped around his waist, and his heart is still galloping in his chest. And then he moves without thinking, because if he thought about it, he would never do it.

He steps up to Nuea, pulling the towel off his hips, and before Nuea can react, Toh shoves his hand between his cheeks and presses his fingers against Nuea’s hole, not in, just against the puckered rim, hard - and he stares at Nuea’s reflection in the mirror because he needs to know.

Nuea’s reaction is instantaneous. He drops his towel and grips the edge of the marble counter with his hands so hard his knuckles turn white. He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, making a soft, pained sound deep in his throat. 

Toh immediately lets go, backing away, a look of sheer horror on his face. He… did that. He worships Nuea and he did… that to him.

It takes a moment before Nuea breathes through the pain and when he finally opens his eyes again and looks at Toh in the mirror, when he sees the look of terrible disdain on his face, he turns around quickly and takes a little step towards Toh, raising his hands as if trying to calm down a spooked animal.

“It’s alright, Toh, really,” Nuea says soothingly.

Alright? Alright? “It’s not alright, it’s really, really not alright!” Toh denies, his voice rising and breaking at the end. How can Nuea say that? How can he even think that?

Nuea takes another small step towards Toh as if he’s afraid that Toh might bolt - and Toh is very close to doing exactly that. “Look, stuff like that happens, it’s no big deal, really. Just a little tearing.” He reaches behind and grabs a little tube from the counter that Toh didn’t notice before. “Put a little ointment on it and I’ll be as good as new in no time.”

But his words, they don’t console Toh. He stares at the little tube with his throat tight. Little things are like puzzle pieces falling into place in his mind. Not just the fact that Nuea owns this thing in the first place but - it’s almost used up, the tube. And he knows - he knows! - that Nuea never used it on him. Because Toh never needed it. Because Nuea's always made sure that Toh didn’t get hurt. Which means…

Toh swallows and looks at Nuea who’s watching him a little uncertainly now, not knowing what’s running through Toh’s head. “This… this isn’t the first time, is it?” Toh croaks out painfully and feels like crying. “This isn’t the first time I hurt you. I just never noticed before.”

Nuea opens his mouth to say something, then he closes it again. Because he doesn’t know what to say without outright lying, Toh realizes. 

“Shit,” Toh curses and this time he can’t stop the tears. And it feels like he can’t breathe because his throat is closing up and his nose is all stuffed. He’s filled with despair - for Nuea - and with anger - at himself. Because how could he have not known? How?

Nuea curses, too. He drops the tube on the counter and steps close to Toh, still naked, and he hugs Toh hard, running his hand through Toh’s hair and down his back to calm him down. And he keeps saying, over and over again, “Toh, Toh…”

Toh stands there with his arms hanging limply at his sides because he can’t make himself return the hug, he feels like he doesn’t have the right, not anymore. Because people don’t hurt people they love like this, it’s wrong, it’s so deeply, profoundly wrong that Toh doesn’t know what to do with it.

Pulling away a little, Nuea takes Toh by his shoulders and hunches down a little to catch his eyes. “Look, it’s really not that bad. And these things do happen during anal sex. I’m going to be just fine.”

“It-it never happens… when you top me,” Toh points out, breathing harshly between words, half-sobbing them out.

Nuea smiles at him. “Well, I do have a little more experience, you know?”

Yeah, and that’s the point, isn’t it? Toh grips Nuea’s wrists, pulls Nuea’s hands off his shoulders and holds them tight between them, looking at him imploringly. “Then you have to tell me, Nuea, you hear me? I still don’t really know what I’m doing here and if you don’t tell me things like this, how can I learn? How can I stop hurting you?” 

Nuea tries to deny it. “You didn’t really–”

But Toh’s having none of it. “But I did. I did, Nuea. And if you don’t tell me when it hurts, then it will keep happening!” He pauses, then says with a surprising firmness, “If I can’t trust you to tell me when it hurts, then we’re not doing it again.”

Nuea blinks at him, disconcerted. “It’s really no big deal,” he tries to object. “I don’t mind–”

“I do!” Toh cries out, shaking Nuea’s hands a little. “I do, Nuea. Imagine if our roles were reversed, if I hid from you that you were hurting me. Think of how you would feel when you found out. That, that is how I’m feeling right now.”

Uneasy, Nuea opens his mouth and then closes it again, then his shoulders slump a little and he hangs his head.

“Even if you don’t mind, Nuea,” Toh pleads, “I do. Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me feel like-like… a monster. Please.”

Nuea takes a deep breath and extracts his hands from Toh’s gently. Then he takes Toh’s hands in his and brings them up to his lips to kiss them, looking down at Toh with so much love that it still steals Toh’s breath away, that this man loves him. Him!

“Alright,” Nuea agrees. “Alright, Toh. If it ever comes to that again, I will tell you.”

“Promise?” Toh insists, staring up at Nuea beseechingly.

He needs to know, he needs to be sure that Nuea will do it, that Nuea will tell him, that Nuea won’t allow himself to get hurt by Toh again. Toh needs to be absolutely sure of it if he ever dares to top Nuea again. If he can’t have that certainty, then he’s never, ever touching Nuea like that again.

Nuea smiles at him and strokes Toh’s cheek with his thumb tenderly. ���I promise. I swear. I will never hide it from you again.”

Toh’s shoulders slump in relief. He still doesn’t think he will be ready to top Nuea anytime soon - the rusty stains are still there, raw in his mind’s eye - but Nuea’s promise makes some of his tension and fear dissipate. Because Nuea would never lie to him.

Nodding, Toh says, “Okay. And now," he straightens his shoulders and reaches for the little tube on the counter behind Nuea, "let me help you.”

“You don’t have to–” Nuea tries to protest.

“I do,” Toh insists. “I hurt you, I should take care of you.” He uncaps the tube, pouring a little of its contents on his fingers.

Watching the viscous liquid run down Toh’s fingers slowly, Nuea swallows hard. “Uh, this… this might go places you probably don’t intend to go right now,” he warns.

Toh blinks at him, puzzled, then he notices Nuea slowly hardening. Toh’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really? Just from that?”

Nuea pulls him close, breath hot against Toh’s ear. “I think you still don’t realize how sexy you are,” he purrs.

Toh’s heart skips a beat, and his own member twitches in his boxers. But then he forces himself to come to his senses. Clearing his throat, he says firmly, “That? Later. Now? Medicine. Turn around and bend over.”

Grinning, Nuea whispers, “Sweet talker.” But he does as he’s told.

[maylies]

may doesn't notice it at first.

he's far too focused on the way he coughs, on the way it practically rattles his lungs and leaves him breathless. it wasn't anything new though-- anything scary, he was used to it, his back arched over the bathroom sink, knuckles white as he grips to porcelain and attempts to ignore his reflection in the mirror; it was far too repulsive anyways, his cheeks seemingly more hollow under the bright fluorescent lights, eyes tired and less intense than usual. may had found himself pretending that everything was okay, that his body wasn't rotting away at the hands of his sickness-- it was mostly for yuhui's sake, to ease his nerves for another day and feign comfort as his limbs begged for relief as he held him close during warm nights. nothing had to change, he'd continue going to work with a searing headache, he'd continue to come home and eat the dinner his husband so lovingly made for him, he'd continue to bite his tongue and hold himself back from pressing yuhui against the nearest surface all so he could drink from him until he was satiated, minutes after his own neck-- pristine in comparison, was tapped weakly in protest.

he tastes it in his mouth at first. iron, far too bitter for his picky, acquired tastebuds, and then a cold shiver runs down his spine, borderline overbearing as he starts to cough once more. it hits the sink in small droplets, crimson dots cascading down ceramic as it disappears down the drain, all while may stares, deadpanned. it wasn't all too shocking, and while his body runs on auto-pilot, panic setting in deep in his stomach, his shoulders trembling, may simply looks up at himself in the mirror, blood on his mouth. it wasn't yuhui's, it was his own, and the thought alone disgusts him, but he stares, simply stares at himself as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. finally, a physical reminder that this was real. he coughs for a moment longer, spits more of his own blood down the drain, then runs the tap, washing his hands while he has the chance. yuhui doesn't have to know. he tells himself as his gaze fixates on the running water, and a flurry of thoughts run through his mind, ones of last days together, last meals, last embraces, and for a split second may lets himself tear up, inhaling shakily-- and then he turns the tap off abruptly, breathing out sharply. yuhui doesn't have to know. he reiterates to himself, standing up straight and looking at himself once more. he could play it off as being tired.

his arms find yuhui's waist at first. they're snug around his smaller frame as he presses a kiss to the apple of his cheek. yuhui was warm, so warm. "you're making dinner?" he says quietly between kisses pressed to skin, nose brushing against his neck. he thinks for a moment, knows that he could easily drink from yuhui like this, because after all, he was a weak human; no match for may in terms of strength. but, despite all of that, he turns the younger around quickly, back to the kitchen counter, pressing their lips together in an intense kiss. it only lasts for a few moments, but when may pulls back, he looks at his husband for a beat too long; forever entrapped in his gaze. he wants to be able to tear up again, to spill his worries, to cry within his arms and be vulnerable, but his head fills with worried expressions of his love, a mess within the home they had created. a soft exhale, a peck of a kiss pressed to yuhui's lips, and a mental note taken to look at yuhui like this more often, for he knows this is certainly going to be one of the last times he sees those stars in his eyes, and the way the sun has left its mark on his cheeks.

"you go sit down, i'll do the rest."

[dameronscopilot]

unraveled

— boone x f!reader

wc: 1k

c: 18+ only, sexual tension in a tornado, protective!boone, fingering, finger sucking, unprotected p in v, creampie

This is fucking torture. 

“Hold on, boys and girls!”

Boone meets your gaze in the rearview mirror as Tyler’s laughter barks out over the sound of the whipping wind, and the burning electricity that prickles down your spine from the backseat has little to do with the looming threat of a tornado off in the near distance. 

If Tyler noticed the way Boone’s bandana was looped around your neck when the three of you went barreling for the truck, he didn’t say anything. 

It made your toes curl earlier—the way Boone carefully tied it around your neck, callused hands lingering over the soft skin stretched taut across your collarbones. The flash of white teeth as he tilted his head to the side and bit down on his lower lip, one hand planted on the wall beside your head. (The growl that crawled up his throat as you hooked a finger in his belt loop and tugged him closer.)

Now, basking in familiar notes of cedar and citrus as you subtly pinch the edge of the bandana between your thumb and forefinger, it’s impossible to concentrate on anything other than the ghost of Boone’s hands sliding up your shirt, the feeling of his deft fingertips unbuttoning your shorts, the shape of his lips over yours as you whimpered into his mouth while he cupped the slick, dripping heat between your legs. 

The same distracting fingers that are now clutching the grab handle above the passenger door, the veins and muscles in his forearm flexing as he lets out a choked out laugh at something Tyler said. 

The truck lurches sideways, and you fumble for the computer sitting on the seat beside you, eager for a distraction in the form of maps and data. Eager for anything to stop thinking about the way Boone was fucking you on his fingers not even thirty minutes ago, voice low and rough as he groaned about how wet you were, about what a fucking good girl you are. 

Clenching your thighs together beneath the laptop, you swallow thickly, still a little dizzy over the phantom feeling of his fingers in your mouth (the way he’d watched, enraptured as you sucked on them, tongue lapping up the taste of yourself if only to see the way your desperation reflected back in his hungry gaze).

Something brushes against your bare knee, and you glance up to see Boone staring forward, fingers lingering for a moment before he reaches down for the camera sitting on the floor between his feet. 

“Later,” he’d rasped against your mouth, teeth dragging over your lower lip as he grasped your waist, thumbs pressing into your hipbones. 

Later—like you’d somehow forget the feeling of his hard-on as you continued to palm him through his pants, even after Tyler’s excited voice rang out through the closed motel room door that “a big one” was coming. 

(His husky, barely restrained tone pouring over you like hot molasses as he murmured, “Careful, honey.”)

You’ve been dancing around this for months, these lingering touches, glances that last just a little too long in the rearview. Flirting that leaves you a little too breathless and wanting for your own good. 

And it all came to a head this morning over shitty truck stop coffee and stale bagels in the motel parking lot, when a smart-mouthed guy from another lingering group of chasers asked if you were just a pretty face hanging around to try and fuck Tyler. 

Boone punched him. 

You’d drug him back to the room he was sharing with Tyler amidst the chaos that followed, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you corralled him and his bloody knuckles toward the bathroom sink. 

(The marble counter that he caged you in against instead, your synchronous aggravation boiling over into the gasping, frantic, blazing heat between your bodies as his mouth finally crashed into yours.)

As Boone’s eyes find yours in the rearview once more, you wonder if he’s thinking about it, too—the way he spun you around, your hips digging into the counter as he kissed the back of your neck, hot and damp and insistent. His lust blown pupils as he stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and murmured, “So fuckin’ pretty,” against the shell of your ear. 

Coming once on Boone’s fingers wasn’t enough—not when your cunt still feels woefully empty. 

Not when he’d breathed out, “This all for me?” when he felt how fucking wet you already were. 

(Not when the whole goddamn reason this bandana’s looped around your neck in the first place was to give you something to stifle the needy moans that kept slipping past your lips as he slipped a hand up your shirt and cupped your breasts, stroking your peaked nipples.)

(Keening sounds that only grew louder when his lips latched onto one of your tits.)

It can’t be good for your health, driving right into a fucking tornado while you’re still so horny you could cry. 

(Tyler’s probably done worse.)

Boone looks back at you, eyes alight with excitement and something else, and you’re not sure if you want to strangle him or Tyler more when he runs his tongue over his bottom lip and grins.

Fucker.

(—it’s a curse, knowing now what a filthy kisser he is—)

(—the taste of his saliva—)

(—wondering how his greedy, hungry tongue would feel buried in your pussy—)

“Did you two finally fuck or something?” Tyler yells over the noise rattling the windows. 

—

Later, Tyler makes himself scarce without question as your caravan returns to the motel for the evening, swiping his cowboy hat off of the dresser before waltzing out of a room he certainly isn’t planning on sleeping in anymore. 

And when you’re finally naked and splayed out atop the sheets beneath him, Boone doesn’t waste another second before sinking his throbbing cock into the soaked, soft heat of your tight, aching cunt, filling you so deep that he spends the rest of the night repeatedly fucking his overflowing cum back inside of you. 

[scarredsands]

Saya knew she couldn't keep her injury hidden forever. While she had thrown out her blood-stained shirt and meticulously disinfected and dressed the wounds on her face, she couldn't keep wearing bandages on her face forever. She couldn't keep downplaying the severity of what actually lay beneath the dressings. Though she was a smart kid - perhaps too smart for her own good sometimes - her grandfather also was not a fool.

The rubbing alcohol stung on her face as she dabbed the wound with a saturated cotton ball, feeling tears sting at the edges of her eyes. Her free hand gripped the counter, knuckles white as she grit her teeth. Cool air lapped at the alcohol that clung to her face, quickly drying out and finally providing relief. Her hand reached into the drawer where she had stashed her bandages, only to come up empty. Shit. She had done well to keep them stocked, swiping disposable bandage wrap from the local drugstore every few days.

Her wounds were healing by some miracle, but the scarring of her skin was already becoming apparent with each passing day. Red eyes stared back at herself as she looked herself over in the mirror. The 12 - soon to be 13 - year old had a hardened edge to her after the incident. The way the tissue was scarring only added to this fact more.

She tossed her braid over her shoulder, adjusting her bangs to try and cover the wound. It worked somewhat, but not good enough. Maybe she could sneak out and go steal some more bandage wrap...

The bathroom door creaked as she stepped out, though it was hardly audible over the loud western movie her grandpa had blaring on the living room television. The sound of ricocheting bullets and gunfire echoed off the walls as Saya crept to her room to grab her bag.

Unfortunately, she couldn't leave through her bedroom window. It was too high up, and there was no fire escape she could utilize. Hopefully she could make a quick exit out the front door. Her pace was quick as she walked behind her grandpa's favorite recliner, and the noise from the TV would cease as he hit the mute button the remote.

He was too perceptive for his own good - a trait she also picked up on, and a trait that was necessary after living in such a place as The Under for so long. Complacency and a lapse in perception were the biggest killers here.

"Where y'runnin' off t'now?" His gruff voice cut through the silence, Saya's heart sinking as she rest her hand on the doorknob. "Out." She replied quietly, back facing him.

There was a rattling cough from the older man, and she heard the recliner move as he got up - with the help of his Lucario, of course. "What in th'hell's been goin' on with ya lately, yer usually up t'no good runnin' wild out there n' all but least ya've always been up front 'bout it t'me."

She should have just left then and there, or feigned another lie. The feeling that she was in trouble kept her rooted in place, however, her hand still remaining unmoving on the doorknob. Her hair fell in a curtain around her face, and she didn't move to look at her grandfather as he approached. Flashes of light from the TV danced off the walls, dyeing the room in various shades of color. Still, she could not face him.

"Lemme see ya. C'mon now, Saya." For another moment longer, she would stand in silence, before slowly turning to look up at him. The shock was evident in his eyes, and it only made her wish to leave more and more. "Oh, sweetheart-" The crack in his voice utterly shattered her heart to dust, feeling the tips of her ears begin to burn from shame.

"S'fine," she'd say, her knuckles turning white as she held the doorknob even tighter, "I kept our food safe from them assholes. I don't care none 'bout this as long as I can keep plates on th'table."

Her grandfather was not a soft man. Decades of working in the mines deep beneath the earth had hardened his personality. The losses he's experienced in his life - those of his friends, his wife, even having his own son walk out on him - had never made him shed a single tear. He was a tough son of a bitch, raising her to take no shit. His no-nonsense personality and iron exterior helped teach her how to make a shell of her own.

Today, though, was the first time she had ever seen him cry.

"Lookit what they did t'ya..." His hand would move to touch the side of her face, thumb moving over the healing wound. Her first instinct was to recoil, but her legs wouldn't move. Seeing the tears rolling down his face made a lump rise in her own throat. Like him, she never cried. Tears were nothing but a waste in a city like this - in a region like this.

"Why waste yer tears on me," it wasn't a question, really, but more of a statement, "s'stupid. I told ya - s'fine. I don't care none. Was more pissed 'bout th'eggs breakin' than this ugly ass scar."

His hand soon moved away from her face, the cold air of their home stinging the lingering warmth away quickly. "I've failed too much in m'life, Saya. Knowin' I've failed ya now is... I couldn't give ya th'life y'deserve. Havin' t'go out n' take care of th'both of us. Couldn't keep yer pa from up n' leavin'. Couldn't get yer mama t'stick 'round neither. N' I could never give my grandpappy th'closure of his pa up n' disappearin' in th'desert neither. N' now, I let ya get hurt under m'care. This ain't th'man I wanted t'be."

Something in her gut would twist uncomfortably, making its way up to her heart as a chill took over her veins. There was never any blame in her towards him for a second - if anything, she viewed it as her own fault. She was the one that couldn't protect herself, she was the one that always made herself an easy target by being out there alone. It was all her own volition - her own choice.

A tear would leave her left eye, stinging her scarring wound. Ugly. That was what her scars were, and what they made her feel like. Ugly. A testament to her own inability to protect herself, a testament to her own complacency which could have gotten her killed. And now, every time her grandfather would look at her, it would be a constant reminder of his own failings and shortcomings. A despair unlike any other sit heavy in her stomach - it made her glad she hadn't eaten that day.

She wanted nothing more than to hide away somewhere and disappear for a while, but... he depended on her. Saya had already done enough damage to her grandfather - she didn't need to fan the fire further.

"I don't wanna talk 'bout this no more," her voice came out as a whisper, turning away from him, finally, "still should be a can of food left up there for ya. I'll get more while m'out." Finally, Saya was able to make her exit into The Under's cold atmosphere.

While her tears stopped quickly, there was nothing in this world that would stop the shame.

[to-star-lake]

one & only

sanzu haruchiyo x f!reader { you're sanzu's one and only. }

18+ minors dni | murder, drug use, dark themes, rough sex, choking, toxic relationship, character death, bonten sanzu

a/n: sanzu's name { 三途 } is written the same as 三途の川 { sanzu-no-kawa, “river of three crossings” or “sanzu river” } which is the japanese buddhist version of the river styx.

sanzu doesn't call you his girlfriend. he'd never use such pedestrian language to describe what you are to him. soulmate is closer. but still, to take everything he felt about you and edit it down to a single word? it wouldn't be possible.

the best he could describe it is perhaps that you were made for him.

the day mikey introduced you to the other executives as bonten's newest advisor, sanzu stood in the back of the room, unconsciously biting his lip as he stared at your clean and crisp white tee shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of black slacks. your perfect skin. your shiny hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. your delicate hands. and the sharp glisten of your eyes. you looked so sincere.

a top scholar and graduate of the national university. your parents had been foreign diplomats. you spoke five languages. all this brilliance packaged neatly behind such a pretty face. oh, you were so perfect. so pristine. i'll make you regret playing with monsters, little princess. sanzu thought he couldn't wait to break you.

it didn't take him long to realize how wrong he was.

he'd stare at your hands, the ones he thought were so delicate, as they beat mercilessly into the skull of a traitor that lay limp beneath you. being a bonten advisor meant you never needed to get your hands dirty. but you didn't mind. and sanzu felt a trickling heat of excitement shimmy up his spine watching the blood splatter across your perfect skin, staining your clean shirt.

he'd listen in awe in the war room as your fingertips traced gracefully over blueprints of the city, and you'd describe plans for a new building downtown. a new shell business to run money through. a merger with a smaller, weaker gang simply as a means to procure disposable foot soldiers for mikey.

on one particular night, he'd sat back and watched you, transfixed, as he pulled the car up beside a dark tinted suv at a stoplight on a deserted street on the outskirts of shinjuku. you'd pointed your gun out the open window, so fast and precise on the trigger, taking out all the passengers in the car. he would've missed the shots with a single blink.

he couldn't recall all the details of the rest of that night. but he woke to find you in his bed the next morning, your naked body tucked comfortably under his sheets beside him.

his head pounded and he tried to remember what happened but all that he could recall were a series of blurred images. of the two of you leaving the war room together after receiving orders from mikey to take out the heads of a rival gang. a vision of your bare thighs, exposed under a short, plaid skirt as you sat in his passenger seat, and the quiet rattle as you attached a silencer to the end of your gun.

he remembered the sound of indistinct chatter and an image of you sitting across from him in a dimly lit restaurant. a vague recollection of a bottle of scotch, of him staring at himself in the restaurant's bathroom mirror as he wiped some white residue from his upper lip. of you, bent over the sink with a straw in your nose. a blurred reel of your legs wrapped around his waist, of him pushing you up against the mirror so hard the glass cracked and you moaned into his open mouth. you sounded as sweet as you tasted.

in the grey winter light here in his bed, he looked at the blotches of blue and purple bruises that lined your neck and chest. at the edge of your perfect lips, a little swollen and the skin a little cracked. at the indentation of teeth marks on your shoulder, red with coagulated blood under the surface.

your eyes fluttered open and for a moment he was afraid. afraid that the cold light of day would be too harsh for you. afraid that all that was mystifying and beautiful in the night would be destroyed by the light. afraid you would leave.

but you'd looked into his eyes for a moment, and your lashes fell closed and you'd snuggled into his side, languidly dragging your arm across his chest.

let's sleep a little more, my head hurts and we still have at least another hour before we have to go meet the others.

oh, your voice sounded so sweet, still raspy with sleep, a lullaby to his ears.

as bonten leaders, he knew a relationship with you was strictly forbidden. he knew what mikey would do if he or any of the others ever found out. and he knew you knew too.

but you simply shrugged your shoulders as you picked up your clothes that were scattered across the floor of his bedroom. like you knew what he was thinking, and said i'm not afraid of them. are you?

he'd laughed at himself then. just who was corrupting who? he wondered.

the time he had with you began to envelope his heart. and the love he felt for you; small, crackling embers at first, had grown into a fire so bright and wild and twisted it could not be extinguished.

you were his partner; his chosen one. he loved the way your knuckles looked when they were bruised and red; such a beautiful contrast against your delicate and soft skin. he loved the way your fingers graced the handle of your gun, the dead calm of your eyes when you pulled the trigger. he was intoxicated with the knowledge that you were watching every time he carried out his duty as executioner.

his infatuation with you burned in his chest when he'd glance up at you, standing in the distance, eyes fixed on him and you'd slowly drag the palm of your hand up your thigh; testing his willpower to not pin you to the ground and tear you apart right then and there in front of his men.

under the cover of darkness, the two of you came alive. going on sprees, speeding through the bright streets of tokyo, the lights around you a blurred spectral of color to your bloodshot, medicated eyes.

in the midnight hours, your bodies would be intertwined, and in your arms he found a sanctuary. your body was the most addicting drug of all. you made all the pain disappear.

the quiet hours of the early morning, when time teetered on the edge of night and day, he'd lay on your chest, and for just a little while, his world would fall quiet. the air around him felt still. he would be coming down from his high, and he could feel everything. but he didn't mind. these small hours of lucidity shone brilliantly in his mind. when he could hear your breathing. feel your heartbeat so vividly beneath your bones. smell the lingering and sweet scent of your skin on his.

he'd become so possessed by you, so possessive of you that one night when he had you laid out beneath him, your legs spread wide for him, and he thought you looked so beautiful like this. so perfect like this for him. your skin, slick with a layer of sweat, luminescent in the moonlight. your lips, parted and choking out shaky pleas for him, begging him not to stop.

he buried himself so deep inside you, nails clawing into your skin, so desperate to be one with you. and he thought no one, no one else would have you like this. he was so intoxicated by the medley of pills in his system, completely unhinged in the euphoria of being inside you, he'd reached for his gun on the nightstand and held it to your forehead, point blank between your eyes.

you didn't even flinch. he watched you knock the gun from his hands, and slide your fingers up his wrists, and pulled his hands to your neck, letting him wrap them around your throat. if you're gonna kill me, do it with your own hands, you'd said.

god, he loved you so much. he wanted you so much, he needed you so much. he'd closed his hands around your neck with the gentlest force and watched your eyes roll back.

say my name, he'd command. and when you did, he closed his hands more forcefully around your delicate neck so he could feel the vibration in your throat as you choked out his name over and over. you'd clenched down so tight around him and he came harder than he ever had, collapsing into you.

he'd slowly let go of you, chest heaving, and gently caress at the skin of your neck, red and starting to bruise.

y/n...if i died, would you die with me? he'd whisper into your skin.

mmh, yeah. you'd whisper back.

i don't want anyone else to have you. i want you to be mine forever. he'd kiss the corner of your lips.

he'd feel your fingers laced up into his hair, your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him close.

what am i going to do with you...i might really kill you one of these days.

he'd lift his head to look at you. and your expression didn't change a bit. your eyes held the same resolve they always did, and you said, then i'll wait for you by the sanzu river.

this was what flashed through his mind when he walked into one of bonten's warehouses late one evening for a meeting of the executives, and he saw all of them standing in a circle around you, bound and tied, blood streaming from your hairline, your bruised body limp on the concrete.

he fell to his knees then, watching mikey shove the end of his gun against your temple.

did you think i wouldn't find out? mikey's thumb clicked down on the hammer.

he saw your eyes flutter open and find his. you smiled.

the muzzle flash was bright, and the shot rang through the dark, open space.

he stared at the blood pooling from the side of your head into the dust. he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. shit, am i really crying right now? he laughed at himself.

WHO ARE YOU LOYAL TO, SANZU?! mikey demanded.

i'll wait for you by the sanzu river. your words echoed in his mind.

mikey may have been his king. but you were the redeemer, his messiah, his salvation.

the choice was simple.

he pulled his own gun from its holster and held it up to his temple.

i'm on my way, love.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

BRUCEEEEE OBVS PLS

notes: fuck this got riddled with feels so quickly im sorry sdkfjhskfjhs

warnings: bruce x muslim!reader, reader has a dad who passed, mention of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

***

when bruce makes his way up to the bedroom, he is curious to find the bed missing a certain someone. the pillow has a concaved dent, the sheets are crumpled, and the duvet is pushed down to the foot of the bed. that's unusual, he notes, she's never been an early riser.

he saunters towards the ensuite bathroom and finds y/n leaning into the mirror over the sink, applying mascara on her lashes. she takes a quick glance at him and smiles.

"morning, honey. how was your patrol?"

gone are his oversized t-shirt and sweatpants she always sleeps in. she's now clad in an off-white flowy dress that falls around her ankles and bell sleeves down to her elbows. a pale yellow scarf drapes over her head and on one shoulder. if she looks like the sun, bruce would go blind from staring at her in a heartbeat.

"fine," he musters. "where are you going?"

"the mosque?"

he frowns. that's even more unusual, he muses, she never goes to mosque.

"for eid prayer?" she gently reminds him.

"right. sorry, i forgot. happy eid." he kisses her softly, briefly on the cheek.

"it's alright, bruce. and thank you," she beams, sensing the guilt in his tone. "why don't you shower and go to bed? i'll see you back in a bit."

"you're not gonna celebrate?"

she shrugs lightly. "it's no big deal. i'm just gonna go pray, visit the old man, and go back home. see what alfred makes for breakfast."

"can i come?"

she pauses, looking at him in surprise. "are you sure? you look like you had a long night."

this time, he shrugs. "i want to."

he drives her to the mosque, a repurposed old church uptown, and waits in the car. listens to the unfamiliar arabic prayers. watching the movements from the window. the raising of the hands, the unison allahu akbar's and aamiin's. the bowing and prostrating. he doesn't practice it (or anything, for that matter), but that quiet spring morning, he understands the solemnity that comes with it.

she intertwines her fingers with his when she returns to the car. "ready to go?"

"yeah." bruce squeezes for a moment before he lets go, starting the engine.

her old man rests on the north edge of the city, on top of the hill with a headstone that signified his name and the years he spent on this Earth. bruce's footsteps falter behind her, as if not wanting to invade her space as she just... hovers in front of his grave.

"would you like me to give you a moment?" he quietly offers.

"no, don't." her hand reaches for him, and he can't imagine not taking it. "stay?"

"of course."

bruce holds her hand, rubbing his thumb as she bows her head in silent prayer, running her hand over her face when she finishes.

"you know, eid is about forgiveness," she says, "every year, i'd come out here seeking forgiveness for all the times i took my dad for granted. and forgiving him for all the times he took me for granted."

"i take you for granted," he pipes up thoughtfully. "more times than i'm proud of. i'm selfish and revengeful and stubborn--"

"hey, hey, hey. it's okay." she holds his hand a little tighter. then, ever so carefully, she continues, "sometimes it's about forgiving yourself too, you know. can you do that?"

he doesn't answer for the longest time. and y/n doesn't press for it. for a while, they just stand there, hand-in-hand, looking at the sky behind the dark clouds looming over, and the wet grass below.

and then, with a heavy sigh, bruce finally decides with, "i don't know."

it's an inconclusive conclusion. but she sees right through him. she sees the conflict, the chaos running through his mind, and how he's trying his damnedest to keep it together. and that's more than enough right now.

"okay, sweetheart." she brings up their clasped hands, kissing his knuckles and holding it close to her chest. "ready to go?"

"yeah. let's go home."

[kiridarling]

𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐔𝐏!

shouto todoroki | f!reader, ceo heir!shouto, mirror sex, hair pulling, choking, inappropriate use of showerhead, alcohol. minors dni!

— 3k words

"You're so pretty when you make a mess, aren't you?"

Miss Y/N,

I couldn't help but notice the latest project my father assigned is extremely difficult. If I'm going to be completely honest, you'll work yourself to death at this rate, and your greys double by the day. Drinks on me at Club 777 at 7 pm. Sound like a deal?

— shouto todoroki

“A club.”

“Glad you could make it,” Shouto gives you a small smile; it’s anything but hostile. And yet, that’s all yours is as you assume the space to his right in the velvet crescent booth. “I hope it wasn’t too hard to find. Club 777 is pretty popular around he—what are you doing.”

As your fingers fly across the keyboard, you give him an indignant huff, the screen highlighting the underside of your face electric blue as you continue hacking away at your presentation. If you’re going to be forced to go out, you’re going to make the most of it—and that’s by getting the work that you would be getting done at home, at a club. And a rather loud one, at that.

"You're a workaholic," he observes with a sigh, and you flash him a fat sarcastic smile. Stupid fucking CEO heirs and their entitlement.

"Congrats, you've solved everything! Can I go home, now?"

"No," Shouto frowns before he rudely snaps your laptop shut and sets it to his right. Pushing a plate of clear-colored shots your way, your eyes bulge—there have got to be at least fifteen. "Drink up—it'll take the edge off."

You blink between your coworker and the shots. You trust Shouto and you've known each other for a while...somewhat. His father is your boss, and with Shouto as the next in line you’ve got no choice but to play nice. He’s as cocky as he is aloof, but you suppose he’s fine overall—and he's seen you break your back over this project for a solid month and a half. Positive you won't be able to keep your conscious from running laps over all the work you have to do otherwise, you snatch the first shot and chuck it down your gullet with worrying enthusiasm. Shouto lifts an eyebrow and you reach for another.

"Thirsty?" He chuckles, before grabbing a shot for himself. The second shot burns, but never as much as the first, and the back of your hand catches what doesn't make it into your mouth as you say:

"More than you could think."

"And then—and then I was like, um no sir, I think you got my change wrong by at least five bucks! He didn't believe me, like at all."

"Did he make a fuss of it?"

"Of course."

"That means he has a small dick," Shouto advises with the second to last shot in his hand, wrist-watch glinting in the club light. His face is a deeper red than his hair and you've never noticed how nice a suit fits him as if you don't see him in one every day. You giggle at that, too far gone yourself to be offended on the stranger's behalf. Shouto's jacket drapes over your shoulders like an oversized blanket even though you bickered about not being cold, with enough alcohol in your veins to warm a village.

"Probably," you rest your head against the crescent booth, dismissive at the softness from the red velvet that’s probably ruining your hair. "Either way, I pulled a Karen and called the manager on 'em.

Shouto nods, "As you should. Once I tricked my father into thinking he had a very unhappy customer by sending him a million emails from 'John Appleseed' and calling his personal secretary twice as much."

You cackle, throwing yourself across the table at the thought of your Boss’ face hot and red with anger (as it does.) Shouto's loved nothing more than to make his animosity against his father well-known—to you, at least—and to say bored Heir been getting creative the past few months is an understatement. "Oh fuck—when'd you stop calling?"

Shouto shrugs, muscles rolling underneath his white dress shirt, "Once I filled his voicemail box.”

He holds a smile, small and distant, as he watches you wheeze as if he just told the funniest story in the world. In your defense, Shouto's never really been a funny guy, but he does funny things. Like when he stares at you when he doesn’t think you notice, or when he gets so close your chests nearly touch, but doesn't notice it. Doesn't point it out, at least. You find your laugh dying along with the smile on his face, though, and when he says nothing afterward but stare.

"...Shouto?" You snap in his face to make sure he's still in there—but it's hard to tell, with his glazed eyes and scarily steady breathing. His arms find either side of you, and you're too tipsy to realize you've been caged against the booth until it's too late.

"Your eyes are quite mesmerizing, Miss Y/N," he marvels. You can smell the vodka on his breath, and positive that compliment would’ve set your face aflame if the alcohol hadn’t already, any hints of cherry obscured by the neon club lights.

"I—um, thank you," you giggle, and if you were sober, you'd shoot yourself in the foot for reacting like a school girl. But you suppose you can give yourself some leeway—this is Shouto Todoroki after all, and for some reason, he's complimenting you. "You...you aren't too bad yourself."

"You wouldn't mind if I got a little closer, would you?" Though Shouto holds a cheeky half-drunken smile on his own, knowing any closer will result in nothing but a kiss and perhaps a little more. His eyes flicker to your lips the same time yours flicker to his, and you and you catch a heat in his eyes you didn’t notice before.

"Not at all."

You blink and Shouto's lips are on yours. They’re soft, painfully so, and it's clear he knows what he's doing—with his hands dropping to your waist and tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the right. Nudging your lips open, his tongue easily finds it's way around, mapping the insides of your mouth and taking note of what makes you shiver the most.

Shouto tastes like vodka. It's a familiar taste, one that you associate with seven minutes in heaven and quick make-out sessions in high school—and yet this time it spurs your heart to beat faster, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in even closer, as if it's possible.

When you pull away it’s clear neither of you really want to, but unfortunately you need to oxygen to live, chest heaving in unison as your eyes catch his own. Shouto's grip tightens around your waist as he licks over his already wet lips, glossed by what you assume is your spit.

“You’re one dangerous woman,” he rasps with swollen lips. You giggle, but you know he knows his words’ effect on you because goosebumps are impossible to hide.

“Thank you,” you respond, a bit awkwardly—because what else are you supposed to say?

"I'm positive it isn't the alcohol talking when I say I want to take you right here." Shouto growls as his eyes hold you in your seat. You shiver, the request sounding impossibly inviting, and your thighs discreetly rub together to take the edge off a bit.

"Bathroom," you breathe against his lips, this night turning for the most unexpected.

"Off, off, get all of this off," Shouto pants the moment you two step into a gender-neutral singles bathroom. You don't doubt they made it gender-neutral for this exact reason, but that thought leaves as quickly as it enters when Shouto pins you against the sink starts to pepper hot kisses down your neck. He scrambles to bunch your dress to your waist over taking it off completely and growls at the sight of your lower-half in absence of your usual attire.

"Do you know how long I've wanted you? Hmm?” He's breathless as he settles between your legs with a lick of his lips, pushing the excess of your dress into your hands. You really don't know how long he’s wanted you, but you find yourself biting your lip at the prospect anyway—that you've been driving your boss's son, your future boss, just as crazy as he's been driving you.

"Shouto—"

"Shhh," he interrupts, pulling your panties to the side. "Let me take care of you. You've been working hard these past few months, no?"

You guess so.

Either way, all clarity dies when Shouto licks a fat stripe up your slit, chuckling when you slide a tentative hand into his hair. Your grip tightens when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, slipping a finger between your folds to elicit a whimper or two. He bites his lip when you tug a little.

"Keep doing that and you just might ruin me," Shouto groans, before his mouth returns and he’s adding another finger. When the digits curl just right, your hips buck in faint frustration—they're moving too slow.

"Can you, um," you blush, eyes skittering to the bathroom walls instead. The club music permeates despite the fact that they look like they're made of solid brick, vibrating the floor and sink underneath you both. "Go faster?"

Shouto's eyes snap to yours. For a second you’re afraid he's going to say no, but he tosses your leg over his shoulder and adjusts your hips until they're at a perfect level, licking his lips and growling:

"My pleasure."

You're positive whoever loiters near the bathroom door hears your yelp as his mouth descends to devour your pussy, eating you so enthusiastically that you see you're slick smeared across his pink cheeks. Shouto pulls your hips deeper into his face with a defiant growl and you have to drop your forearms on the sink to keep yourself from falling to the hard ground, your grip around the porcelain ever-tightening.

"Feel good?" He rubs a heavy thumb over your clit in place of his mouth and stuffs you with a third finger. You nod with a broken moan as he pulls his digits out all the way out before burying them knuckle-deep again, grasp on the sink slipping. He flicks your clit, "Answer me."

"Y-Yeah," you nod again, near-hyperventilating. You’re sure Shouto’s getting a kick out of it—at least, if his chuckle has anything to say about it.

"Good girl," he coos, the circles on your clit slowly quickening, "You're so pretty when you make a mess, aren't you?"

You're nodding along with him, though you're not exactly sure why—but then his mouth returns and suddenly, why doesn't matter as much.

Shouto's more vocal than you expected, groaning into your sweetness as your thighs trembles next to his head. He holds you like you're precious, like you're actually something to him, but you're much too drunk to unpack all of that right now. Instead, you tug at his hair. It pulls a much louder moan from his gut and you find yourself enjoying the vibrations, yanking harder to hear him again.

"W-Wait, Shouto," you whimper out, painfully close as you pull at his hair but this time to pull him away from you, "I wanna—wanna cum on your cock...if that's okay."

Shouto blinks once, twice, and then you're staring at yourself in the mirror listening to him frantically undoing his belt, cursing when the metal slaps him across the palm. You giggle.

"Eager, are we?"

"You don't even know," he pants, and the tip of his cock kissing your entrance has you biting your lip. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and they melt when he fits the head of his cock inside, the grip he has on the porcelain sink turning white as he pushes further.

"You are—you are painfully tight, Miss Y/N," Shouto wheezes into your neck, teeth grit as his pelvis finally brushes against your ass. You resist the urge to wheeze with him, his cock filling you to the point where your lungs struggle to find room to breathe.

"I'll take that as a compliment," you joke, eyes fluttering shut. Shouto tuts, grabbing the underside of your face as he says:

"Eyes open, Miss Y/N. I want you to watch yourself fall apart as I fuck you."

Your eyes peel open, albeit reluctantly as you whine, not understanding why you need to watch your own face when you can enjoy the sight of him instead, "But Shouto, that's embarrassing..."

"Just trust me," he grunts, and his hips are snapping into yours, sending you jolting into the sink to the point where you have to brace a hand on the mirror to keep yourself from being squished flat against the porcelain. Shouto leans over, "You trust me, don't you?"

And well. When he puts it like that...

"Look at yourself, not at me," Shouto says, catching you redhanded. You whine when the hand holding your head moves to your neck and squeezes, cutting off your oxygen supply just enough for your eyelids to drop halfway. "See? See how good you look? So wrecked for me already and we've barely started."

"S-Shut up," you moan more than you say, finding yourself mesmerized in the way your lips part and by the redness of your cheeks. Shouto dips his head into your neck and sucks, prompting your free hand to find his multicolored hair again and pull. His reaction is almost automatic, the way the smooth rock of his hips changes into a quick snap in a heartbeat. It has you keening, his cock reaching places spots you weren't aware you had, and he crushes you against the sink to rub at your clit.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous for me," he grunts, hips finding the energy to pick up the pace. You whimper and he's sucking a hickey into your neck, hot breaths punctuating along with his sharp thrusts. "Feel so good around my cock, like you were made for me—shit—"

This time you break the rules, eyes flickering to look Shouto in the mirror as you watch him come undone. His hips stutter as he muffles a broken moan in the back of your neck, body shuddering while he fills you up. His thrusts slowly dissolve into nothing and soon it's just your heavy breathing between brick walls, until Shouto pulls out with a hiss.

"You didn't cum."

"O-Oh, um," You blink at his unimpressed gaze through the mirror as if you got caught redhanded. "I...usually can't. Without a vibe.”

Shouto hums at that but says nothing. You watch something in his brain churn, eyes surveying the room before a lightbulb appears above his head and he's snapping his fingers.

"The shower."

"...What?"

"The. Shower." Shouto says, a little cheekier this time, as he guides you towards a simple shower hidden behind a curtain. Now, why there’s a shower in a club bathroom is beyond you.

"Well. This seems awfully convenient," you click. Shouto shrugs.

"Sun (the author) says it's to clean up the drunks who vomit all over themselves." He takes the only shower seat available, back pressing against the tile.” I think she just wants you to ride a showerhead ****if I'm being completely honest."

"Maybe she tried it for the first time recently or something,” you hum absentmindedly, but that thought flies out the window as Shouto grunts:

"Either way, it's irrelevant. Strip."

"I—completely?" You exclaim, covering your body despite the fact that it's already covered by your dress again. Shouto raises an eyebrow, settling both elbows on his knees once grabbing the showerhead from its bar.

"Unless you want your outfit to get soaking wet, yes. Completely."

Touché.

You're naked fairly quickly and Shouto lays you across the tile even quicker. You watch him test the different modes on his hand, before choosing the one with the most...gusto. You spread your thighs and fight the embarrassing blush dusting your cheeks from the exposing position.

"Ready?" You roll your eyes.

"I swear Shouto, if you do—o-oh."

He presses the rushing water to your clit, and you have to take a step back, fully unprepared for how nice the pressure would feel. Shouto chuckles at that, the soles of his loafers soaking in the lukewarm water with you as he sits with his legs spread, brazenly enjoying the view.

"Feels good?"

You nod, hips subtly grinding into the hot stream. Shouto bites his lips at the view and it turns you on that much more to know you can have such an effect, before his free hand drops to his palm himself through his dress pants.

"I get the perfect view, too," Shouto growls to himself, tilting his head ever-so-slightly as you release a broken moan, bare hips stuttering against the tile. "A perfect view of that pretty little pussy. Ah ah, keep those legs for me."

Your inner thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, the edge looking much closer than it did previously. The combination of Shouto's words, his sounds, and the steady beat of the water against your clit is enough to have anyone shaking, and the only complaint you have is that you wish he wasn't so fucking far.

"S-Shouto," you whimper, hands scrambling across the slippery tile. "I'm close."

"Yeah? Do it then, make me proud," Shouto growls with a feral smile, grip tightening around his cock—you nod, chest shuddering.

“Y-Yeah just adjust the—oh fuck, Shou, right there!”

Your thighs clench as you gasp and your fingernails dig into the grout between the tile as you orgasm, your moan nearly bordering on a scream. Shouto groans, grip tight on his cock through his damp suit pants, and you nearly giggle as your high ebbs.

“Have I ever told you how dangerous you are, Y/N?” Shouto says cheekily. You grin back, cocking your head to the right.

“Only a million times.”

“Well then I owe it to you again,” he says lowly, and you get the message you two aren’t done as he joins you on the wet floor to cradle your jaw.

“You’re one dangerous woman, Y/N.”

a/n: i fully expose myself in this, and you know what? i'm fine with that.

click to return to CLUB 777

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

that kind of morning, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You’re really bad at waking up. Big sleepyhead with foggy memory kind of bad. Your brain is on autopilot. Hm, kind of hard to pilot when everything seems out of place. And you’re mildly hungover. Ow. You just ran into a muscular chest. Who could that be?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; morning after a wild night; graphic descriptions of sexual acts and a tiny bit of smut–while on the phone (fem reader, nipple play, dry humping, hint of a handjob); non-idol!BTS; basically sleepy and slightly hungover reader trying to piece together life lmao

–

Most people make their worst decisions at night.

Not you. You make your worst decisions in the morning. 

Maybe it's because you don't drink coffee.

"Ow!"

Was your bed always that high? Huh. You squinted in the sunlight filtering through the window, far too bright for your sensitive eyes. Instead, you occupied yourself with sniffing the t-shirt you were wearing. It smelled clean, like fabric softener. Also, it was white. Generally, you didn't buy white shirts since they dirtied easily. A miracle that this one wasn't stained. 

You stumbled through the bedroom door – was it always that far? – and smacked your nose into a wall. 

"Ow!"

"Ah!"

A moving wall. Wait, not a wall. A shirtless guy. Oh. It had been that kind of night. 

You rubbed your nose. "Erm, hello. You're still here, huh?" you mumbled. 

The guy blinked at you. "What do you mean? This is my apartment."

Oh. That's why everything seemed unfamiliar. Now that you looked at him, he was pretty attractive. Long dark hair, large brown eyes, dark brows, shapely pink lips with a mole underneath his lower lip. He had two more on his nose and cheek. Lightly tanned skin and a cute confused face. Huh. Nice muscles too. Good for him. 

"Alright, I'll be on my way then, uh..." you trailed off awkwardly, pushing past him. The events of last night were hazy and your head hurt a little, although not so bad that you couldn't function. You were just poorly functioning because you weren't a morning person. 

"Do you want coffee or something?" the guy asked, following you. He sounded a little worried. 

"Nah, I don't drink coffee," you muttered, holding onto the wall as you walked down the unfamiliar narrow hallway. "Stains your teeth."

Speaking of teeth, your breath was probably awful. Hopefully that poor guy didn't breathe near you. Come to think of it, this wasn't what you were wearing last night. It was probably his shirt, considering the large size. Where were your clothes? Oh, look, a bathroom. 

"I could order us some breakfast," the guy continued as you stuck your head into the bathroom and saw the sink. There was a black toothbrush and a crumpled tube of toothpaste, definitely not yours. A black cup for rinsing one's mouth, with a winking emoji printed on it. A black shirt bunched up and half-falling off the sink. Deodorant. Cologne. You picked it up and sniffed it. A clean scent. Didn't make you want to throw up. Awesome. 

You flicked on the faucet and shoved your hands under it. Cold. Fuck. Whatever. You cupped some and brought your hands to your face, dripping water everywhere, and cursing under your breath before gargling some. Best you could do. You spied something red out of the corner of your eye. What was that? You squinted at the towel rack through the mirror, water trickling down your chin. There was a thin scrap of ripped lace fabric on the hanging white towels. 

The guy was still talking. 

"I can get you a spare toothbrush? Do you want some cleanser to wash your face?"

He had a pleasant voice, a little deep. Clear, smooth. Made you think of a cool, refreshing breeze. 

Wait. 

Were those your red panties on the towel rack?

You winced at the mirror. Welp. Those were done for. Didn't look like you could salvage them. You suddenly felt a chilly draft on your bare ass. Your arms were still dripping water as you leaned down and splashed your cheeks. Guess you'll just have to figure something out. You turned off the water and wiped your face off with your palm. A white hand towel appeared. You took it, seeing the guy's tattooed hand and arm. Sexy. He had an emoji tattooed onto his knuckle of a sheepish, crooked smile. 

Kind of looked like you, at the moment. 

You dried your face and hands. 

"Thanks, but it's fine, I'll just go home so I don't bother you," you said, folding the towel and placing it on the sink before moving past him and his curious expression. 

"You're not bothering me. I want to make your morning comfortable."

You noticed your red dress from last night on the ground. The thin straps were torn off and there was a distinct, dark stain down the front. Hmm. You vaguely remembered scooping your tits out and smashing them against his hard dick and dropping a stream of spit down your chest for lubrication before furiously tit-fucking him and making him cum all over your collarbones and neck. 

Ah. 

Well. 

That dress was fucked. 

"Can I borrow this shirt? I'll give it back," you said, turning around to see the guy's face bright pink, staring at your dress on the ground. 

"Uh, yeah, sure, whatever you want," he rambled, shifting awkwardly. He was wearing light gray sweatpants. You looked down. He shifted away quickly, but it was pretty hard to disguise that tent. 

You scratched your head. Hm. "Say, uh..." you trailed off again. 

He blinked with those big chocolatey eyes. "Oh, um, Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook." 

He stuck his hand out. You shook it, fitting your hand in his, suddenly remembering when you grabbed it and put it between your legs, smearing your juices from his wrist to his forearm and grinding onto his muscle, flexing your opening on his skin as he moaned darkly into your ear.

Ah.

You let go.

You were probably past handshakes, but, oh well?

"Right, erm, Jungkook, do you know where my jacket is?" you asked sheepishly. 

Jungkook whipped his head around, sending his black hair flying everywhere. "I think... it's in the living room?" You remembered running your hands through that hair, panting in his face as he shoved you against the wall, two fingers on your clit and rubbing furiously, those big chocolate eyes watching you come undone under him. 

He moved past you and you flattened against the wall, not touching him. Hm. This increased clarity as you continued to wake up was starting to make this more and more, uh... less chill? Weird? Awkward? You followed him at a slight distance, lifting your head to see his back. Your eyes widened. Long red scratches up and down his defined back, caused by your fingernails as he fucked you violently into his bed, your thighs clasped around his waist and his name in your mouth, his thick cock making your pussy so tight and full that you felt like you were going to explode, so completely jammed with pleasure that you couldn't stop moaning. 

Erm. Hm. You kind of needed panties with the sudden leakage happening down there. 

Oh shit, did you use protection? You frowned as you screwed up your eyes to think. Yes. You did. Jungkook had grabbed them from his nightstand and spilled the whole box, thus causing you both to scramble to detach one in your and his haste.

For. 

Er. 

Fucking like animals. 

You both got one condom and ended up using both.

"Ah, here." 

You reached out and took your long-line black leather jacket from Jungkook. That's right. You'd worn that red satin dress with this jacket and black high heels. You spied them by the mat at what you assumed was the front door. Jungkook wasn't looking at you. His face was red. You slipped on the jacket. Smelled the rum still sticking to it. Right. You went to the club, got a drink, and Jungkook had knocked into you, spilling it into your jacket. It was an accident, but that was fine, because Jungkook was hot and you bribed him into talking to you by asking him to buy you another drink.

Super cute with his apologies, nervously speaking to you all night before loosening up with a few drinks and beginning to tease you, little by little, until you were in his apartment, getting your jacket slipped off your shoulders and his mouth on your newly exposed skin. 

The memory made you reach up to touch your left shoulder. You winced. Peered under the jacket and shirt to see a giant purple hickey. 

"Oh... er, sorry..." Jungkook sputtered sheepishly. "You seemed really into it at the time."

There was damn waterfall between your legs now.

"I was," you replied, a little too quickly. "Uh, I mean, I am. Was great."

You facepalmed. Jungkook jumped, startled that you slapped your own face. 

"Sorry, I'm not a morning person. What I meant to say was last night was amazing and I had a great time," you sighed. "You were wonderful. And hot. And sexy. And I'd do it again."

Jungkook blinked at you with those big chocolatey eyes. 

"O... oh." 

He seemed torn on whether to believe you or not. To be fair, your voice was hoarse and you sounded half-dead. Plus, your speech was a little cliché. Sigh. You struggled to retain brain function, shaking your head roughly. It always took you a long time to wake up and it was worse when you weren't home doing your usual routine. You furrowed your brows, raising your head to frown at Jungkook. 

Hold on. 

"Don't you work for my dad?"

Jungkook started, eyes shifting. 

"Er... yeah."

Did you just fuck one of the waiters at your dad's high-end restaurant? All night?

Huh.

What are the chances?

You were going to have to see Jungkook later that night, since you were the hostess.

"You know, Jungkook," you said, realizing why you had spoken to him last night, why it was fun and familiar banter, why he was so cute to you, and why it had been such a good chance. "Let's not tell my dad about this."

Jungkook's eyes went shifty again. "Yeeeeeeeah... let's not."

Your dad meant well. He was loud and brash by nature and scared every human being that hadn't lived under his roof for decades. Speaking of living under his roof... Maybe you shouldn't go home smelling like rum and Jungkook's cologne, wearing his t-shirt and no panties.

"You... sure you wanna go home?" Jungkook asked, chewing on his lip. You noticed he looked a bit disappointed. Sad. 

"Actually," you sheepishly began. "Maybe I shouldn't. Not until Papa leaves the house." You twisted your mouth to one side and poked your index fingers together. Awkward. "Your offer for breakfast still stands?" 

He brightened. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. What do you want?" He held up the phone form the coffee table. "We can order something."

Your eyes shifted to the phone. Ten missed calls. 

"I would call Papa first," you muttered, walking forward and taking the phone from him. You felt his body heat, the closeness of his bare torso. He smelled nice. Jungkook made a surprised noise, only now realizing he had picked up your phone by accident. You slipped your other arm around him and pulled him to you, inhaling his scent. He made another squeak of confusion as you pressed your lips to his warm chest. 

Mmm. Nice. 

You phone vibrated violently and you answered it without looking, kissing Jungkook's skin softly, hearing him gasp and stifle his moan as the sharp bark of your name blasted from the phone speaker. 

"Where are you?!" Your dad was yelling at the top of his lungs. Jungkook shivered under you. He probably thought your dad was pissed, but he was only worried. 

"I'm fine. Slept over at a friend's since I went to the bars last night."

"Oh, fuck, sheesh," your dad grumbled, swearing repeatedly. Your lips began to travel and Jungkook was smacking your arm impatiently, shaking his head, mouthing at you, are you crazy, what the fuck are you doing, before he clenched his jaw and tipped his head back as you began to lazily lick his dark nipple, feeling it harden with your touch.

"Are you eating?" your dad barked in your ear. 

"Mhm, can't start the day unless you eat," was your reply, grinning around Jungkook's nipple as his face was becoming more panicked by the second. 

"That's right," your dad huffed. "What are you eating?"

"Korean."

Jungkook gave you an exasperated, pained look that quickly turned to ecstasy, placing a hand over his mouth and muffling his moan as you sucked in his nipple, bringing your hips into his sweatpants, the tent returning.

"Hah, fine, would it kill you to fucking call so I don't think you're dead?" Now that you were an adult, your dad didn't bother filtering his cursing anymore.

"Ah, sorry, sorry," you replied, very apologetically and sweetly, grabbing a handful of Jungkook's ass and ramming his rock-hard cock into your crotch, clamping your thighs around it. Jungkook was flailing his one free hand and pressing the other over his mouth, trying not to make a fucking sound. 

"I'll remember next time. Promise, Papa."

You heard your dad let out a puff of air. "Hmph. Fine. Don't forget you have to work tonight. I'll let you have the day after off..."

You raised your eyebrows, switching sides and slowly flicking your tongue on Jungkook's nipple, thighs sliding back and forth on Jungkook's clothed length. He was losing it above you, muting his cries and rutting against your thighs to match your pace and add more simulation.

"I thought the other hostess was on vacation for a couple more days?"

"I asked your mother to cover for you," your dad grunted. "You should have some free time while you're still young. Have some fucking fun before you die. That's why I work."

"Ah... okay, thanks Papa. I love you."

"Love you too," was your dad's reply, not so gruff anymore, but warmer and kinder. 

He hung up. 

You dropped the phone from your ear. 

Jungkook gasped a lungful of air, throwing his hand aside now that he could finally breathe, turning into a high-pitched yelp when you yanked his pants down, shoving his cock between your thighs again, but skin on skin this time, angling him down, the head smearing pre-cum in your mid-thigh. Ah, yes, what a pleasant surprise it had been when you saw this pretty cock for the first time, looking so perfect squashed between your tits. 

"B-But breakfast..." he choked out between moans.

"I'm getting it," you panted, grinning, sliding up and down his hot stiffness, feeling it twitch. "Best to have some protein in the morning."

Jungkook clenched his jaw, horny and indignant.

"Korean? Really?"

You switched to your hand, kneeling down as you stroked his stiff length hard and fast, giving him a devilish open-mouthed smirk, wet tongue sliding out.

"Hey, I didn't lie."

-

wondering how Jungkook feels about all this? that kind of evening.

--

masterpost