#he was the most in tune with his powers than ever before

[demigods-posts]

having percy create a hurricane in the son of neptune was an amazing choice. not only do we get to see percy return to himself in that scene, remembering all that's left to fight for. we have to keep in mind that this hurricane wasn't on accident like in the battle of manhattan. it didn't happen by chance because he was annoyed with his opponent. it was on purpose, which shows he's more in tune with himself than ever before, and more powerful than we last saw him. this was easily one of the top highlights of this book for me.

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

1,000 follower celebration!! I love u all wow. thank you for all your support, truly. be warned, this is long. enjoy 💫

warnings: nsfw alphabet for dick grayson and jason todd, so there’s a variety of things under the cut. please proceed with caution 🩷

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

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

jason is very different after sex. it’s a major act of trust for him, so when it’s done, all he really wants is to be close to you. in other words: he’s a big cuddler. he’ll mumble some things into your skin as you run your fingers through his hair, and after, you usually end up ordering enough food to feed a small family, because that man can eat.

dick is a loverboy at heart. once the dust has settled and you’re both down from your highs, he’s doting on you—bringing you water, a snack, cleaning you up with a damp cloth—with doe eyes and a big old grin. always invites you to have a shower with him afterwards, and you always say yes, because his shoulder rubs are divine.

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

unsurprisingly, jason has some…issues with his body from all the shit it’s been through. that being said, I think he intentionally trains his back and shoulders the most. it’s what makes him look as huge as he does. as for his favourite thing about you, jason todd is an ass man, argue with the wall. he likes something he can grab. hard.

dick grayson knows his ass is fat. he’s not shy about it. but his favourite body part is actually his arms, and how muscular they’ve become over the years. as for you, he loves your hips. they trigger something primal in him; the second you put on a fitted dress, he’s thinking about giving you his children.

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

jason gets nasty. he’ll cum anywhere on your body just for the obscene sight, but he especially loves to cum in your mouth when he’s feeling that extra bit dominant. he doesn’t care if you spit or swallow, it turns him on either way—but, god, he’s proud when you open your mouth to show him it’s all gone.

let’s cut to the chase. dick wants to cum inside you over and over again. he hardly even contemplates doing it anywhere else; that man wants to fill you up and watch you drip. maybe it’s his out-of-control breeding kink, maybe it’s how intimate it feels—whatever the case may be, rest assured dick grayson loves a creampie.

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

voyeurism. jason likes to watch. it happened accidentally once when he walked in on you practicing some self-care, and he’s thought about it ever since. he enjoys the performance aspect of it; it’s a power play, watching you get yourself off, knowing he’s right there but refusing to help you.

this ties in with Q, but dick borders on exhibitionism sometimes. fucking you in his car, in the bathroom at a charity event, or in a changing room—anywhere you might get caught, really—god, it gets him going. it’s the daredevil in him, constantly yearning to test the limits of what he can do.

E | Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think jason had very limited to no experience before his death, and most of what knows today he learned by being with you. ever the fast learner, though, he sure as shit knows what he’s doing now. I think he’s very in-tune with your body and his needs, and it shows in the way he fucks you.

we have to face facts here. dick definitely got around before committing to a serious relationship. despite that, I think he knows what he’s doing thanks to his impeccable observational skills; sometimes you think he knows your body better than you do (but don’t tell him that; it goes straight to his head).

F | Favorite position (this goes without saying)

jason is a sucker for good old-fashioned doggy style, of course, but fuck, does he adore the prone bone position. trapping you under his body, hitting you deep with each thrust, and he gets to watch your ass jiggle at every movement? it borders on religious ecstasy for him.

dick goes feral—feral—for the mating press position. it’s erotic, carnal, and raw, and that’s exactly what he wants when he’s fucking you. he’s also partial to cowgirl, especially when he can tell you want to take control. the view it offers him is enough to have him whining underneath you for more.

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

jason is more on the serious side; sex with him, intense as it may be, is still a big act of vulnerability on his part, so he doesn’t treat it lightly. he will, however, crack a warm smile on those occasions when you make love in the small hours of the morning, when he thinks you can’t see his face clearly.

dick is a tease, and sex with him is fun. he likes to flirt with you while he bends you into compromising positions, and he gets very cocky when you cum. he can’t help but make little quips after the fact, either; “something wrong with your leg, baby?” as your limbs twitch and tremble from your orgasm. jerk.

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

in keeping with his rugged exterior, jason is only doing what he needs to in order to keep things manageable and convenient. he is not dedicating hours to manscaping. much to your elation, that means he keeps his happy trail intact.

dick is a little more meticulous in his grooming, being the “pretty boy” that he is. he prefers keeping himself neatly trimmed, partly to ensure more comfort in his nightwing suit—he’s learned the hard way that the pornstar look is a one-way ticket to chafing when you’re jumping off of buildings.

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

jason really restrains himself from being outwardly intimate. he finds it hard to be that vulnerable, and while he loves the passion between you when you fuck, he’s only really able to tap into the romantic aspect if he’s wholly at ease. that’s not to say it never happens! it definitely does, just give him time.

he may be cocky and unserious when he’s fucking you, but sex with dick is always very openly intimate. he sees the beauty and romance in what you do together, and it’s truly special to him that he gets to witness you like this. sex is absolutely one of the ways he expresses his love and admiration for you.

J | Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jason only really masturbates when he’s away from you on a mission, and needs to take the edge off. it’s less interesting without you, so he wants it done quick. he imagines you touching yourself as he does it—legs wide and eyes hazy—and that gets him to his peak extremely efficiently.

dick likes to edge himself. I said what I said. he’s thinking about how he’d much rather save his load for your pretty cunt, so he’s bucking his hips and screwing his eyes shut as he forces himself to stop right before his climax, reminding himself how good it’ll feel when he gets to fill you up.

K | Kink (one or more of their kinks)

overstimulation is jason’s go-to; he gets off on dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re hardly able to speak. he also loves forced eye contact, especially when you can barely keep your eyes open. oh, and he has a massive size kink. when you’re as huge as he is, everyone is small by comparison, and he likes how big you make him feel.

say it with me. dick grayson has a breeding kink. the visual aspect of cumming inside you is enough to drive him crazy, but the thought of getting you pregnant…now that makes him rabid. face-sitting is another big one; any variation of pussy-eating drives him wild, but having you sit on his face is his favourite way to do it.

L | Location (favorite places to do the do)

if you’re at home, anywhere is fair game to jason. he’s fucking you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, on the sofa, against the wall, in the office—anywhere. outside of home, he’s more restrictive, but he has thought about fucking you in the batmobile on the many occasions he’s stolen it.

the bedroom is definitely dick’s favourite place to fuck you; aside from making things feel more romantic, he wants you to be comfortable as he’s bending you into crazy positions. he also loves a shower quickie and car sex, impractical though they may be. don’t worry, he’s an acrobat. it’ll work.

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

is it crazy to say that jason gets turned on when you argue? because he does. a moderate disagreement where you’re getting huffy with him is a surefire way to get bent over the sofa. oh, and if he feels even a little jealousy creeping over him, you’re in for a ride. also, if you nestle into him during the night, you’ll be contending with his hard cock pressed against your lower back until one of you caves.

dick is whipped. whatever you’re doing can get him going. cooking, reading, wearing his clothes—he loves everything you do. but, he’s particularly turned on whenever you dress up for a special occasion. it can be a little inconvenient when you’re running late for an event and he’s groping you over your gown in the limo, but how can you refuse those blue eyes?

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

jason would be very resistant to anything that puts him in a submissive role (this goes for ak!jason too). this includes both sex acts and the use of props/toys that take control away from him; he’s just not into it. he’d also refuse any kind of roleplay, saying it’s unnecessary. he’s a pragmatic guy.

I think dick would really dislike the idea of hurting you. he’s not opposed to spanking, and he’ll even engage in some light breath play (ahem, headlock, anyone?), but he would never take it any further than that. if he bruised you through anything other than hickies, he’d be sick with guilt.

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

it should come as no surprise that jason loves receiving head. there are few sights as enticing as watching you take his cock in your mouth while he instructs you to keep your eyes on him. he’s also very skilled in returning the favour, and his preference is eating you from the back so he can see your pretty ass move each time you squirm.

you know my stance on this. dick is a munch. he’s eating pussy like it’s his last meal before the end of the world, and he’s doing it for him. needless to say, he’s fucking good at it. receiving head is quite literally the last thing on his mind. that being said, when he does remember to let you reciprocate, all he can think about is how pretty you look while doing it.

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

jason can get pretty rough, and he likes to fuck you hard, but he knows how much you can take. sex for him is partially an emotional release. but, he’s good at alternating between destroying you one day and being gentle the next; despite his tough facade, jay enjoys soft, passionate sex as much—if not more—than you do.

dick is kind of a hedonist; once he starts feeling pleasure, he doesn’t want it to end—especially when you start feeling it too. he’s happy to give you fast and rough if it’s what you want, but his preference is sloppy, erotic fucking. the messier you get, the better. although, if he’s got you in a mating press, the roughness seeps back in quickly.

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

while he’ll never say no to a quickie, jason prefers to take his time with you. once he starts, he finds it hard to stop, and he loves to see how much you can take from him before you’re spent. quickies are sporadic with him; he prefers to enjoy your body at his pace.

if he gets the chance to fuck you—hell, even just tease you—dick is going to take it. he loves the thrill and the sense of urgency that comes with quickies. whether it’s a hookup in his car or an impromptu blowjob when he’s supposed to be on patrol, his eyes are lighting up like it’s christmas.

R | Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

jason is not a risk-taker. he needs time to warm to any kind of experimentation, but he’s more likely to try things on you than on himself, like using light restraints on you or dabbling in sensory play. as long as he feels he has some control.

dick is a different story. he’s willing to try most things at least once, and he’s able to laugh it off if something goes south. he’s not opposed to switching (ha) things up and giving you the lead, either; he likes a woman in charge.

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

maybe it’s his extensive training, maybe it’s just who he is; whatever the case may be, jason can go for a long time. but, it’s usually just one round that he draws out so he can really work you to your limit.

dick can handle multiple rounds if you give him time. his recovery consists of burying his face between your legs until he’s ready to go again, which doesn’t take very long once you start convulsing against his tongue.

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

jason wouldn’t even think to use sex toys unless you brought it up, but he’d be open to using them on you if you asked. he’s quick to see the potential in your little pink vibrator when he holds it against your clit while he fucks you, noticing how much easier it is to overstimulate you this way.

ever the experimentalist, dick isn’t opposed to trying out toys in the bedroom. in fact, he’s the one who would show up with fuzzy blue handcuffs (“I got them in my colour!”) to restrain your hands behind your back, so he can devour your cunt without interference from you.

U | Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’d like to tease you more, but jason doesn’t really have the restraint for it. as soon as you’re splayed out in front of him, he wants to take you. when he does tease, though, he likes to touch you everywhere but where you need him most, until you’re begging for him to make you feel good. then, he likes to make you regret it—over and over again.

dick is the world’s biggest tease, and you can look that up. he’s got you grinding on his lap, making out with you until you’re panting, only to say he needs to do some work as he stands up with a smirk. and when he finally gets you naked, he makes you tell him what you need while his fingers hover over your aching pussy, never reaching you.

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

jason isn’t very loud at all, but the sounds he does make range from grunts and groans to the occasional low moan if you tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. he’s a big dirty talker, and he likes to get up in your ear to do it, so he knows you’re listening. he notices the way you shiver at his gravelly voice, and it drives him crazy.

dick is far less concerned about being quiet. he’s moaning, swearing, telling you how pretty you are, even occasionally whining, and he’s not worried about what your neighbours think—in fact, he’s making sure you’re just as vocal as he is, insisting you tell him how you feel. he’s also expressive when he cums, especially when he does it inside you.

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

I know this is controversial, but jason would never agree to a threesome. this man is possessive. the mere thought of seeing someone else touch you in front of him is enough to make him see red, so no—he’d end up committing murder (not that it’s a far leap for him on a good day).

dick has a thing for watching you work out, especially when you’re doing yoga in the living room in those skin-tight pants. watching the way your limbs elongate and contract as you bend and stretch does things to him, but he never interrupts; the images stay in his mind for those long missions.

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

jason is a behemoth of a man all over. and I do mean all over. he’s packing. an easy 8 inches (slightly more), thick, with a slight upwards curve and a prominent vein from the base to the tip—which is a mauvy pink, by the way. you’re still shocked you’re able to take him, and he was too the first time.

‘prettiest man alive also has a pretty cock’ would be dick’s headline. just over 6 inches, with enough girth to make you feel full, and a rosy pink tip that matches his lips…you could honestly just stare at it if he’d let you (and he probably would). he fits you like a glove every single time.

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

jason’s sex drive is pretty consistent; it’s always simmering a little ways below the surface. he’s able to compartmentalise it when he has to, but sex doubles as a form of stress-relief for him, so it happens…often.

dick has an incredibly high sex drive. like jason, he can reel it in when needed, but if it were up to him, you’d fuck every single day, twice even. I also truly believe that he’s regularly plagued by morning wood.

Z | Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he’s going to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of, but the truth is jason could probably pass out in your arms about 10 minutes after you’re done. take it as a sign of how safe he feels with you as he’s snoring softly into your neck.

he’s definitely tired after sex, but dick is waiting until he notices you dozing off before he closes his eyes. once he’s out, though, good luck waking him up again without an air horn. he’s going to need his full eight hours to recharge.

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: suggestive noncon, threats, Sukuna in general

gn reader

Thinking about sorcerer ! reader – only instead of having a really offensive technique, it's purely defensive.

A power to pacify. Creating the ultimate stalemate. All attacks are nullified – people can’t even throw one measly punch your way.

– which obviously means you’re the ultimate babysitter for trigger-happy curses like Sukuna.

The only issue is…. you don’t at all behave in accordance with your technique. 

You are perhaps the most childish and bratty sorcerer he’s ever been forced to share air with. Even worse than that white-haired prick. Where with him – he could at least spar. But you? You just monitor him while making the most meaningless and ever-so-grating conversation.

“I read in an old book that you’re a cannibal.” You muse with a smile. Eyes vibrant with curiosity – playful even – as though the prospect of him eating human flesh shouldn’t be making your own skin run raw with goosebumps. “Is that true?” 

His brow raises at your eagerness. His mouth is a prim line before muttering an unenthusiastic. “Yes.”

“Really?” You jump. “Why? Does it taste good?”

It’s an awfully stupid question – he thinks with an ever-growing wrinkle furrowing his brows. But suppose explaining to you how it’s meant to strike fear into people’s hearts would only make you laugh.

He huffs.

“Tastes like meat.”

“Right~” You sing-song as though it was a satisfying answer – but then almost immediately add onto it. “So, like chicken or beef?” 

You really are such a nuisance, he thinks. Grumbling. “Pig.”

You hum – then smack your lips. And he feels another onset of annoyance – expecting another moronic query to come pouring gracelessly from your lips.

“You’re a little disappointing – you know that?” You say instead.

He picks his head up at that – finally looking back at you through the bars of his cell to where you sit opposite way on a chair – looking straight back at him, fearing no harm.

There are about a million seals covering the walls, keeping him trapped. Though you’d feel just as safe without them.

“I’d thought you’d have more to say, but…” You pout. “Turns out you’re just boring.”

His nose makes an offended scrunch – eyes narrowed. “Watch how you speak to me.”

You laugh – your chuckle in itself is something that makes the hairs at the back of his neck rise out of ire. That smug smile on your face enough to have his fists ball at his sides – and at the moment you lick your lips, saying, “Or what?” he’s already on his feet with his hands wrapped tight around the bars – knuckles turning white in his grip.

His skin sizzles from the cursed energy imbued in the metal – like holy water to a demon – and still, he doesn’t let go. Four eyes, blood red, glaring at you with a look that’s nothing short of deadly. If he could, you knew he’d have your heart in his hand forever ago. But the fact that he doesn’t – the fact that he can’t – only makes your grin ever sharper.

“Wow~” You tease. “Look at that face~” Giggling. “So scary~”

His nostrils flare as he releases the bars. Hands healed shortly after. “One of these days, brat – I’ll have you on your knees.”

You feign a gasp. “Sukuna~ so indecent~” Your grin lessens into a coy smirk. “To think the King of Curses is flirting with little ole me~” You bite your lip, looking kittenish – eyes amused while watching him recede into the dark of his cell.

You break from the act with another laugh.

Beginning anew. “I do have a question, though.”

“Naturally.” He mutters, stretching his arms – all four – one pair above his head and the other behind his back.

“Are you double-packed down there as well? The same with the rest of you? Or~”

His spine cracks between tensed shoulders – and you think, to be a thousand-year-old specter, he’s awfully easy to rile up.

But then he laughs – a throaty, low-tuned snicker that echoes against the cell walls. 

“As I said – one of these days…” He walks up to the bars again, his chin fitting through them. “You’ll find out.”

There’s another chuckle – his eyes slim with something that makes you feel naked. Suddenly flushed – smile gone – you watch him lick his lips.

“And to answer your next question, you insufferable brat.” 

You gulp.

“I think you’ll taste like peaches.”

[bagofshinyrocks]

The Whole Bakery

Prompt: How will the boys respond to an S/O who slaps their ass out of nowhere? [Requested by @airghostlyfox]

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.8k

Warnings: expletives; lightly suggestive content

There he was. Making his morning cup of coffee. Comfortable sleep clothes and sluggish movement. Your handsome partner. 

He had finally freed himself from the blanket web and your comfortable arms, with the intent to go through most of his “honey-do” list that weekend.

And he was so unaware.

That your arm was winding up for a powerful smack to his ass.

John Price

The sound was not as impressive due to his sweatpants, but the way he jerked and slowly put down the things in his hands was reward enough. He did not appreciate it. And he did not turn around.

“Luv,” he said in an even tone. “What the hell was that?”

You rubbed the offended cheek with the same hand, deciding against pinching, as he would win any fight you started. 

“My darling John. Your ass is just so wonderful, I can’t help myself.” 

Both hands gently squeezed his ass. And you pressed an apologetic kiss between his bare shoulder blades.

“You’ve got the whole bakery right here, bubba.” Gentle pats. Still no movement of his neck. “All these buns.”

Finally, he turned around.

He was trying very hard not to smile. Trying not to encourage you. But goddamn, did you look pleased with yourself. Strong arms wrapped around your middle, pressing you to his chest.

“You are-” Kiss. “Such a flirt.” Kiss. “And absolutely shameless.”

You kissed him back and lazily threw your arms over his shoulders.

Behind you, his arm raised itself and smacked your ass as hard as he possibly could. You folded into him with a yelp.

“GOD FUCKIN–!”

Simon Riley

The moment your hand left his cheek, he had turned on you and grabbed you under the armpits.

“Uh oh” was all you had the chance to say before he dragged you off to the nearest wall. He was smiling, but it was the smile that meant you were still in trouble. You chuckled nervously as he settled you against the wall, caging you in and leaning in close.

“You are a cheeky one,” he purred.

“Yessir.”

“Any particular reason we’re playful this morning?”

You wriggled your arms out of his grip, and settled your hands over his ass again. He let you, one of his fingers tapping your nose.

“Well, if you must know, Simon,” you said, adopting a matter-of-fact tone. “It is because your ass is just so delicious looking.”

He snorted at your blunt words and hid his eyes with his hand.

“Bloody hell.”

“I mean, just look at it, lover.” You firmly gripped his ass, squeezing ever so slightly. “All this cake.”

He sighed, but he was still laughing. You’re adorable. He loves you.

Kyle Garrick

You didn’t smack too, too hard. A peace offering for walking around in his boxers and nothing else. Your favorite outfit on him.

But he still jumped and gave you a dirty look.

“It is 8 in the morning, you shit.”

You turned him back around and massaged his ass, humming a cheerful tune. “I’m just gonna knead this yummy dough, don’t mind me.”

“You a cat? Making biscuits?”

You giggled and kissed the back of his neck.

“Oh, have you got some biscuits on you, loverboy.”

He couldn’t help but laugh into his cup, turning himself around and pulling you into his embrace. Soft, coffee-flavored kisses. Then his arms snaking lower, and his own hands settling on your ass.

“I think that’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.”

“Sweeter than ‘I love you’?”

He squeezed your ass and pulled you impossibly closer to him.

“Mm,” he sighed into your mouth. “Tied for first.”

You pulled back and narrowed your eyes.

“What? Oh, right. I love you, too, baby.”

Johnny MacTavish

Of all the boys, he has no right to complain. A chronic ass-slapper. Repeat offender groper. Can’t sleep without one hand one you, be it your arm, your stomach, or your leg.

He was singing some song to himself, dancing a little. Background noise that kept him from hearing you until it was too late.

“Steaming bloody-”

You hit him too hard. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. You ducked out of his grasp and started pleading for forgiveness.

“Baby, I’m sorry, that was harder than I meant. I’m sorry. I’m sor- shit.”

A mad scramble around the kitchen island. Never had you run away from your bare-chested Scotsman so quickly.

“Get your arse back here!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Fuck you mean-” He vaulted over the island and you screamed. Like a bird of prey, he grabbed you and dragged you to the couch, falling on top of you with all his weight.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you wheezed.

He smothered your face and neck in kisses, and accepted your apology. He would get you back later. With less force but greater number of ass slaps. You were sure of it.

Enjoy reading this? Here's a link to my other works! Thanks for reading :-)

Posted: 2023 Dec 12

[eoieopda]

whiskey neat | jwy

there’s no common ground between yours and wooyoung’s vastly different circles. that is, until tuesday nights at the black cat form the center of the venn diagram.

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader au: strangers to something type: one-shot | smut wc: 8.3k rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: inspired by hozier’s “too sweet”, primarily wooyoung’s pov with one switch at the end; bartender!wooyoung, musician!reader, alcohol use, setting is a bar, uhhh wooyoung is a (to the tune of that arctic monkeys song) cigarette smoker, oral sex (v), protected sex (p in v), corruption kink kind of?, use of “sweetheart” (fatal). reader notes: afab (gender identity not designated); kind of naive; into fitness/“wellness” (no body type/weight is described, except wooyoung thinking they’re “strong” + reader thinking that they are in the best shape of their life); wears a sundress at the beginning. the following terms are used in the scenes involving smut: pussy, cunt, clit, tits (no description given). a/n: i quite literally started this in march 2024 and then experienced the most severe hobby death of all time. this is coming after five (5) months of scooping it out of my brain with a melon-baller, so… not my best, but here she is! thanks @sailoryooons for beta-ing because i’m self-conscious lately 🍤

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat never used to be busy. 

For three years, Wooyoung spent the majority of his shifts behind the bar doing fuck all: Folding receipt paper into increasingly complicated and wasteful shapes; replacing citrus wedges that went unused and then brown; paying visits to the stray cat camping out in the alley near the dumpster. He’d go hours without talking to another human being, and he never took issue with it, even if his wallet did.

Two months ago, however, things changed. 

Two months ago, management started panicking about the lack of revenue. To keep the lights on and draw in a crowd of (hopefully) soon-to-be regulars, they implemented a schedule of recurring events — some monthly, others weekly, most stupid.

Wooyoung’s precious solitude disappeared, and in its place, he got trivia nights and turntable DJs, showing off their collections of vinyls. Games of bingo targeting hipsters, who show up en masse to fight it out for prizes — potted plants, of all things — they could easily buy on their own for far less than their tabs’ totals. Themed brunches. 

A million other events and just as many used glasses to wash.

Despite his ever-present scowl — his face just looks like that —  it hasn’t been all bad. Without the newly-added acoustic sessions, the bar wouldn’t need a local performer to both play and host on a biweekly basis. Management wouldn’t have reached out to you; and you’d have no fucking reason to come to a dive like this. Suffice it to say, your pilates-practicing, daylight-disciplined circle of doers would never otherwise overlap with Wooyoung’s, in all its nocturnal, nicotine-dependent grit.

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat now occupy the center of the Venn diagram.

As usual, you come traipsing in half an hour before your set starts with a gig bag slung over your shoulder and a megawatt smile on your face. This is your natural state, he’s come to learn. Solar-powered. It shouldn’t be possible, but you manage to brighten further when your searching eyes find him sitting on the counter behind the register.

Through no fault of his own, Wooyoung’s gaze trails down from your face to the little sundress you’re wearing. It’s new, he notes immediately. The skirt of it flutters with each step you take, showing off more and more of your thighs as you move.

You don’t react to the migrating fabric. Just the same, you don’t notice his appraisal or the way patrons’ heads turn as you cross the bar. 

No surprise there, he thinks. 

From the four (4) entire conversations the two of you have had so far, you’ve made one thing abundantly clear: You’re inclined to assume the best of people and their intentions. 

Nine times out of ten, Wooyoung dodges naivety like that the second it starts skipping his way, well-versed in the consequences of trusting so implicitly. You and your cotton-candy smile have proven to be the outlier, though. Working in tandem, you and that grin have him pinned where he sits with no urge to run.

You don’t notice that, either.

When you slide onto the stool across the bar from him, Wooyoung finally clocks what you’re holding. Your right hand grips some green concoction that he suspects was made with kale. Or moss? In your left hand, an iced Americano — beautifully black — weeps condensation onto manicured fingers, making hard-earned calluses glisten.

Wooyoung’s racing thoughts about those hands are still inflicting psychic damage when you lean further over the counter.

“Extra shot of espresso,” you hum as you hold the coffee out to him. You do your best to tease him, though you’re shy as hell about it, so the words still manage to come gently: “For those of us who were still awake when the sun came up.”

Wooyoung mentioned his coffee order several weeks ago in passing. It’s sweet in a way he’s not used to that you’ve not only remembered how he takes his coffee, but that you’ve brought it to him ever since, apropos of nothing, when all he’s ever done is his best to get a rise out of you. What he’s up to isn’t sweet — not by a long-shot — but it’s easily done and well worth the misplaced effort when he sees how flustered he can make you.

Wooyoung tilts his head, draws his lips in a straight line, and gestures to your cup with his. “Worry about those waking up shortly after sunrise, sweetheart. They’re drinking algae.”

As intended, you’re visibly affected by the pet name, so much so that you stumble over your defense. “It — it’s healthy!”

“It’s swampy.”

Your nose scrunches indignantly, prompting the edge of Wooyoung’s mouth to tick upwards. He doesn’t emote more than that. Five (5) conversations in now, and he’s already picked up on how much it gets to you when he only concedes a hint of a smirk.

As much as he’d relish the opportunity to sit here and keep toying with you, the crowd surrounding you has doubled in a matter of minutes. Just over your shoulder, Wooyoung sees a patron glance down at the screen of her phone to check the time; then, he hears the complaint she thinks is muttered quietly under her breath. It’s not. In fact, you hear it, too, and you divert your wide, heart-shaped eyes away from him. That smile of yours curves in the wrong direction once you do.

When you look back at him, you say, “I should go,” but he hears it for what it is: an apology. 

He’s never been good at ending conversations — especially in the rare case that he’d prefer to keep one going — so he nods, leaves it at that. You pause for a nanosecond, as if you’ve got something else to add, but you don’t. You smooth down the back of your dress once you’ve hopped from the stool to your feet. Then, you mimic his gesture. 

You make it two steps towards the stage before Wooyoung calls out to you, prompting you to spin back around and your dress to flutter:

“Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart.”

Your frown disappears instantly. The smile that replaces it is still there when you disappear into the crowd, only to resurface several seconds later on the tiny stage across the room.

Guitar now in hand, you duck your head through the woven strap, shuffling carefully closer to the microphone stand. You introduce yourself, strum a quiet, major chord, and chirp, “Welcome to both the Black Cat and my favorite day of the week.”

Normally, you leave shortly after your last set, as if you’ll turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes ten. With the schedule you keep, it’s no wonder. From what Wooyoung has gathered so far, you wake up before dawn most days to get a workout in before heading to the office. The very idea makes him nauseous whenever he thinks too long about it, so he does his best not to. 

Mornings are for sleeping, he told you once.

Life is for living, you’d replied.

Apparently, the two of you have drastically different ideas about what living looks like.

For Wooyoung, life on Tuesday nights looks like catering to a steadily dwindling crowd once you finish up and disappear with a friendly wave goodbye. It’s cleaning up sticky spills, resetting migrated stools, and doing a half-ass restock that will make the opener — him — complain about the closer — again, him — when his next shift starts at 5:00 PM on Wednesday. 

In the gap between his shifts, life looks like meeting up with his similarly shadow-dwelling friends on someone’s balcony to chain-smoke, sip whiskey, and watch the sunrise until he gets bored. From there, it’s either walking back to his apartment or kicking said friends out of his, so he can rot in front of his PC. Eventually, life looks like blackout shades and crashing into bed while the world around him heads out for brunch.

Tonight, however, life is starting to look a little different.

When you wander over, it’s not to say goodnight or close out the tab you think you’ve accrued, which Wooyoung never opened in the first place.

Maybe, he thinks, you’ve finally caught on that all these “technical issues with the point-of-sale system” — occurring for the last four (4) shows in relation to one (1) patron in particular — can’t possibly be a coincidence. That a free drink given will always beget a free drink received. That Wooyoung doesn’t deal in unpaid debts, even if he hasn’t and won’t own up to his petty workplace theft.

You sidle up to his bar and slip back into the stool you’d previously occupied, no more aware of the way your sundress shifts now than you were earlier. Likewise, he’s no less blatant with the way he looks you up and down, eyes lingering unabashedly and hungrily. The pair of you float in each other’s orbit for a few moments just like this: waiting for the other to speak first.

“Don’t you go to yoga class at ass o’clock on Wednesdays?” He eventually inquires, leaning back against the counter behind him with his arms crossed and head tilted.

Your eyes flick down to the screen of your phone, which rests face-up on the bar between your elbows. You clock the time but not the way your current posture causes the neckline of your mostly modest dress to plunge. Conflict creases between your eyebrows, then you tilt your chin to look at him.

Wooyoung knows that look, although he’s never seen it on you before. That look begs to be talked into something, rather than out of it. It’s a look he gets often. For better or for worse, it’s one he never turns down.

“I do,” you admit through a sigh. 

Offering nothing more than a hum to indicate his intrigue, Wooyoung watches you and waits patiently for you to elaborate. Another few seconds slip by without a word. His attention makes you shy, he notes; he loves it. 

But he loves the idea of toying with you even more, so when you don’t say anything else, he takes that attention and diverts it to the few remaining patrons, all of whom have vested interest in closing out and getting out.

Good riddance, he thinks as the last of them stumbles out and away, leaving the two of you in charged silence. 

Even more seconds pass. 

Still nothing.

Wooyoung glances around and finds a bottle of Jameson on its very last leg. It’s the perfect amount for a litmus test — two shots left, nothing more to give and everything to prove. Snatching two overturned shot glasses from where they dry on a holed rubber mat, he empties the whiskey evenly and turns back to you with an eyebrow raised.

Your eyes widen slightly when he sets the spare on the bar in front of you, more so with interest than surprise. For a moment, you stare at it with the same ambivalent expression, nibbling thoughtfully on your lower lip. 

Finally, you all but whisper, “I should’ve been in bed an hour ago.”

With his left palm flat against the bar, Wooyoung rests his weight and leans in, eyelids and voice dropping. “Why aren’t you?” He murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips then back up again — just long enough for you to notice that he was, in fact, looking. “Hmm?”

Your breath hitches — just loudly enough for him to notice that you are, in fact, finding it hard to function this closely to him.

“On a school night, no less.” His eyes narrow teasingly.

“I’m asking myself the same question,” you confess, though you’re the picture of innocence. Your fingertip traces idly down the side of your shot glass, then back up again. 

He’s as distracted by the mindless movement as you are, albeit for different reasons. Before he lets himself get carried away in wondering whether or not your touch is always that delicate, Wooyoung lifts his glass and gestures for you to do the same. “Sounds like you could use a bad influence.”

A soft clink permeates when your glasses touch, followed by a muted thump when the bottom of each one is tapped against the bar. Your heads are thrown back in unison, just like your drinks, and when your faces finally level out towards one another’s, you counter him breezily, “Maybe you could use a good one.”

Wooyoung thinks he could use more than that.

Breaking eye contact, you glance down at your phone again. It’s obvious that you’re second-guessing your decision to linger. He wants to chuck that brick in the bin with the other useless shit, to get rid of any excuse you might give for having to leave, but he doesn’t. 

And you don’t give him an excuse.

Your hand wraps around that fucking phone, then you stand up slowly. 

“Try not to stay up too late,” you advise with a smile that still manages to read like disappointment.

Don’t.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pull out the tips you made tonight and collect a few bills before dropping them on the counter to cover the shot you didn’t even order. Wooyoung wants to tell you not to — that your money isn’t good here, even if you are — but he knows it won’t make a difference. 

You sling your gig bag over your shoulder, thank him, and tell him that you’ll see him in two weeks.

He scrubs his hands over his face the second you walk out the door and mutters through gritted teeth, “Fuck.”

You don’t see Wooyoung in two weeks. 

As a matter of fact, you cancel your acoustic session for the first time ever. Management either doesn’t know why you bailed or doesn’t think it’s any of Wooyoung’s business, so no one bothers to tell him. If he’d ever thought to ask for your number, he could check in on you himself, but he didn’t and therefore can’t.

Ignorant and annoyed, he resigns himself to occupying an empty tavern on a goddamn Tuesday night, yet again. 

Nobody brings him coffee. 

Nobody worth talking to crosses the threshold. 

No one makes little comments — genuine concerns poorly disguised as digs — when he uses the paring knife to carve little stars into the lip of the bar top, instead of slicing limes. 

And when he gives up and closes down early, he’s so tired of his own shit that he simply goes home and goes to bed.

Bed being the operative word. 

He doesn’t go to sleep, even though he has nothing better to do. Alternatively, Wooyoung replays your last interaction on a loop in his head, daydreaming about what could’ve happened if you’d stayed. While his thoughts spiral, his hand drifts, finds the pulse beneath the zipper of his jeans, and feels the throbbing ache building through the denim.

It’s pathetic. 

He knows it. 

Too bad that doesn’t stop him from fucking his fist every night for the next several, imagining how much softer yours must feel.

The patron pulls a face the absolute second Wooyoung slides her glass across the bar. 

Wholly uninterested in the response one way or another, he slathers on his customer-service smile and asks her, “Alright?”, in a tone that doesn’t match his expression in the slightest.

“There’s no ice in it,” she mumbles, cringing in mild horror as she does. As if the liquor features his spit instead. “I wanted ice.”

There’s a split second where he almost lets his mask crack, says something shitty just because his mood was already sour before she walked over. Wooyoung doesn’t get the opportunity, however. Over the girl’s shoulder, someone gently intervenes: “Neat means no ice. You’d have needed to order it on the rocks.” 

A beat passes, then comes, “Or — you know, with ice, please.”

Wooyoung neither hears nor cares what the girl says in response. She shuffles off, and that’s all that matters. Without her body blocking the way, he sees you clearly. You’re more done-up than usual, like you’ve just come from somewhere far nicer than here.

“It’s Saturday.”

Probably should’ve started with hello.

After eyeing the glowing, neon clock on the wall, Wooyoung notices that both hands are pointed skyward. He corrects himself, “Nah, it’s Sunday.”

You slip into the now-unoccupied stool ahead of him and nod, chuckling like you can’t believe it, either. When you settle in, you prop your elbow on the bar top, then your chin upon the heel of your hand. Just above, your eyes twinkle with a kind of mischief he’s never seen you wear before.

That might be the thin veil of tipsiness, actually. 

Not that he’s complaining.

Wooyoung hides his amusement by bending over and rummaging through the under-counter refrigerator that hums beneath the register. The rush of cool air has nothing to do with how awake he suddenly feels. He wonders if you feel the same but can’t ask outright; eagerness isn’t his style.

“You’re here on purpose?” He asks instead, resurfacing with a bottle of soju — some new, fruity flavor he assumes you’ll like — and a raised eyebrow.

You hum appreciatively when you see what he’s holding. That soft sound that punches him right in the center of his chest with force. “I was out with friends, but…”

Your voice trails off, too distracted by his hand enveloping the seal-covered bottle cap. With a firm grip and quick twist, it’s gone. You’re still eyeing his hands, he notes, even though all they’re doing is holding the bottle. 

Normally, he’d love to give you the benefit of the doubt and attribute your sudden fixation on the rings he wears. It wouldn’t be the first time a man in jewelry snags attention, complimentary or otherwise. Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately? — for you, Wooyoung forgot to put his usual accessories back on after this afternoon’s shower.

Nope, he thinks, biting back a wolfish grin. He’s not alone. You daydream about his touch, too.

Catching yourself staring, you shift atop your stool with a quiet, self-conscious laugh that sounds more like a sigh. He opts to let it go without further teasing, but he doesn’t let it go entirely. That breathy little noise echoes in his ears, drowning out the faint slosh of liquor as he fills your glass. 

In a weak attempt to distract himself, he remembers your half-finished sentence and prompts with a low voice, “But?”

“They wanted to end the night.” You accept the glass into your hand from his and raise it slightly in thanks. “I didn’t,” you whisper, then bring the rim to your lips to cloak their upward curve.

Wooyoung would be lying if he said your tiny act of defiance didn’t send all the blood in his body rushing straight to his dick. Maybe it’s arrogant of him to assume that he’s the source of this newfound rebelliousness. The spark that lit the fuse, or whatever. Maybe that should bother him. Of course, it doesn’t.

In an effort to hide how strong of a chord your confession has struck, he gestures with one extended finger to the clock. Your eyes follow, and he leans in closer; the smirk you can’t see is still evident in his voice, he’s sure.  “How much of a coincidence is it that you showed up right before the trains stop running?”

When your gaze flicks momentarily back to him, he spots a hint of surprise. This impeccable timing wasn’t a scheme at all, he realizes. Not a plot. If he had to bet, Wooyoung would guess that you’re never out late enough to know that the train schedule ends at all.

God, you’re going to give him a cavity.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Coincidentally, I know someone who gets off just in time to walk you home.”

“This gonna bother you?”

Having stepped out of the bar before Wooyoung, his question prompts you to look back over your shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised slightly out of curiosity. He lifts his right hand from his jacket pocket to reveal the half-spent pack of cigarettes he’d been storing there.

He expects it to, and to his surprise, he cares enough about that possibility that he doesn’t light up without asking in the way he normally would.

“In theory, yes,” you laugh, “because I’d prefer your lungs to be tar-free.”

“And in practice?”

You must not have expected him to note the distinction; you fluster. Grinning slightly, Wooyoung answers his own question on your behalf, “In practice, you find it kind of hot.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he pulls a cigarette from the pack — slowly, to test his hypothesis that you’ve got a thing for his hands — and then, Wooyoung slides the cardboard back into his pocket. 

Your gaze follows while he gently places the filtered end between his lips. It stays put when he furnishes a lighter, holds the flame to the opposite side, and inhales. Turning his head to the side, Wooyoung exhales the smoke where it won’t reach you. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he assures you, eyes devilish. Deer in headlights that you are, you freeze but for the bob of your throat as you swallow. “I won’t make you admit it out loud.”

Yet.

Once he’s decided that he’s played with you enough for the time being, two of you head south, ambling under streetlights without any sense of urgency. Making up for lost time, maybe; picking up where the last Tuesday left off. 

He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol making you more talkative than usual, or if you’re feeling the rush of your off-brand decisions, but Wooyoung’s fine with it, either way. You tell him about your week — in full and without hesitation — like you’re chatting to a friend and not someone you’ve only just started to encounter on a brief, twice-monthly basis.

You had a date this Tuesday night, he learns. It didn’t go well. Too similar, you explain with a wave of your hand. According to you, it’s boring to sit with you at a dinner table. Wooyoung looks pointedly at you as soon as he hears it, noting his disagreement. For a second, you assume something he doesn’t mean: that he enjoys his own company more than you enjoy yours.

“No,” he corrects you. “I just can’t picture dinner with you as something boring.”

You duck your head, embarrassed. “Oh,” is all you manage in reply.

Wooyoung follows your lead across several more city blocks, hanging on every word you say in the meantime. When the pair of you reach the front of your apartment building, his cigarette is spent, but neither one of you is. He takes an extra step towards the garbage can near the door and drops the butt amidst the others in the lid, which doubles as an ashtray. A faint vein of smoke bleeds out until the dark sky laps it up entirely.

You look conflicted when he turns back in your direction. Clearly, you don’t want him to leave just yet, but asking him upstairs is likely way out of your pattern of behavior. Wooyoung sees two options: He could say goodnight and go; take a few steps towards his side of the city, and hope you to act even further out of character, or — 

“If you’re asking, I’m saying yes.”

— he could go off-script entirely.

Your apartment looks exactly the way Wooyoung expected it to. Everything is cozy; a far cry from the modern and monochrome edge of his place. It all makes sense, based on what he’s learned about you so far. Feels like you, although he’ll concede that you haven’t been felt by him just yet.

Each shelf features a tchotchke or framed photograph — or several — but not a single speck of dust. Likewise, the various potted plants you’ve displayed artfully around the space are well-kept. Flourishing, he assumes, despite the fact that he doesn’t know shit about fuck when it comes to plants.

His shoes, ratty in comparison to yours, are toed off at the door before he follows you further into the kitchen. You stop at the island, bottom lip between your teeth once again. Unsure, you nibble on it, like it’ll help you set your dizzy mind straight.

When Wooyoung inches closer to you, he does it slowly, even though every part of his body demands that he ramp up the pace. As badly as he wants his hands — and his teeth, and his tongue…— all over you now, he can’t be the jump scare that sets your little bunny heart to sprinting. The adrenaline is practically vibrating off your frame already with every step he takes in your direction.

Though you could, you don’t move further away, the nearer he gets. You stay put with the small of your back against the lip of the granite counter, hypnotized. Right where he wants you.

Once he’s close enough, Wooyoung tests the waters. You let him; your gaze clings to him so strongly that he feels the weight of it without reciprocating. With his thumb and forefinger, he traces the belt loop closest to your left hip, then tugs slightly, making your breath quicken for a moment. 

Eyes still focused on his own ministrations, he murmurs, “Am I the first stray you’ve ever brought home?”

You don’t answer with words. His gaze flicks upwards, and from under heavy-lidded eyes, he sees the tiny nod.

“Full of surprises.” He looks down again, purposely depriving you of eye contact, and moves his fingers from your belt loop so that the pad of his thumb brushes over the top of your jeans. There, the skin of your hip peeks out from under the denim, hot to the touch. “Not just sweet, are you?”

“Someone told me I needed a bad influence.”

The sudden re-introduction of your voice pulls his focus. You stare back at him boldly, and it feels like a dare. Both of his hands move to your hips now, simultaneously guiding you closer to his chest and keeping you pinned between his body and the island.

“You’ll miss your Sunday morning pilates, I fear,” he tuts with a slight shake of his head.

“You’ll make attending redundant, I hope.”

And then your mouth is on his, all tongue and teeth, while you card desperate fingers through his hair. It occurs to him, as he licks into your mouth, that the split-dyed strands you're clinging to are a microcosm. 

Black and white. 

Conflicting tastes, like sugar and salt, that only make sense together in certain contexts. Like this one — right here, right now — with the two of you tangled up in your half-lit kitchen, so caught up in exploration that inhibition takes the backseat. Steeping in the aftertaste of soju and cigarette smoke, scent heady like arousal.

You break the kiss to catch your breath but can’t make it very far. His teeth claim your bottom lip, pulling forth the softest little growl he’s ever heard.

“Fuck,” he echoes with a growl of his own. 

That’s it. Breathing is overrated. Wooyoung’s ready to suffocate, so long as you let him.

“Lay back on the counter.”

You’re stunned into silence for a second, and while you blink back at him, he wonders if you’ll actually let him eat you out where you eat. It’s objectively filthy, he knows, but he might drop dead where he stands if he has to wait another second — or take another step elsewhere — before he tastes you.

Your answer is a leap, figuratively and literally. The hands you’ve been using to cling to him each flatten palm-down on the island behind you. With his grip on your hips to boost you, you scramble to your new stage; and you shatter the conservative expectations he had for you in the process. 

A newfound confidence flashes in your eyes, making his stomach flip and his dick twitch. A patronizing frown graces your kiss-bitten lips. “You didn’t walk three kilometers here just to look at me, did you?”

He sure as shit didn’t. Still, he can’t help but bask in the odd sense of pride he feels in staring up at you on the pedestal he put you on. The more time you spend with him, the rougher you seem to get around the edges; and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t love the grit.

In lieu of a verbal response, Wooyoung locks eyes with you and gestures downward with the index finger of his right hand. You follow his silent command eagerly and without question; he keeps the praise you’ve earned on the tip of his tongue, saving it for later.

It takes less time than he expects to strip you of your jeans, most of which is attributed to slipping them off your ankles and dropping them blindly over his shoulder. They hit what he believes to be the range with a soft twack, then a barely audible crumple when they finally find the floor. 

Your lace underwear disappears in a similar fashion, albeit more eagerly. Couldn’t be helped, he thinks. That scrap of fabric was the last barrier between him and the thing he’s been craving most since he met you; and fuck, if you don’t exceed his expectations once again.

“Christ,” is all he can say.

It’s rare to find a pussy so perfect that it wipes out his vocabulary, let alone makes him want to weep. That’s exactly what’s waiting for him when you spread your thighs wide enough to accommodate his body between them. Really, the only thing driving him more insane than the sight of you is the thought of how many self-imposed rules you’ve broken to get to this point — the self-discipline you’ve thrown out the window on your way down to him.

He accepts the invitation, descends upon your wet heat like a man starved, and loops his arms underneath your thighs. Immediately, your thighs tighten around the sides of his head, muffling the groan that slips out of him the second your taste hits his tongue. Just the same, you’ve got him drunk in an instant while he laves his way through folds sweeter than cherry wine.

From under his own lashes, he looks up and sees yours flutter at the sensation of his lips encircling your clit and suckling slowly, deeply.

“Oh, my g-god,” you hiccup before your fingers are in his hair again, nails scratching perfectly along his scalp. “You’re so —” 

Wooyoung’s wickedly curved lips are slick in more ways than one, though he doubts you can see them through all those stars in your eyes. You don’t see the switch-up coming, either. Unwilling to let you race too far ahead of him, he scales it back, trading his deep pulls for targeted kitten licks.

“— evil.”

Your frustration rings out with a tortured whine. Wooyoung can’t blame you; he knows he’s cruel for guiding you so close to the edge, right out of the gate, then refusing to send you off of it. But he has to draw this out as long as he can, savor what he can for however long you give him.

And to your credit, you take it well. 

You give, too, offering up the moans, whimpers, and sighs he couldn’t have dreamed up correctly if he tried.

Well…

Wooyoung did try. Gave it his best shot, even, but his imagination fell short. He knows that now. The pitch was wrong, the timing was off, and he failed to anticipate just how badly it’d fuck him up to feel you grinding against his tongue. To have your fingers tied off in his hair, refusing to accept anything less than closeness.

That particular chorus swells for the first time when he unwinds his right arm from where it secures your left thigh; and his middle finger slides into your cunt, curls upwards to greet that spongy patch of nerves along your front wall. 

Eyes swimming with previously untapped desire, you look so pitifully perfect. Only breaking eye contact to throw your head back, you start to wail, “Wooyoung, I —” 

But the rest of that thought must turn to static before you can finish it. Charged silence settles in its place, save for your ragged breathing. All the while, his tongue never lets up on your poor, abused clit, though your arousal already has him coated, leaking down over the knuckle.

A particularly needy tug of his hair seeks what you can’t verbalize. 

More.

Closer.

When he adds his ring finger to fuck you further open for him, you can’t keep his name from spilling out of your mouth. Wooyoung starts to sound like a summoning spell; an invocation repeated so desperately that he just might give you what you want.

“W-Wooyoung, please,” you choke out, hips bucking up to chase his mouth. “I’m so close!”

The fact that you’re downright begging — on the brink of tears, no less — goes straight to his head. He lets up for a moment to purr, “Since you asked so nicely…”

The hand he doesn’t have half-buried in your heat grips your right hip, hard, securing you against the granite. It’s for the best, really. You jolt so much when he finally lets you cum that you could’ve knocked him out otherwise.

Not that he’d complain.

When the aftershocks peter out, and you gain back some control of your trembling limbs, you collapse back onto the countertop, chest heaving as your breath struggles to even out. One leg stays put, hinged over his shoulder, the best kind of dead weight; the other pools off the edge of the island, hanging limply.

Before pulling away entirely, Wooyoung presses an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, suckling slightly — just enough to leave a calling card, though he doesn’t want anyone but you to know it’s there.

“You fucking menace.”

Your eyes flutter open and catch the way he’s grinning, the lower half of his face otherwise shining with a mix of spit and slick. With you watching intently, he licks his lips, simpering, “Think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Deserved.” You sigh contentedly and close your eyes again for a second, but the blissed-out look on your face doesn’t dissipate. 

Wooyoung wonders if you’re holding onto the image of him between your thighs, replaying it behind your lids. The sight of you is going to haunt him — then and now, before and after. Even if your stamina is depleted now, his appetite’s been sated. He can survive off of this moment alone for weeks if necessary.

But you summon the strength to stretch your arms over your head, to moan breathily while you arch your back off the counter and ease the tension in your muscles. Then, in a burst of vitality, you sit upright. Eyes alight, you give him a smile to match.

“Help me down?”

As if he’d say no to a question asked that sweetly.

You wobble when your feet touch the ground again and thank him when he snakes an arm around your waist to steady you. With a nod in the direction of what Wooyoung assumes is your bedroom, you beckon him, “Come with me.”

“That’s been the plan, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at him — another first — and take his hand in yours. Fingers intertwined, you lead and he follows through the adjoining living room towards a door on the far side of the apartment. The pair of you barely cross the threshold into your bedroom before you turn and tug his hand, pulling him into a kiss.

“Do me a favor,” you murmur against his lips.

Wooyoung has no questions about that — the answer is yes, no matter what the favor is — but there is something he’s wondering about: when you open your mouth against his, can you taste yourself on his tongue?

Distracted by that thought, and the way your free hand makes its way to the button of his jeans, he nods. It gives him the opportunity to swallow down the groan that builds in his chest when you squeeze his still-clothed cock.

Your mouth leaves his then, drops to the side of his neck. Something about the light nip of your teeth below his ear makes his resolve start to crumble. It only gets harder when the warmth of your tongue flicks over his skin to soothe the sting. He sounds fucked out already when he sighs, “Anything.”

“Let me repay you for all those drinks you never charged me for.” Between kisses down the length of his neck, you purr, “Not exactly subtle, you know.”

He clenches his jaw to keep it from dropping. “Have I been hustled?” 

“Is it hustling if I offer to reimburse you?” 

Knowing damn well what it’ll do to him, you flutter your lashes against his skin, forcing him to fight off a shiver. There’s no hiding the rush of heat that follows; he doesn’t need to ask to know that you feel it creeping up his neck. “I’ll make up for it,” you promise. “Atone, and all that.”

Wooyoung reaches up and cups your jaw with his hand; you follow his direction and look up at him with excitement twinkling in your eyes, juxtaposing the deep black in his. “I’m charging interest,” he bites back. “The rates are astronomical.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed. Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

With a light smack on your ass, he sends you on your way. In the few seconds it takes you to skip over to your mattress and jump onto it, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, then tosses it aside. Before unbuckling his jeans and tearing those off, too, he snatches his wallet from the back pocket. More specifically, the condom he’s been keeping within just in case you ever decided to stoop to his level.

You’re a second away from drooling when he makes his way over and stops at the edge of the bed. That kind of hunger is yet another thing he failed to see coming. There’s something insatiable in your eyes now, darkening by the second. 

You reach out for the condom, but he pulls his hand back, holds it up where you can’t reach. Frustration makes your eyebrows pinch together. Out of context — if you weren’t naked, wet, and wanting him — he’d likely go out of his way to tell you how fucking cute you look when you’re annoyed. 

“Don’t pout at me, sweetheart.” Wooyoung’s warning tone is gravel-lined, sharp to the touch when it hits you. Whether you intend it or not, your breath hitches in tandem with your pupils dilating.  “I’ll let you do it, but I have one condition. Consider it a repayment term.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “And what’s that?”

“No hands.”

The surprised look he was counting on never comes. He gets sheer determination instead. You pull the packet from between his fingers, rip the foil open with your teeth, and flick the empty wrapper onto your nightstand. Not a second is wasted in you tugging his black briefs down his thighs.

You don’t deal in unpaid debts, either, it seems.

What happens next nearly puts him in an early grave. Wooyoung fucking wishes for a fly on the wall to witness you — someone else to memorialize the finesse you exhibit in working that latex down his length with your mouth alone — because he can’t believe his own eyes. In fact, he has to screw them shut to keep from cumming at the sight of you with his dick down your throat, lips flush to his pelvis.

“My god,” he groans, head dipping backwards. “If that’s how good your fucking mouth feels…”

You give him a second to pull himself together. Then, you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him. He drops into the space you were occupying just a second ago, and as soon as his back hits the mattress, you steady yourself with your palms on his chest and position yourself over him.

Now, he can’t keep his hands to himself. His fingertips scratch up your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the fastidiously trained muscles underneath his touch. Palms gliding up the curve of your ass, then your waist, then those fucking tits.

“Shit,” you mewl. He lightly pinches your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, spurring you on to rake your nails over the flesh of his chest. The way he tenses under your touch must embolden you. “Play with me all you want, but I need you inside of me now.”

Wooyoung has no idea where this assertiveness came from, but he’ll be goddamned if he doesn’t give you everything you want and then some. To prove that you’ve earned the lot, you line yourself up and take everything he has. 

Somehow, you manage to take his vision, too. The world gets blurry as your heat envelopes him; everything in the periphery blackens until all that’s left is you throwing your head back in pleasure. No other light, no noise beyond the obscene sound of your pussy soaking his length and the collision of your perfect ass against the tops of his thighs.

As strong as you are, Wooyoung knows your orgasm will wipe you out long before your body tires. He sees your eyes start to roll back in your head, even when you put your palms down behind you and lean away from him to perfect the angle. 

Not good enough, he decides. He wants to watch your pupils blow when you fall apart.

“C’mere,” he rasps. 

Fuck, he’s about to break, too. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You push off your hands and move to lean in, but you wind up crumpling against his chest, immediately overwhelmed by the depths of his strokes when you re-enter his gravity. With the proximity perfected, every movement that follows is desperate — animalistic, even. Clinging fingers, sweat slicked bodies swapping searing heat. He lifts his hips to drive himself further into you with every downbeat, sets a pace so punishing that he has you speaking in tongues.

When you cum the second time, the moan that rips through you almost sounds like a sob. It really might be. The droplets on your cheeks are either tears or sweat; one or both would be justified, considering the show you just put on for him.

Shit, how you managed to blow his world to pieces just by walking into his bar, he’ll never understand. All he knows is that when he cums — not long after you — and his entire fucking body goes numb, you’re there on the other side of the cataclysm to kiss him back to life.

Sweet.

When you wake up, you don’t even have a guess as to what time it is. That’s your fault, you know. You didn’t think to connect your phone to its charger prior to falling asleep in a mess of sheets. The numerous alarms you always keep set didn’t go off, obviously, but right now, that’s the least of your worries. 

Until your phone has enough juice to power back on, you won’t know if Wooyoung texted you before sneaking out of your apartment.

You’d taken it as a good sign when he asked for your number in a fucked-out haze. Now, you realize, that naivety of yours was operating in full swing, even when the rest of you was down for the count. That’s what one-night-stands are for, you tell yourself. That’s the decision you made.

Uncharacteristically, you’re tempted to spend the rest of your day — however much of it is left — rotting in bed. It’s an urge you’ll give in to, you can already tell; just like the one that got you here in the first place. The only thing stronger than the call of your bed is the grumbling of your stomach, begging for sustenance.

Sighing loudly, you throw your comforter off your lower half and wiggle towards the edge of your bed. Bare feet meet the braided rug below, then unsteady legs do their best to get their bearings. As you ache, you realize that you need to give credit where it’s due:

You’re currently in the best shape of your life, and Wooyoung still managed to fuck the constitution out of you.

You bend slowly to scoop a shirt from your untouched laundry basket, groaning all the while. On its own, it’s long enough to cover your ass, so you don’t bother to dress yourself further — except for the fuzzy slippers waiting next to your bedroom door.

It’s closed, you note when you finally bother to look at it. It wasn’t when you fell into bed with Wooyoung. He probably didn’t want to disturb you on the way out, you figure. This would strike you as thoughtful if it didn’t feel like a chapter ending too soon. Reaching out to reopen it, you tell yourself to be less sentimental.

In the living room, laying eyes on an empty kitchen, you also tell yourself, I told you so. This isn’t a drama, after all. There’s no love interest in your kitchen to cook you an unexpected breakfast. 

Pre-made frozen breakfast sandwich it is, then.

You tear open the package with more effort than you should’ve needed to expend, then dump the single-serving lump onto a paper plate. As if on autopilot, you shove the plate into the microwave and smash a few buttons without registering much of it. The quiet hum of the machine nearly lulls you straight back to sleep.

Well, it likely could have.

The metallic rattling up the hall catches your attention, prompting you to step backwards so you can peer over at your front door and confirm that it’s locked. It is. You turn back to your breakfast in progress, and it takes five (5) entire seconds before you realize the issue here.

Keys jingle with more determination, right on cue. You spin around fully this time, eyes wide, to find Wooyoung in your doorway. He holds the door open with his elbow because both his hands are full; and as if that all wasn’t enough, he tries to toe off his shoes without being able to see them over the cardboard to-go tray in his hands.

“Fucking —” he grunts, wobbling. 

It must’ve been louder than he intended because he winces immediately. In his moment of panic, his eyes flick over to your bedroom door. Then, when he realizes it’s open, they search for you, blinking in surprise when they find you. He peeps, “Oh.”

As it turns out, his ability to make you lose your words isn’t limited to late hours. The sun is beating through the sliding glass door to your balcony, and you confirm that you’re just as dumbstruck by him in daylight. So, you simply point to the drinks and paper bag he’s holding with your eyebrows pinched in confusion.

“Found that café you go to on Tuesdays,” Wooyoung explains gruffly. His morning voice is every bit as ruinous as you imagined it would be. “The logo on their cups is just a cloud, so it took a lot of wandering to solve that fucking mystery.”

This time, it’s you who peeps. “Oh?”

It’s then that he finally succeeds in getting his shoes off. With his hip, he nudges the door shut; your key ring chimes in the process, having been attached to his belt loop. In a few steps, he sets his burdens down on the kitchen island and looks up at you with a wicked glint in his eye. Apparently, his immediate thought is the same as yours. Simpering, he picks everything back up and makes for your living room’s coffee table instead.

“I’m glad to report that the green shit you drink doesn’t include algae or moss.” He lifts a smoothie from the carrier and holds it out to you, flashing you a smile that makes your knees wobble. “However, I regret to inform you that it does contain vegetables.”

If you try any harder to bite back your idiotic grin, you might lose your lips. “Did you — did you really think there was moss in it?”

He waves his hand dismissively. Notably, he doesn’t say no. That hand then lowers, finger crooked to beckon you closer. You move in, and you try to focus on the moment in front of you, rather than the obscene flashbacks the gesture gives you. The knowing look you expect doesn’t follow, though. Wooyoung simply places your drink in your left hand and your keys in your right.

“Sorry for borrowing those without asking or — well, notifying you in any way, whatsoever.” He grimaces. “I figured I’d be gone for a minute, and I didn’t want someone to waltz through your unlocked door and wake you up.”

“Was burglary on that list of concerns, or is sleep truly your main priority?”

At this, he grins like an idiot. “You’re getting better at that, you know.”

The look on your face must convey your confusion. 

“I like the version of you that doesn’t pull punches,” he continues, sounding almost embarrassed to admit something about himself.

You take a move from his playbook and slide your finger through his belt loop, tugging him forward until he’s squarely within kissing distance. “This Wooyoung?” You murmur, “The one who got up early to hunt down a smoothie he’s disgusted by? Objectively likable.”

He rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t distract from the pink tint overtaking his cheeks. “I don’t know about that.”

You kiss him before he can offer to agree to disagree. And when you finally pull back, you nod firmly. “He might be sweet enough for me.”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

ateez masterlist. multi masterlist. navigation.

tagging: @jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz @sourkimchi @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon (also paging @moni-logues because i feel like woo is our sister wife, lmfao.)

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello again everyone! Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support for the last part of the "Merlin accidentally conquers Camelot" au! I've had so much fun writing this au, and I'm so glad that you've all enjoyed it too! This will probably be the final part of this au (for now), since I have more au ideas to share with you all, but I'll probably revisit this au some day! For now, I'm approaching two pretty big tumblr milestones, so I'm working on an extra-special au to post in celebration of those (and I won't give anything away, but I think that this new au may be my best one yet, so stay tuned)!

Also, warning, this one is a long post! Be prepared!

Now, onto part four of this au! You can find part one here, part two here, and part three here!

As it turned out, planning a royal wedding was no easy feat.

Merlin had thought that simply adding a quick and (hopefully) painless wedding ceremony at the end of his coronation would make everything go smoothly. After all, the castle would already be decorated, they'd already have all of the important lords in attendance, and everything needed for a consort's coronation ceremony would already be there.

However, when Merlin announced to the lords and the steward in charge of preparing his coronation ceremony that he'd also need a quick wedding and coronation to take Arthur as his consort, they reacted with so much shock and horror that Merlin thought for a second that he'd accidentally announced that he was ordering their executions instead. The only person in the council room who didn't look like death itself had just appeared before him was Gwaine, who took advantage of he shocked silence following Merlin's proclamation to start laughing so uncontrollably that he doubled over and had to grab the wall for support.

Merlin had expected some shock and pushback from the council at his decision, not... this. All of the lords on the council had gone as pale as parchment, some trembling in their seats with fear. What on earth...

"Sire," the ever-unflappable Geoffrey called out, jolting Merlin from his confusion at the state of terror that had gripped the other council members, "while such a marriage would not be unlawful, it would certainly be unprecedented. I'm not questioning your judgement, I know that establishing yourself as a strong ruler this early in your reign is paramount, but are you sure that this is the best way to go about it? I'm certain that the citizens of Camelot will accept you as their rightful ruler as soon as they witness their true power for themselves, so taking the former king as your war prize isn't entirely necessary to show your dominance over the land."

The lords grew several shades paler at Geoffrey's words, and the trembling councilman sitting next to Geoffrey leaned in to fearfully hiss something into the librarian's ear. Merlin watched with growing confusion as Geoffrey's eyes went wide at whatever had just been whispered to him, and he rushed to speak once more.

"Of course, if this decision was made as some form of revenge or humiliation towards the Pendragon line, that is well within your right as a conqueror, Your Majesty. We would simply advise you to take the disgraced king as a concubine, perhaps, instead of your official consort. As a ruler, you must now also consider the issue of one day producing legitimate heirs, which can only be borne to you through your consort."

Merlin blinked, desperately trying to follow whatever logic Geoffrey was using. Take Arthur as a concubine?! Had the old man gone insane?! And Merlin certainly wasn't concerned about heirs, since if he got his way, then his reign wouldn't last longer than this week!

Still, with most of the council looking like they were being plagued by waking nightmares, they weren't likely to listen to Merlin's very reasonable objections to being king in the first place, so Merlin just had to get them off his back until the wedding.

After a deep sigh, which made most of the council members flinch back with a still confusing amount of fear, Merlin addressed Geoffrey's concerns.

"Thank you for your input, but I'm afraid that my decision has already been made on this... issue. I will be taking Arthur as my consort at my coronation, and my decision is final. And don't concern yourself with the topic of heirs, that will be sorted out shortly."

Several lords choked on the air at Merlin's last comment, with a couple outright fainting at his words. Merlin's brows furrowed even more with befuddlement. What... what had he said that garnered such a reaction?! He was just telling them not to worry about it!

(Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Merlin, the lords had a very different idea of what their new king- a powerful, brutal warlord and sorcerer- had planned. They interpreted Merlin's intent to marry Arthur as an act of revenge against the son of the man who killed off so many of his people during the purge. It apparently wasn't enough for the mighty Emrys to defeat his enemy and leave him with nothing to his name. No, this ruthless new king of theirs planned on forcing the former king into a life of humiliation and servitude in the court that was once his own. To a king, that must be a fate worse than death.

These lords, who were some of the most active and complicit members of Uther's purge, looked at the punishment that Emrys had planned for Arthur and thought if that's what happened to the king, what's he going to do to us?!)

The days went by quickly after that meeting, with Merlin's time being filled with a never-ending list of his new duties and things that needed to be done before his coronation, not to mention organizing the coronation itself and the subsequent wedding (which Arthur didn't know about yet, as Merlin had been deliberately avoiding the dungeons after his last conversation with Arthur).

It took the better part of a week for everything to finally be prepared for the official coronation ceremony. The ceremony itself would consist of Merlin being crowned in front of the court (a nauseating thought for Merlin himself), the vassal lords and knights willing to swear fealty to him taking the oath of loyalty, and finally Arthur being handfasted to Merlin and crowned consort.

Merlin was, for once, thankful for the amount of work that he had to do over the days leading up to the ceremony, as it kept his mind busy and his thoughts away from the pit of self-loathing that had taken up permanent residence in his head. After all, what kind of friend stole everything from the person they love the most in the world and then turns around and forces that same friend (and unrequited crush) to marry them?!

Merlin had attempted to rationalize his selfish decision to keep Arthur in the dark regarding his plan to reinstate him as king by telling himself that if Arthur didn't know about the wedding until the last minute, then he would spend less time worrying about it in the long run after he was king again! Besides, if Merlin's plan worked, they would only be married for a day or two, so there was no reason to get Arthur worked up over that by telling him earlier!

Truly, Merlin was not being a complete scumbag by doing this, he was just looking out for his friend's best interests and mental wellbeing! This would all blow over in a a matter of days anyways, Merlin was certain of it.

Still, Merlin found himself anxious and pacing the floor of his room on the morning of the ceremony. He had sent a team of servants and guards to retrieve Arthur from his cell and prepare him for the ceremony, so he likely wouldn't see Arthur until he was brought into the great hall for the handfasting ceremony. However, he still worried over Arthur's reaction when he learned what exactly when was being prepared for.

This worry lingered in Merlin's mind and consumed his thoughts throughout the entire day and into the coronation ceremony, so much so that his own coronation seemed like a blur to him. One moment he was standing in the great hall in front of the assembled crowd of lords and knights, and in the next, he was sitting on Arthur's throne with Arthur's crown on his head, with the crowd shouting "long live the king".

The sound of it almost made Merlin sick. Those words should never be directed at him, but he'd make this right soon enough. He just had to suffer through this ceremony to appease those disloyal lords who had turned their backs on their true king.

Perhaps the worst part of the coronation itself was the ceremony in which the lords and knights willing to pledge their fealty to him took an oath declaring such. It was no surprise to Merlin to see those weasels on the council of lords pledging themselves to save their own skin, but the knights who showed up to pledge their fealty were... very unexpected.

Look, Merlin had assumed that it would just be Gwaine and a small handful of guards and younger knights that he had roped into his mischievous scheme swearing loyalty so him. All of the other knights with their wits intact would surely still be down in the cells of the dungeon, holding true to their prior oaths of loyalty and keeping their true king company.

What Merlin did not expect, however, was for nearly a quarter of all of Camelot's knights to take a knee before him and pledge their loyalty, led by a highly amused Gwaine, who was no doubt enjoying every minute of this. Merlin quickly scanned the crowd of knights, trying to take count of who all had turned their backs on Arthur and could no longer be trusted.

Gwaine, of course, came at no surprise. Many of those assembled were commoner knights whom Arthur had taken in, including Percival, but the giant regularly got pulled into Gwaine's nonsense, so this wasn't truly that much of a shock if Merlin thought about it. There were a fair number of noble-born knights in the crowd, including all of those whom Merlin had noted had a softer outlook on magic. And then, of course, there were a decent number of pompous, high-born knights who had never given a lick about magic or loyalty, they just wanted to preserve their own wealth and power no matter the cost.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the cluster of those knights. All the rest had logical reasons to side with Merlin, between Gwaine's persuasiveness, solidarity between the lower class, or a connection or sympathy towards magic, so they would be allowed to stay in court after Arthur had retaken his rightful throne. But these knights? These cowardly snakes had to be dealt with at the first opportunity. But how could he get rid of them without people becoming suspicious?

... Wait a minute, Merlin was king now! He might only have that title for a day or so, but in that time, he could certainly use it! (And he absolutely was not using this as a tactic to prolong this part of the ceremony so that he had a few more minutes of peace before the wedding began.)

Right, but how was he going to play this? He couldn't exactly just announce that he wanted those knights to leave because he wanted them gone before Arthur took over again.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the group of treacherous knights and noted how they squirmed a bit under his gaze, with even some of the people around them shuddering. Right, he looked like a ruthless and powerful sorcerer to them now. He could use that to his advantage.

As the knights finished reciting their oaths, Merlin held up his hand, signaling for them to stay in place. The knights did so, but a confused and concerned murmuring started buzzing around at this strange departure from the normal ceremony. Slowly, Merlin lifted his hand and pointed at the assembled group of knights in the back.

"You lot. In the back."

The murmuring died down the instant Merlin opened his mouth and was instead replaced by an oppressive dread weighing down the ornately decorated hall. If Merlin wasn't trying so hard to keep a straight, intimidating face, he would have winced at causing such a wave of fear with nothing more than a few words.

Hesitantly, one of the called out knights stepped forward, addressing their new king.

"Yes, your majesty? Is there something you require of us?"

Merlin held back the urge to smirk as an idea, and a very satisfying one at that, formed in his head. He quietly cleared his throat and put on his most imperious "Emrys" voice that he could muster.

"I can sense insincerity in your hearts with my magic. Just as you abandoned the previous king, you would also turn your backs on me at the first opportunity to do so. Do not even attempt to deny it, you know just as well as I do that this true. I cannot trust any such men as knights of mine."

The group of knights went pale as Merlin called them out for their flimsy loyalty, and at once whispers began fly in the crowd. Perhaps they were intrigued by this show of his "powers"? Were they scandalized by this public shaming of a group of high-ranking knights?

Either way, the knights immediately began groveling, begging Merlin to let them keep their positions, their wealth, their power, but Merlin dismissed them with a wave of a hand and publicly revoked their knighthoods. The murmuring of the remaining people in the great hall grew louder as the disgraced former knights made their way out of the hall, no doubt intimidated and scandalized by how quickly their new ruler was purging his court of the disloyal.

However, with the loyal knights having taken their oaths and the untrustworthy ones having been cast out, the coronation ceremony was now officially complete, meaning that Merlin could no longer stall what would come next.

Merlin sat still on his stolen throne, trying his best not to fidget with nervousness as Geoffrey gave some traditional speech that had to be done before the doors of the great hall opened to let consort walk down the aisle to the throne.

After a couple minutes, Geoffrey's monotonous voice became nothing but a buzzing in Merlin's ears as he stared at the doors of the hall, desperately trying to imagine any scenario where those doors wouldn't open to an Arthur who was filled with nothing but rage and betrayal.

All too soon, Geoffrey's droning speech ended, and the trumpets in the hall announced the arrival of the soon-to-be-consort and signaled for everyone of lower rank to stand. Merlin's heart leapt to his throat as he jumped to his feet, even though he was the only person in the room who didn't need to. Ever so slowly, the doors to the hall swung open, revealing... Arthur.

Merlin damn near choked on his own saliva at the sight of him. He had seen Arthur in a wide range of states over the years as his manservant, ranging anywhere from sleep-rumbled to solemnly prepared for battle. But this... he had never seen anything like it.

Merlin couldn't decide if whoever had been in charge of dressing Arthur and preparing him for the ceremony ought to either be promoted to Arthur's personal tailor or immediately banished. In place of Arthur's usual surcoat and chainmail for official ceremonies, which was what Merlin had foolishly assumed the servants would dress Arthur in, there was... a monstrosity that would haunt Merlin's dreams for the rest of his life.

Merlin didn't even know how to begin to describe it. The garment that the servants had no doubt forced Arthur into, as Merlin knew that he would never wear such a thing of his own accord, was somewhere between a set of intricately intertwined robes and a dress, which hugged Arthur's shoulders, upper arms, and thighs, highlighting the muscles there. Most of the outfit appeared to be made out of a rich velvet, dyed in a majestic royal blue that both looked entirely out of place on Arthur and brought out his eyes like nothing Merlin had ever seen before. And dear gods, was that lace on there?! And why the hell did the outfit need elbow-length lace gloves?!

(The servants who had been in charge of dressing Arthur for the ceremony had assumed that their brutal new warlord would probably want his war prize to look as far from a warrior as possible, in order to further prove that he had beaten the previous rulers. So, they selected a delicate and elegant outfit for Arthur in the hopes of appeasing their new king.)

Merlin swallowed dryly as Arthur slowly began making his way down the aisle with measured footsteps. The movement snapped Merlin out of whatever temporary madness the outfit had sent him spiraling into, and Merlin finally locked eyes with Arthur.

Merlin winced at the sheer amount of rage that Arthur managed to fit into one glare as he took another step towards the throne that was rightfully his. Merlin tried to give Arthur his most reassuring smile, but he was almost certain it only came across as a nervous grimace.

Just go along with this, Merlin tried to beg of Arthur with only his eyes. Their bond had always been one that allowed them to communicate without words, and Merlin prayed that their connection would hold strong once more and get his message across to Arthur.

Neither Arthur's impressive glare nor his furious scowl let up though, but he kept his pace towards the throne steady, which Merlin decided to take as a good sign. After all, if Arthur truly did not any merit to this impromptu plan, why would he still be walking of his own accord towards the altar?

Still, as Arthur grew closer and closer to the altar prepared for the handfasting, his eyes became darker with rage as Merlin winced. Yes, this would certainly be harder than it needed to be, but this had to be done to get Arthur back on the throne! Surely Arthur would understand that!

After what must have been an eternity, Arthur finally reached the altar and, ever so slowly, walked around to stand at a fidgeting Merlin's side.

As Geoffrey began yet another speech that had to be done before the handfasting took place, Merlin quietly turned to Arthur and gave him a small smile, trying to a least let Arthur know that everything was alright, that everything would turn out fine.

That little smile, it seemed, turned out to be the final straw for Arthur. Merlin wasn't even entirely sure how it happened.

One moment, he was standing next to Arthur in front of the altar, with the only sound in the room being Geoffrey's boring voice. And in the next, there was a savage war cry coming from Arthur, who was now armed with a sword, and a decent amount of screaming coming from the crowd.

It spoke volumes about Merlin's state of mind that his first thought upon seeing Arthur run at him with a blade in hand wasn't get back, dodge! but was rather that dress is tight, where on earth did he hide that sword?

However, Merlin's sense of self-preservation wasn't nearly as terrible as Gaius accused it of being, as his second thought was I should probably try to avoid getting stabbed at my own wedding.

Reluctantly, Merlin gathered his magic, ready to disarm Arthur and hold him still if need be. Arthur could stab Merlin later if he really felt like it, but Merlin needed to at least officially make Arthur his consort and heir before Arthur did that!

However, to Merlin's surprise, rather than trying to run Merlin through, Arthur instead stabbed at the wooden handfasting altar, sinking his blade deep into it. Merlin carefully kept his eyes on Arthur as the other man viciously pulled off one of the dainty lace gloves and threw it on the ground at Merlin's feet.

Dumbfounded, Merlin stared at the thrown glove on the floor and then looked back up to stare at Arthur, not quite getting what Arthur was trying to tell him here. Did he just really hate the outfit? Or was it this whole marriage plan that he objected to?

"Pick it up."

"Huh?"

Arthur nearly started growling, his rage apparently rising with Merlin's confusion.

"It may not be a proper gauntlet, since you have denied me such a dignity, but it will suffice for this. Pick it up, King Emrys. I challenge you to a duel in single combat for the throne of Camelot. You may have defeated my sister, but you did not defeat me! I am no prize for you to claim!"

Merlin simply blinked, completely thrown off by this turn of events, while loud shouts started erupting from the crowd. By the time his mind caught up to what Arthur had said, Arthur had taken up his sword from where he had struck it into the altar and was pointing it threateningly at Merlin again.

As Merlin's shock wore off and he finally understood what exactly Arthur had just done, he had to fight back the urge to scream into the sky with frustration as yet another one of his plans to reinstate Arthur as king had just been ruined by the obstinate clotpole himself. Couldn't the prat just let Merlin help?!

With his frustration rising, Merlin glared down at the thrown glove. While a duel would certainly allow Arthur to retake the throne, Merlin wasn't entirely sure how his magic would react to such a fight. Merlin would never consciously hurt Arthur of course, but who knows if his magic would strike out in self-defense?!

And, besides, formally accepting and preparing the duel would take days. And, in Merlin's opinion, this whole farce has gone on for long enough.

"No. I will not accept your challenge."

Arthur's face went red with anger at Merlin's refusal.

"You are just as much of a coward as the rest of your kind, sorcerer! You would not even grant me the opportunity to take back what's mine!"

Merlin bit back a frustrated scream at that. Arthur would be getting his throne back if he just followed through with any of Merlin's plans instead of ruining threm!

Merlin took a deep breath and sighed on the exhale, trying the rein in his own anger. He just needed to go through with this ceremony, and then everything would be fine.

With a quick flash of gold in his eyes, which had Arthur flinching back (and didn't that just sting?), Merlin turned Arthur's blade into dust had Arthur's glove fly back onto his hand, setting everything right as it had been before Arthur had pulled out a sword and all hell had broken loose.

"That's enough! I've been trying to restore you to your rightful position as king this entire time, and yet you push back at every opportunity! I am not about to let you sabotage your own destiny! So, here's what's going to happen!"

Distantly, Merlin heard the wind outside whipping around, like his own frustration and stirred nature itself into a frenzy.

"You are going to stand here, complete this ceremony, be named my heir, and then retake your throne when I abdicate! Are we clear?"

Arthur, who still looked rather shaken at Merlin's display of magic, scowled, but still nodded his head. Merlin, satisfied by this, turned back around to face the shocked crowd.

"And do I make myself clear to all of you?! There will be no more interruptions of this ceremony, and Arthur will take back his throne!"

The frightened crowd went silent at Merlin's outburst, seemingly relenting to Merlin's demands.

Merlin then turned to Geoffrey, who was still standing in front of the handfasting altar with the rope in his hands.

"Now, Geoffrey, I would greatly appreciate it if you would get a move on here. I don't want to wear this stupid crown for any longer than I have to."

The only indication that Geoffrey gave that he was surprised by Merlin's outburst was a mere uptake of his eyebrows, rather reminiscent of Gaius's signature look. Without further ado, Geoffrey tied Merlin and Arthur's hands together, declaring them to be now married in the eyes of the gods of the Old Religion.

(Merlin tried to ignore the hurt and longing that built up in his heart in that moment. How many times had he dreamed of something like this? But he never wanted it to happen like this. This was Merlin's dream come true, but it was all wrong. In that moment, Merlin didn't dare look at Arthur, too afraid of what his dearest friend thought about this grievous overstep of boundaries.)

Immediately after Geoffrey untied the handfasting knot, Arthur's coronation as consort began. The ceremony itself went smoothly, but Merlin's heart broke both at the sight of Arthur kneeling before him, waiting to be crowned, and at the furious glare Arthur gave him as he gently put the consort's crown upon Arthur's head, officially naming Arthur as his heir.

As soon as Arthur stood from where he was kneeling, applause broke out from the crowd. Someone (Merlin heavily suspected Gwaine) started a chant of "long live the kings!", which caught on quickly. Merlin winced again at the chant, not daring to turn and look at Arthur's face.

Still, Merlin reminded himself as he took a deep, calming breath, everything was coming along. Arthur was now officially his consort and heir, and all that was left to do... was the copious amounts of paperwork finalizing his abdication.

Yeah, no. Merlin wasn't going through that process when he could just take care of it here and now.

"Citizens of Camelot, on this most joyous day, I, King Emrys, abdicate the throne!"

Even though he had made his intentions clear only a few minutes earlier, shocked whispers flew around the crowd, like they hadn't truly believed that he would go through with it.

Merlin couldn't help the grin that was forming on his face. Finally, everything would be set right again!

"I am no longer your king, and as per the laws of the kingdom, the throne now rightfully belongs to your true king, Arthur Pendragon!"

With that, Merlin reached up and yanked the crown off of his own head, marched over to a dumbfounded Arthur and, without any hesitation, replaced the consort's crown on Arthur's head with the true crown.

"There, that's much better," Merlin whispered to himself as he gazed upon Arthur, finally looking like himself again, but he was certain that Arthur must have heard it too, as Arthur's eyes went wide at his words.

But that was a conversation for another day, as Merlin was now done here. This entire calamity was over, and now Merlin was going to savor its end.

Merlin turned back to face the crowd once more with an undoubtedly crazed grin.

"Goodnight everyone! Be sure to obey your true king! In the meanwhile, I'm off to bed for my first full night's rest since this nightmare started!"

And with that, Merlin merrily skipped out of the great hall, made his way to his cramped room in Gaius's chambers, and slept soundly.

Bonus Scene!

THE NEXT DAY:

Arthur: Busts into Merlin's room

Merlin, unwillingly woken up from the best sleep he's gotten in years: Ugh, what do you want you prat?! You're king again, aren't you?! Don't you have kingly duty to be attending to?

Arthur: Merlin you idiot, you abdicated the throne.

Merlin: Yes, and now you're king again. You're welcome!

Arthur: But you never dissolved our union!

Merlin: Huh?

Arthur: A divorce can only be granted by the same ruler who authorized the marriage! You know what this means, right?!

Merlin: Yeah, that you can just declare us to be not married anymore and we can all be on our way.

Arthur: No, YOU were the ruler who authorized the marriage, and now that you've abdicated, you can't dissolve the marriage! Legally, no one can!

Merlin, turning pale: What?

Arthur, looking weary: Yes, apparently it's some legal technicality that Geoffrey cited from Bruta's code. I've spent all morning arguing with him, but there seems to be no way around it.

Merlin: So... what you're saying is that we're stuck being married to each other.

Arthur: Yes, you buffoon, that's exactly what I'm saying! Now, get up!

Merlin, feeling incredibly guilty over this entire situation: Arthur, I'm so sorry, I take full responsibility for this, I never should have forced you into-

Arthur, cutting him off: Let's go. We don't have much time before the rest of the castle is up and about, and I'd rather us not be seen here.

Merlin, confused but complying: Arthur, where are we going? Why don't you want us to be seen here?

Arthur, blushing: It would reflect poorly on the king if word got out that he let his consort sleep in this dirty broom closet on their wedding night, wouldn't it?

Merlin, blushing: Ah, I suppose it would.

And that's a wrap for this au for now! I hope you've all enjoyed this story!

A huge thank you for everyone who asked for this continuation! (and holy cow there were a lot of you!! Thank you all so much!)

@magic-mushroomss @miyriu @whole-buncha-snakess @achillesuwu @aerismoon

@tidalwavesandthunderstorms @marki9 @isaidno @retro-wallflower @samwinjester

@lascienzadellafantasia @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @theoldfroglady @ryeallytired @mind-of-a-crow

@whynotreinventmyselfeveryday @likeapaperplane @odinjm @orliththedragon @aglmry

@caraspud @aostrek-236 @justaz @slippysalt @coffee-shop-gay

@the-king-and-the-druidess @theroundbartable @fanfic-library-for-me @linotheghost @scuttlingsleipnir

@guiltyscarlet @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu @247merthur @veryroadpartystatesman-blog @verxen

@lascienzadellafantasia @jareicanon @arrowlovesdragons @juliairian @thesuperstitiousoldelf

@lovermyme @bootprivileges @rem-the-moth @hippielittlemetalhead @ole-to-you-nonetheless

@lordmushroomkat @starchaos01 @reynaharmonia @anastasia0614 @starlight-crow

@wheneverfeasible @savlikesbluengreen @fuckingdeadinsidetm @notquitehumanwrites @purplesandwichtiger

@rocks-d-xerxes @olli-is-a-fish @luluzealand2565 @dangerhumming @tireddruid

@spiralingtowardtheabyss @mundaneone @anxiousdragoncollector @catface233 @bennedict

@elementalpirate4 @bertolio @vadis-protenus @chaosofbelievers @floating-on-avalon

@merthurogies @justaz

And, as always, thank you all for reading through my ramblings! :D

I'll see you all next time!

[theamberfist]

Susan Repellant | Alastor + Gen Z! Reader HC's

Platonic! Alastor with a Gen Z! Reader

Description: Alastor avoided you at first, but when he found out your mere presence was enough to keep Susan away, he quickly changed his tune.

Notes: (CW Alastor, Susan) (gender neutral reader) (mentions of cannibalism) (Gen Z Reader)

Words: 1,005

♡ No one knows how or why you ended up hell; just that you're here now. You're pretty new, and you don't talk about your backstory much

♡ They also have no idea how you ended up at the hotel. One day you just appeared and everyone kind of accepted it; especially because Charlie saw a lot of potential for redemption with a younger sinner

♡ It quickly became apparent that you were the most Gen Z to ever Gen Z

♡ Your slang, style of dress, and mannerisms really showed it, and at first Alastor avoided you for this reason

♡ He would never admit it, being the great and powerful Radio Demon, but he was terrified of you because he could never understand what the fuck you were saying and doing

♡ Also you seemed weirdly unafraid of him???

♡ Eventually, he came to attribute it to the fact that you had zero sense of self preservation. You once told him "if you killed me I would just respawn like a video game character" and because he doesn't know what that means, he's vowed to never do so and find out

♡ Charlie took notice of the fact that Alastor always avoided you. When you were in the lobby, he suddenly had an extremely important errand to run elsewhere. When you tried to talk to him, he was suddenly melting away into the shadows. When you were out of the hotel for the day, he seemed significantly more relaxed

♡ She, however, attributed this avoidance to him and you not getting along. So, she started creating situations to force Alastor to interact with you

♡ You didn't seem to care but he sure did

♡ Once, he was heading to Cannibal Town to go see Rosie for the day and just as he was halfway out the door, Charlie pulled you over and shoved you at him; suggesting he bring you with since you hadn't left the hotel (or your hotel room, for that matter) in several days. With that, she slammed the door behind you

♡ Alastor begrudgingly brought you with him, but refused to walk on the same side of the street as you. He remained a ways behind you and on the opposite side, claiming he "simply could not be seen with weaker sinners in public." In reality, he was too afraid to get near you and refused to give you the advantage of being behind him where he couldn't see you

♡ Finally, you got to Cannibal Town, where Alastor basically turned you lose and then went to rant to Rosie about how he'd had to bring you along

♡ She found his fear of you very funny and couldn't really relate to his fear because I think she's a lot more with the times than him. They had some tea and cannibal cakes together, but halfway through their conversation, there was a commotion outside that prompted both Alastor and Rosie to stand up and go check it out

♡ There, they saw you in the middle of the town, facing off against Susan with the rest of the cannibals crowded around you both in a circle

♡ You were both essentially tossing insults back and forth. She would comment about your 'distasteful' style of dress and you would simply reply with "okay, boomer" or something along the lines. She, like Alastor, had no idea what any of your slang meant and seemed to feel just as threatened by it

♡ Finally, Susan made an extra nasty comment about you and you started coming towards her, rolling up your sleeves and asking a nearby cannibal to 'hold your earrings'

♡ Susan immediately scrambled back before you could reach her, and that was when Alastor realized he might be able to use this dynamic to his advantage

♡ Rosie ended up breaking you both up, and you and Alastor left Cannibal Town soon after. It seemed like he'd now gotten over his own initial fear of you, because he came right up and walked beside you down the street, asking how you felt about the old woman

♡ When you told him you and Susan now had "serious beef" (which he assumed was a negative thing), he knew something very beautiful could be born from this awful day

♡ After that, Alastor stopped avoiding you. He was still cautious, but he would interact with you enough to maintain at least a neutral relationship

♡ In Alastor's eyes, you were akin to a feral cat. He mostly left you alone unless you approached him first, but would occasionally bring you small trinkets or gifts he thought you'd like as a way to maintain peace

♡ Think you sitting casually on the couch and Alastor approaches with a gift in hand, carefully extending it to you with one hand while keeping the rest of his body as far back as physically possible. When you can't reach what he's trying to give you, he just tosses it at your feet and runs

♡ Now, though, Alastor can walk through Cannibal Town with no fear of possibly running into an ornery old bitch. Why? Because (scary dog privileges) he has his own personal Susan repellant

♡ Whenever you're nearby, Susan stays as far away form you as possible. When she does come near, the two of you start beefing and she ignores Alastor anyway, which is also a win for him

♡ He refuses to visit Cannibal Town without you in tow now, and though he's still a little scared of you, Susan is even more so

♡ Meanwhile, Charlie is super confused and has no idea how you two managed to start getting along so fast, but she's glad you don't seem to hate each other anymore. She's even more happy when Alastor insists on bringing you with him every time he goes to see Rosie; thinking you're finally becoming friends

♡ In reality, he just doesn't want to deal with any mean old ladies, and you seem more than happy to throw hands with Susan in his place

♡ So in the end, it works out for both of you

[lady-lauren]

❥ DRACULE MIHAWK X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.5k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: knife play (and sword play), sword slicing clothes, sword against pussy, sword/knife against throat, sword to your mouth, (listen his massive sword is everywhere), some fear-play, semi-public sex, former student/master relationship, degradation, praise, some aftercare, creampie

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

Time slows as your eyes catch the glint of a black blade. You see yourself in the mirror-finish; frightened, pressed with no escape. 

“I’m growing…tired of this little chase.” 

Cool metal kisses your chest, the heaviness of his sword lingering just above the panicked swell of your breasts. Mihawk gazes down, head tilting as he analyzes the predicament—you, back down in the filthy alley, heartbeat a sonorous tune up the spine of his blade.

“Sounds like someone is losing his edge.”

“I don’t have time for your brattiness. You’ve got quite the bounty on your head.”

He moves the massive saber lower, the trailing point curved, sharp. 

Threads begin to pop before the blade fully begins to slice through your shirt. Carbon steel stings cold against the heat of your tits. 

“I thought your precious world government would give me a pass, given that I’m,” you can’t help but suck in a quick breath as he presses down with his sword, slow, methodical, enough to hurt and not break skin, “y-your student.”

“Former student. Who is very clearly out of practice.”

“Took you two weeks to catch me.”

“Because I’m patient, sweetheart.” 

Though his patience seems to be running thin. You’ve never been on the receiving end of Yoru, the great sword only ever used when your master deemed it necessary. The weapon can cleave apart a war galleon, swing a shockwave to crumble glaciers. 

Yet now the midnight blade is gentle, precise, peeling away cloth until your breasts spill into the night air.

“Wh–what are you—?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he presses the tip of his sword to your throat, tilting your chin with the point, “you can benefit from a quick lesson.”

Your swallow rolls against the blade.

You’d be a liar if you said you’d never dreamt of this, of being at his mercy. Mihawk never crossed boundaries, not while you were his to teach. Only times change, tides shift, and now he’s taking what he wants.

He doesn’t have to tell you to be still. 

“Pretty.” He twists the wide sword flat, barely catching the hard peak of your nipple with the edge before smoothing over your skin with the blade. Your teeth grit as you shiver, trying to keep your breathing even. Mihawk repeats the motion, teasing your nipple until it hurts from the icy steel. “Sensitive, too.”

Nails scraping in the dirt, your eyes flash to the mouth of the alley, shadows passing in the street lights. 

Mihawk traces the deadly metal along the curve of your breast, so torturously pressing into the fat like he’s testing the elasticity. The blade pinches against your skin, not enough to draw blood, just enough to remind you of his meticulous control. 

Adrenaline lights up every nerve in your body as the weapon drags down, a stinging line drawn to your stomach. One wrong move and he could slice you open. Just a single squirm and the heavy sword would pierce skin, impale your insides on the most powerful sword on the four seas.

“Mi-Mihawk, please.” The tremble in your voice is a white flag waving.

“What are you begging for?” There’s a twitch at the corner of his sharp mustache, a smile, self-satisfied and impish. He presses the blade into the softness of your belly, prodding you, teasing. 

“Don’t hurt me, please, I-I’ll—”

“Do anything?” he cuts in, the smile shimmering up to his eyes, concentric rings focusing on how your thighs press together. Hot, needy, all the fight in you draining to one vulnerable point. 

“I won’t hurt you,” the promise comes with a shift of his sword, roaming lower, “just want to play with my catch.”

You try to concentrate on anything other than the weight of danger. A low breeze kicks against the crimson of his cape, mud and dust caking the hem. Yellow haze of distant street lamps reflects off his chest, sweat beading in the grooves of muscle—from the chase or his focus, you can’t tell. He looks a bit older than you remember, all the more wiser on how to play.

“Why?”

“Because I can,” he knocks his boot against your ankle, kicking your legs apart, “because I want to.”

Your tongue feels thick in your mouth. The world has shrunk to just you, the sword toying at the juncture of your thighs, and its wielder—nothing else matters. Not the voices in the distance, the hard dirt against your back, the thoughts you had prior to falling prey. 

It’s a surreal feeling of being caught between moments, between life and the fucked up desire to feel more of the crucifix sword against you. 

“Always guessed you were hiding a pretty cunt. Let’s see if I’m right.” 

The blade sinks between your open legs, knife’s-edge dragging along the seam of your pants. Unhurried, simmering like heat slicing through butter. 

Fear kicks in your chest, rings in your ears. He’s so close to the most sensitive part of you, the sword you always admired cutting through your panties. Cold steel like ice against your weeping flesh—you feel strings of your slick glide against the blade as he exposes you. 

You whimper as your bare cunt is spread delicately, the tip of the steel peeling apart your labia.

“Messy already.”

The precision he wields paralyzes you, the razor edge of the blade brushing against your swollen clit. Pleasure sings down your veins like the pinging of metal, chills erupting over your skin. You squeeze your eyes shut and will your body to stay still, for your hips not to buck. 

Mihawk teases your clit again, and again, swirling the sharp sword over the sensitive bundle of nerves. You choke back a sob, muscles in your thighs twitching as you try to stay calm as he riles you.

“Now what if I…?” he asks himself, the deep baritone of his voice laced with curiosity. 

You gasp as the black blade dips lower, curved point teasing your clenching hole. On instinct your legs try to close, stopped only by his quick reaction. His boot kicks at your knee, hissing like you’re ruining his concentration. 

“Easy, sweetheart. I don’t want to make this pretty pussy bleed.”

Patient as ever, he gives you a few moments to collect yourself, lungs taking in too much air. 

Then the sharpness of his sword pressed back into the squish of your cunt, tip barely easing open your hole like he’s testing, analyzing. A too curious predator prodding his meal. 

“Fuck, please…” you bite from between your teeth, clumping dirt in your palms as you fight not to move, fight the fear bubbling inside your belly. 

“Do you know what you’re begging for yet?” 

“Touch me. Please. I-I need something inside me.”

Mihawk circles your opening, spreading wet muscle, “Tempting words.” 

“You know what I mean.”

The blade skims up from your hole, passing through your folds, flicking over your clit with a metallic ping. 

“Clean your mess first,” the giant blade gleams as he so easily moves it over your panting body, bringing the tip to hover just above your lips, “then I’ll consider fucking you.”

Your eyes meet his, the shape of the sword going fuzzy in your vision as you evaluate him. Golden eyes are glazed over with lustful focus, watching, waiting. 

You don’t break your gaze as your tongue falls from your mouth, licking the underside of the blade. Tangy slick, viscous and gooey, meets your tastebuds. You’d be ashamed of your mess if it weren’t for the way his cock bulges in his pants, thick length throbbing down his thigh. 

In all your years of training, he never once let you touch Yoru. And now he’s flipping the edge over your tongue, washing the jet-black color in your spit.

“Does this please you, Master?” you drop the name like acid against the blade. 

“I could cut out your tongue.” He proves his point by digging the great sword into your wet flesh, just enough to hurt. He wouldn’t. But oh how he could. “If I didn’t have better uses for it in mind.”

Careful patience snaps. In a blur, the blade is gone, replaced by strong hands maneuvering how he pleases. A jerk and you’re off the ground, a push and your exposed tits are scraping a brick wall. 

Mihawk fingers the hole he sliced between your thighs, pant seams ripping farther apart as he spreads your thighs wide. 

His cockhead pops into your cunt, length sliding in deep as he groans against your back. 

“So wet from my sword.”

Spearing into the most intimate parts of you, Mihawk sets a grueling pace, heady slaps of skin on skin and his thick cock dragging along your walls. He’s working towards a goal, purposeful, kissing the back of your neck as he seeks release.

Your hands slide down the granulated wall, gritty brick digging into soft skin. Your nipples are puffy against the same treatment, tender breasts singing with pain. 

“Should’ve,” he inhales with a deep groan, distracted by the suck of your cunt, “known you were such a slut, should’ve made you beg for me sooner.”

You moan his name repeatedly, begging him not to stop, all hot whispers into night air. One hand dips around your body, deft fingers smearing over your clit. Orgasm quickly begins to bloom over your senses, making your toes curl and your back arch against him.

You stare at the ground as Mihawk continues to pump inside you, helplessly whining as he chases his high. You’re fine tuned to every thrust, the way he angles, enough to notice the little inconsistencies. A more shallow plunge, a longer pull of your walls along his shaft before his balls meet your ass. 

A hand latches to your throat, lifts your head and forces you back against him. He sucks at your neck, teeth nipping harder than his blade ever touched your skin. His cock swells at the new angle, pressing apart your gummy walls. Over and over he thrusts up into you, slick squelching from the intrusion, dripping down his balls. 

Mihawk fucks you through the gap he cut into your pants, seams now tearing down your thighs. 

“This how you want me to turn you in? Fucked open and dripping like a whore?”

Before you can register the movements, Mihawk unsheathes the knife that hangs from his neck, pressing it to the column of your throat. 

The soft scratch of his beard meets your cheek as the cold metal of the knife skates up your sweating skin. 

“Perhaps I can make you even more messy, hm? Since you get off on this shit.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your neck as you try to tilt away from the blade. Yet some part of you wants to press closer, feel the sharp edge dig into your vulnerable throat. Mihawk’s thumb pets the steel, purposefully keeping it steady as he grinds into your cunt.

“Fuck, fuck!” you choke down a whine.

“Worried? I could slice you open now— your bounty is dead or alive.” 

The realization of the true danger makes you weak, hands slipping down the wall. He could. He might. It would make it so much easier. Fuck you, gut you, take the prize. 

“P-please, don’t. Please. I’ll go with you, you can do whatever you want.”

Mihawk hums in a twisted pleasure, the sound snaking down your spine. The knife blade twists against your skin, tugging you closer to him. 

“Let me feel this slutty cunt cum, then I’ll decide.” 

A war breaks open in your mind, a battle between fear and ecstasy, swirling together into a messy battlefield that leaves you in a state of limbo. Neither side can win, not when you want both so badly. The fear makes you sweat, the bliss makes your pussy cream around the fat cock that keeps invading your insides. 

You’re overwhelmed, panting and whimpering as your former master uses his power and strength to control you in ways you never thought possible. 

The curved, sharp edge of the knife slides down your throat, resting at the base as Mihawk drives his hips harder, jostling you closer and closer to danger. 

And the danger is the spark in your belly, igniting the churning coil of shameful bliss that makes you want to sob. The fingers on your clit pick up pace, rubbing fast and mean until you feel too hot. 

“Oh god, please, please, I wanna cum, wanna cum so bad for you,” you grit your teeth as you focus on the blinding pleasure, chasing it up the cliff’s edge. 

“Do it,” Mihawk groans as he licks up your cheek, arching the blade at the base of your throat, “cum for me, sweetheart.” 

He holds the knife tightly to your neck as you come undone, the metal warm from your body. Your moan vibrates against the steel, sharp edge scraping until it hurts. The pain bleeds into pleasure, a wicked mixture that makes your adrenaline filled nerves explode with your orgasm. You feel like you’ve been smashed into by a tidal wave, a rush of emotions and bliss toiling over another in the current. 

You babble against the blade, nonsense and pleas. Mihawk follows your flow, pausing his thrusts as your cunt sucks around him. His fingers against your clit go soft, gentle swirls as you wind down from your high. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, yeah,” he hums with delight as his cock begins to pulse and spurt, pearly strings dripping from where he’s plugged inside your pussy. The mess sprays into your ruined clothes, drools down your thighs.

Mihawk drags the knife over your throat, languid, smearing against the wetness of sweat. He traces the column of your neck, letting you feel the flat of the blade stinging over your skin. 

“You did good, sweetheart, so good.” 

After the knife is sheathed around his neck, he leans forward to trail kisses over your throat, tongue laving over the sore skin rubbed raw from the edge of his blade. 

Your heart is racing, pussy still tight with fear as he pulls his shaft from your swollen walls. 

Mihawk pulls you from the bricks and into his arms, petting your hair as your face tucks into his chest. 

“You feeling alright?” A kiss to your forehead makes you coo, nails digging into him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I’m okay. Guess I’m going with you now.” 

A rare laugh rumbles in his chest. Smooth and soft, like a cat purring to soothe. 

“Yes, you are. But we’re going home. You clearly need more training, after all.” 

You still feel a little numb, arousal and adrenaline still buzzing down your veins. Mihawk brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, down your back, then steps away to pull his coat from his shoulders to wrap around yours. 

“And now I have much more…creative ideas for teaching you how to wield a sword.”

[01zfan]

halcyon | p. wb

guitarist!wonbin x bassist!reader | 13k words

after an insane…awful…damn near DIABOLICAL wait i present you with the most insane writing i have ever done. why i decided to go so hard for a wonbin fic is beyond me but he just evokes something particularly crazy within me.

Halcyon makes music like the album Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino by Arctic Monkeys. this takes place during the 80’s and mentions several places in the world’s rock scene in regards to this time. some songs that remind me of this couple are cry for me by magdalena bay, dare by gorillaz, heavy by powers, i’ll bet you by the jackson 5, drugs by charli xcx, and had ten dollaz by cherry glazerr.

contains: toxic relationship, physical violence (reader fights a girl, several fights during rock shows), infidelity, semi-public sex, fingering, pain kink drug mention, addictive behaviors, non-linear storytelling, it is referenced that the reader does something to "get rid of" other band members, part of this is in eunseok’s perspective then it switches

rock the house masterlist

Wonbin held after concert rituals very close to his heart. When the post-show adrenaline attempted to crash down on him and steal his serotonin like a thief in the night he had a few things lined up to keep the good feeling going. He would be on stage with the guitar still in his hands and before the last riff tore through the venue and while people’s screams still rang in his ears, Wonbin was already setting his eyes on his next dopamine rush. 

His following activities for the night post-concert goes as follows, in no particular order:

Sex.

Drugs.

Trashing hotel rooms.

Chain smoking an entire pack of American Spirits.

He gritted his teeth as he brought his hands down the neck of his instrument. A chord rang through the venue as he remembered he was on his second strike—after the previous three—of ignoring the groupie ban. As he walked off the stage he remembered that he was completely out of drugs, and when he ran his fingers over his engraved initials on the side of his metal cigarette case he came to the realization it was lighter than usual.

“Fuck.” 

Wonbin cursed under his breath, already knowing what was waiting for him inside. The venue staff and roadies moved around him as he stood completely still, looking down at his very last American Spirit. The sound of people running around and making sure equipment was being put in the right place drowned out completely around Wonbin. It was just him, the lone cigarette, and the wave of depression getting closer and closer to crashing down on him. Stray bits of tobacco slid from the metal casing and fell until it landed between his black heeled boots. He sighed to himself and clamped the case hard with a singular hand. The case almost sprung back open from the force. A cheap gift from a former lover that was already falling apart. He swore he had more Spirits.

“I’m going outside.” Wonbin spoke from the side of his mouth the cigarette didn’t occupy.

He didn’t care to look over his shoulder or wait for a reply. He’s sure Shotaro and Sion yelled at him to be back on the bus in thirty minutes or he’d send Wendy out there to kick his ass. He only waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder before heading to the door, using the side of his body to open it while he lit his cigarette.

Wonbin didn’t like Wendy too much, she insisted on managing the band like they were a professional act instead of a bunch of sleazy assholes who could hold a tune. Wonbin much preferred starting fights at shows and picking up girls to break their hearts the next day. Now that Wendy was around—and the major record label that was producing their next album—Halcyon was trying to be more classy. That meant no more young ladies in the hotel rooms, no more instigating physical confrontations at shows, and no more illicit drugs or illegal substances. Wonbin was barely able to sneak underneath Wendy’s radar. She watched him like a hawk, the only moments of solace he got was when he’d walk around the venue to take a smoke break. He was lucky she didn’t have much of a taste for the smell of nicotine. Wonbin would never be the one to tell her that a cigarette might help loosen the gigantic stick she had shoved up her ass.

He walked past the venue staff into the muggy night. Gainesville Florida, a disgusting rainy mess of a city that made you feel like you were choking on the humidity. The vibrant rock scene didn’t make up for the thick air that made everyone feel like they were swallowing smoke. Traveling the world was alot less fulfilling than he thought it’d be. Not every destination was a vibrant city with exotic nightlife and attractions. Sometimes it was in the armpit of a country, right in the bible belt wedged between two conservative cities. 

But this wasn’t all bad. Despite being a pessimist, Wonbin knew that shows paid the studio bills, it paid everything. The weather also couldn’t have been too muggy, because he still insisted on putting his cigarette to his lips and inhaling the fumes, even if the fog rested over his body like a damp weighted blanket. 

Wonbin breathed in until embers ignited and he felt that sting in the back of his throat. He should make this last American Spirit last—he really should—but the more he realized this was his last vice for God knows how long he couldn’t stop himself from taking prolonged puff after prolonged puff.

He wandered away from the venue while eating his cigarette, heading towards the side of a building right next to a shady alleyway. He was grateful that word travelled he wasn’t kind to stragglers after the show. He was left alone as he leaned against the wet brick of the building, sputtering up phlegm from singing, the cigarette, and the heavy air around him. Despite the pain he continues to smoke his last dwindling source of dopamine, already imagining the unbearable asshole he’s going to be in the tour bus.

“Looking for something?”

Wonbin looked past the brick wall down the alleyway. It was entirely too foggy here too. Between the shadows of the building and the night Wonbin could barely make out who that was calling to him. The fans after a show never gave Wonbin that much space, and his old flings would’ve been in his face in seconds. His mind briefly went to his dealer, his promise to keep him supplied by his jockeys across America. Wendy made sure to scare them away and to let Wonbin know in the most polished way possible.

“The young professionals that supply your musings will no longer be visiting Halcyon on tour. Any reimbursements will be settled upon our arrival back in New York.”

“Who are you?” 

Wonbin spoke to the shadowy figure at the end of the alleyway. If he knew any better he would’ve never came down this unlit path by himself. He was a rockstar in vintage leather Prada, denim Mugler, and custom made snakeskin boots. Despite his affinity for conflict and violence Wonbin was unfortunately all talk, and he was sure his height and slim frame showcased that. He was at risk of being rundown and not a single soul would know; not a single bodyguard, member of his entourage, nothing. 

But Wonbin was more aware of the fact that it was harder to score these days than it was to die, and if he were to die in an alleyway attempting to do a drug deal atleast he’d go out doing what he loved. So he took another step towards the shadowy figure, his heel clicking on the pavement as he tried adjusting his eyesight in the night. He was going to send Taesan (or was his name Dongmin?—that doesn’t matter) a bouquet of roses. Maybe even name a song on the next album about him. If his jockey would just cut to the chase and emerge from the shadows to give him his vice. Wonbin was already reaching in the inner pocket of his jacket for his emergency drug deal money when he took another step forward.

When the shadow stayed leaned against the wall, Wonbin took another step forward. He even cleared his voice to project it further and moved his cigarette to the corner of his mouth in an effort to speak clearly.

“Who are you?” Wonbin repeated. 

Finally the figure kicked off from the wall and walked towards him. Wonbin didn’t care enough to take a step backwards, even when the figure still said nothing. For a moment fear flashed through Wonbin’s mind at the thought of the person really being a murderer—or worse—a cop. He imagined red and blue illuminating the dark alleyway and the figure would emerge with a badge reading him his Miranda Rights. 

As soon as Wonbin imagined all the terrible endings to this situation the fear and panic was gone. Instead of hearing sirens Wonbin heard chatter of people passing by. Instead of seeing a cop he watched a woman emerge from the shadows, heels clicking against the pavement with each step.

He never remembered the jockey’s ever being a girl. 

Wonbin’s even swore his dealer went on a tirade about how unreliable women are when it comes to drug dealing. Something about how pussy is worst and most addictive drug on the planet, how it always complicates things between the buyer and seller, and some other borderline misogynistic rhetoric. 

(Wonbin found himself nodding along with his eyes trained on the drugs in his dealers hand. Maybe it was a Pavlov reaction to get his drugs, maybe he actually agreed with the points he was making. He never claimed to be a feminist. He is a rockstar, first and foremost.) 

Instantly Wonbin tilted his head in amusement. He recognized your face immediately, he had gotten used to seeing you in the crowd of every show. You were what he called a front row regular, singing along to every song and starting the mosh pits. Wonbin watched you start your fair share of fights, pushing someone into the crowd with a smile on your face as you watched the chaos unfold. Despite being burdensome to the security and wellbeing of others, you were never ousted. Wonbin even got the feeling that you were revered in community, not that he ever cared enough to check. He just knew that you were there in the very beginning, when Halcyon didn’t have a name and it was just him Shotaro, and Sion scouring punk bars looking to make a quick buck.

Wonbin didn’t know you were the type to lurk in alleys after a show. For the most part he believed you were one of his few normal fans. As normal as any fan can be that follows the band across state lines just to see the same show over and over again. 

You two had shared eye contact plenty of times. With Wonbin front and center and you in the crowd, it was bound to happen. But each time he gave you that look that said to meet him after the show you were always nowhere to be found. Each time the lights came on you’d disappear like a figment of his imagination, turning into dust until you materialized at his next show. 

Your aversion of meeting him backstage had him peg you for the scared type, but you leaned against the side of the building and titled your head. Wonbin wasn’t sure if you were trying to emulate his calm demeanor or if it was your truth; he was still intrigued all the same. 

“Who are you?” Wonbin asked for a third time, the tone of his voice saccharine as he did a shameless once over of you.

He leaned against the side of the building like you did, his hands let go of the money in his pocket and instead rested inside gently. He let go of the sweaty crumpled money and went to his cigarette, pulling it from his mouth.

When you didn’t speak, Wonbin blew the smoke in your face. A cloud of poisonous smog and you weren’t affected one bit. You let it breeze past you with a smirk before reaching in your back pocket. You revealed the substance like it was the bridge of a song, and held it up in the air in front of Wonbin’s face. You still didn’t say a word and even with the offering in your hand Wonbin’s eyes stayed on you. For the first time in God knows how long, Wonbin felt indifferent to substance. The far off words of his drug dealer played in his mind as he stared into your eyes, so innocent and contradictory of what was in your hand.

“Just a fan is all.” You said.

You jostled the substance in your hand for emphasis, like a human showing a dog its treats. Wonbin’s tail would’ve started wagging if he had one when he realized just how much was in the bag.

“Where’d you get that?” Wonbin asked.

“Some weirdo was just here.” You looked to your hand, feigning confusion. “He said this was for you.” You said.

He was already five minutes past Shotaro’s time warning, pulling you from the shadows ate up a majority of his smoke break. The image of his band running around the venue looking for him was fleeting, but he swore he could hear the sound of Wendy calling out his name. She imagined her scouring the streets looking for a groupie or a junkie asking if they knew of his whereabouts. They had a different state to be in tomorrow but Wonbin didn’t care, his interest was piqued by the baggie and you. You didn’t seem to scare as easily as the other girls. You kept eye contact with him, Wonbin could even see the gleam in your eyes like you were considering taking the substance for yourself.

“Why’d he give it to you?” Wonbin asked, still keeping his eyes on you.

“I may have done something for him.” You said.

Wonbin raised his eyebrows. Less than a year as a rockstar and he already had someone willing to do nefarious things just for him to know their name. Did you dirty your hands for him? Were your stockings already ripped or was that done recently? Was your makeup smudged on purpose and was your unkept hair intentional, or the byproduct of something much more demeaning?

Wonbin put his cigarette out on the brick wall and stuck his hands deeper in the tight leather pockets of his pants. Only then did he fully focus on the baggie. He felt his mouth water at the sight, that tug to do bad things deep in his heart. The adrenaline crash was creeping behind him but you were a massive brick wall he was hurtling straight towards. He reached for the bag and grazed your hand purposefully. 

You didn’t even flinch. He smiled to himself.

“What did you do for him?” He traveled his hand down your arm slowly. His knuckles grazed over the fabric of your denim, tracing the stitching all the way up to your shoulder. When he made it to your neck is when he noticed the blossoming mark, already preparing to be angry in the morning. Wonbin looked from the mark to your face and tilted his head to the side. “Can’t imagine you paid him for this shitty stuff.” He said.

His other hand stuck out in front of him as his hand made it to your cheek. You didn’t chase after his fleeting touch, your lips didn’t part in silent want and your eyes didn’t flutter shut. You were stoic as he touched you, impervious to the move that usually had girls falling to his feet. Wonbin suddenly didn’t feel like just drugs tonight. The adrenaline was building back over his body at the sight of you not scaring easily. You refused to give in, you didn’t even put the baggie in his hand. You opened it yourself, putting the white powder on your long pointed acrylic nail before brining it under Wonbin’s nose. 

He looked down to your nail then up to you. The tension built over his body tenfold, his hands retreated back to his pockets like he was debating on indulging himself. He heard Shotaro yell clearly now, and Wendy’s angry quick steps echoing beyond the alley. 

“I can show you, if you’d like.” 

Eunseok looked away from the alley between the two buildings and pressed his head to the steering wheel. The creases of his forehead are smoothed by the ragged synthetic cover of the wheel from years of use. he continues to rub his forehead against the covering just to feel something. He does it to stop himself from falling asleep, hoping that the repetitive motion can act as the rest he should be getting right now.

Eunseok thinks his job should pay him better. If he made wage proportional to the amount of work he does he wouldn’t have to drive around this disaster on wheels. When he closes his eyes for too long he’s forced to remember that he’s one bad ride away from breaking down on the side of the road—or worse in the middle of traffic. He remembers all the times the engine stalled on him and he had to call his bestfriend to come to his aide. Each time Sungchan gave his car a jump or pushed it to get a running start he commented on the abysmal state of Eunseok’s vehicle. He had heard this thing is barely drivable and you are a danger to yourself a million times. Eunseok couldn’t even deny it, he knew his friend was right. He couldn’t even turn up the music in the car without it coming out fractured through the blown out speakers. everything was muffled and the words were crackling fuzz, like pop rocks were in his sound system.

The music crackling through his speakers pulled him from wallowing in his financial situation. He lifted his head and his hand went to the sound dial on instinct. He focused on changing the volume using the tiniest adjustments on the knob. He always tries for the perfect spot on each song, because of course it’s different for each once. Every three minutes Eunseok’s fingers twist and turn the knob. Ironically it takes have the song to find the middle ground, where it’s not too quiet or entirely too loud. 

When Eunseok finds the spot he sighs to himself, forehead going back to his worn steering wheel. He drums along to the beat this time, trying to get himself up and to clear everything else from his mind. 

Eunseok tries not to think about his nerves, or the way he’s going to weave between two cop cars to get inside of the hotel. He thought it was torture surpassing a line of concertgoers to interview the artists. The exclusivity that gave him a dopamine rush turned into a stomachache when all eyes went on him. Their anger was almost always misplaced, mad at someone who wasn’t even taking up space in the general admission nor who was responsible for them waiting in line. But Eunseok knew it was pointless to argue with fans whose eyes were filled with bloodlust visions of the barricade. He only kept his head down and smiled awkwardly to the security before flashing his press badge. 

Eunseok looks up from his spot in the parking lot to the hotel. Two flashing cop cars, neither of them make a sound but they sit in front of the door to block the entrance. Only people out, no one gets in he hears one of the police officers say. There’s a huddle of them talking to someone, his view of them is blocked by their vests and wide stances. On the other side of Eunseok’s car people are gathered in the public area. They are lined on the sidewalk, standing on their tip toes and leaning their bodies like meerkats. Eunseok recognizes the reporters, they view the front of the hotel through the viewfinder of their cameras, just waiting for the perfect shot. Some people are even craning their necks to look into the fishbowl Eunseok calls a car, he can already hear the whispers and fizzled out excitement when they realize he’s a nobody.

He would take a concert over this any day. He would gladly walk past a line of hecklers than be caught in the middle of this. But the clock in his car that is perpetually an hour behind tells him that he told Wonbin he’d be in his hotel room. The ground forming on the outskirts of the parking lot only gets bigger.

Eunseok reaches across the center console of his car to open the glove compartment. The door to the small storage drops open and he reaches in deep to pull out the pack of cigarettes. He smiles when he finds the last one in the pack and sees he has just enough time and a long enough walk to smoke it down to the butt.

Eunseok rolls down the window of his car using the hand crank because of course it only opens from the outside and of course his window is not automatic. He opens the front door and gets out, closing it behind him with his foot. Both of Eunseok’s hands are preoccupied, one blocks the wind and the other tries to ignite the lighter. it’s annoying, and just like everything else in his life the lighter fails to work. he shakes it, he hits the bottom of it against his thigh, he even tilts it upside down hoping to shake up just enough of the leftover fluid to create a flame. He feels his thumb going raw from working the tiny black gear before he finally admits defeat. 

Eunseok goes through the open window of his car muttering about all his bad luck under his breath. he opens up his loose center console and tosses in the lighter before continuing to dig around. he goes through napkins, loose change, and the spare key that Sungchan swore was in Eunseok’s car. he slips the key into his pocket and reminds himself to hide it inside of the apartment later. 

One after taking everything out of the center console does Eunseok find his box of matches, deep in the bottom corner where it was forgotten for god knows how long. regardless, he is so happy to find the matches he almost kisses the flimsy box. 

He backs out of the car through the open window and opens the matchbox. He sees three perfect matches and nearly cries from happiness. His nicotine addiction induced by stress continues to fight for another day.

Eunseok is sure he looks insane to beyond the parking lot. He sticks out like a sore thumb, wearing a business casual outfit to an indie rock bands possible arrest. He tries to salvage what little confidence he has left by leaning on the hood of his car and striking the match. He smiles to himself inwardly when he’s able to successfully light the end on the second try.

Eunseok had always made the deal with himself to let his insecurities run wild until he reaches the end of his cigarette. so as he pulls in the toxic fumes that still burn his throat he lets himself think about how ridiculous he looks. He thinks about his feeble attempt at seeming professional in this scratchy cheap blazer and how uncomfortable his faux suede boots are. They were on the clearance rack in the women’s section, marked down from the already ridiculously cheap price. Eunseok thinks about the people that are looking for their rockstars and instead find a journalist smoking a cigarette in the middle of the night. They must wonder why he gets the privilege to be that close to the hotel, why he has the clearance to go inside. They must know he doesn’t belong here and they must think he don’t deserve a job as cool as the one he has. 

Little do all they know that the pay is shit and Eunseok has had  to spend countless weekends trying to coax answers from half baked artists whose ego is the size of the sun. This job also gave Eunseok the shitty habit of smoking due to the stress, one that he has to cover up with travel sized mouthwash and sticks of gum. He only has the right to be here because he has schmoozed his way to this spot for nearly five years.

when Eunseok finishes his cigarette he removes all negative thoughts from his head. He drops the orange butt to the ground and puts it out with the heel of his cheap—affordable shoe. He goes back into his car and rolls up the window using the crank. Eunseok then clambers over the center console, reaching forward to the passengers seat to grab his messenger bag. He steps on wrappers of of candy and empty bags of fast food to go into the backseat of his shitty—vintage car. 

He gets out through the backdoor and goes to the front. He grabs his press badge that hangs off the rearview mirror. After he makes sure he has everything, he locks all the windows. It’s a whole process to make sure the car is secured, one that Eunseok forces himself to laugh about now.

The first step towards the hotel is the hardest. He has to hold onto the strap of his sling back for comfort and doesn’t look back at the crowd as he wills his feet forward. He can hear behind him people asking who he is, he even sees the shudders of a camera flash in confusion before it ceases immediately. He gets his press badge ready as he heads towards the entrance, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. His chews the two sticks of gum in his mouth vigorously before spitting it onto the pavement. The heeled boots almost sound hollow on the pavement, but it is loud enough to grab the attention of the cops. 

They look at him confused, one of them spreads his arms out to stop Eunseok from walking forward.

“No entry is allowed into the building, sir.” The officer says.

Eunseok is used to careless venue security questioning his credentials. In the presence of an actual badge he feels himself freezing up. He babbles, pulling up the flap of his messenger bag to try and call back whoever called him. He already starts to be herded back towards his car before Wendy turns away from her conversation to the commotion.

“He’s good to go up.” She yells.

Eunseok looks towards Wendy, leaving her conversation with an officer and a girl with a bathrobe and a bloodied face to approach Eunseok. She is halfway between the two conversations, yelling again to get the officers attention. 

He remembers when he first met Wendy. She was a clean cut professional, a titan in her field of managing artists. Before Halcyon she only managed solo pop artists, but with the music worlds preferences changing she went to managing rock bands instead. Wendy had Eunseok’s respect, she had the respect from half of the industry for her bravery when it came to managing the mess that was Halcyon. Sometimes he wondered if she regret her  decision. When she wasn’t wearing her fancy pantsuits or the expensive jewelry she looked tired. Her hair wasn’t managed in the neat bob but instead pulled to a tight ponytail. From here Eunseok could see that she was pulled from her bed the same way he was, he could see she still had her pajama bottoms on. Eunseok had never seen Wendy in sneakers the entire time he’s known her, but she slipped the shoes on and had a jacket thrown over what he assumed to be her night shirt. She looked exhausted. 

She didn’t even have the energy to try and explain what was going on. She only motioned towards the hotel, telling Eunseok that they were waiting for him on the thirty-ninth floor.

Eunseok was shocked when he walked through the lobby and it was completely empty. He had been in his fair share of hotel’s this late into the night, but there was always atleast a concierge behind the front desk. Here it was nothing, only Eunseok walking across the linoleum floors to the elevators. There was a feeling of dread creeping across his body as he waited for the elevator to come back to the lobby. He remembered the bloodied face of the girl outside, how desperate and tired Wendy looked in between talking to the cops and her. Eunseok already knew you had something to do with it. 

Eunseok looks at the elevator that has finally come down to the lobby. He shuffles inside, hitting the top floor and waits for the door to close.

Eunseok has always been forced to wait for Halcyon. When the band experienced overnight success purely from word of mouth and radio play it was hard to reach the group at all. The worst part was that the elusive nature of Halcyon wasn’t by design, it was purely because the group lacked the fundamentals that came with running a band. Back when the band had no manager or record label—even Halcyon wasn’t the official name yet—and they were essentially ghosts occupying the top of charts internationally and domestically. 

Back when Eunseok was struggling even more than he did now he was chasing after the group. He was for some reason more intrigued then by Halcyon. He became an investigative journalist, canvasing the dingy bars the band used to frequent to become a part of the rumor mill. He posed as an interested fan to get background information. Eunseok found out that Halcyon was a two member group, Shotaro Osaki on the drums and Park Wonbin on everything else. The storekeepers were more than happy to retell the stories, all of them claimed that in the back corner or on the small stage was where Halcyon was formed. They were the pride and joy of the rundown punk bars, nothing like the half-baked rock stars that dominated the scene.

Eunseok still remembers the rush of scoring an interview with the band for the first time. That was after Shotaro split for unknown reasons and you became his stand in. Eunseok was brought backstage by Wendy to talk with the two of you before a show. He remembers struggling to keep up with her in his shitty—affordable boots. He remembers swallowing the gum he forgot to spit out and having to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants to dry them. He remembers having to clear his throat constantly and being underneath your scrutinizing twin glares. He had to decipher your questions but still felt the rush when he saw either of your eyes light up from his informed history on the band.

Back then Eunseok was excited to be a part of Halcyon’s world.

Now as the red analog number climbs up to the top floor he feels a pit forming in his stomach. It’s a burning stone, when he takes in a deep breath through his nose he smells drugs burning. He hasn’t even made it to the top floor yet. 

“Front cover.” Eunseok whispered to himself as the number climbed higher. “Front cover, spread, and promotion.” He repeated.

As soon as the elevator opened, Eunseok could smell it. The thick musky smell of weed filled the floor, he swore there was even a haze in the hallway like there was a smoke cloud. He wondered if the person talking to the suits was actually a manager of the building, coming to an agreement or settlement for the damage and disturbance a Halcyon party caused. There was a reason why the band was denied service from multiple hotels, one of them being a lifetime ban from a chain of hotels across the world.

Eunseok grimaced at the strong smell of weed as he passed through one of the open doors. As if a police investigation wasn’t going on downstairs Eunseok looked through the crack in the door to a couple that was engaging in an even stronger substance. There were other people in the room too, some of them doing other drugs and others making a bigger mess of the hotel room. Eunseok saw ripped up sheets and feathers from the pillows, spray painting on the wall. 

Right as Eunseok peered into the room across from it, he saw someone emerge from the room to pound on the door. They paid him no mind, even when he froze in his footsteps. He noticed the ash on the floor underneath the feet of the person banging on the door. His eyes travelled to the burns in the rugs when the door finally opened. Eunseok was only able to get a peak at the trash furniture before the man rushed inside, closing the door so hard it shook the ground underneath Eunseok’s feet.  The deadbolt being turned filled the hallway and Eunseok was finally moved to take another step, despite everything in his mind telling him not to do so.

He could leave right now, take the elevator all the way down to the lobby, get back in his shitty car, and never engage with the band Halcyon ever again. He could just rely on word of mouth, he was also sure whatever happened here today would make its way through the grapevine right back to him. 

Eunseok took another step towards the shut door. At the end of the hallway, just like Wendy described. He remembered the tone of her voice, how it was grave and low like there were unknown horrors behind the door. The only person to make it out of the room was downstairs in a bathrobe with a bloodied face and broken hand. 

Another step.

Was the same fate waiting for him? Why did they think to contact him directly, how were they even able to contact him directly? Eunseok knew that he might’ve been caught snooping around the scene that birthed Halcyon, but he would’ve never thought it’d be paid any mind. 

He makes it to the door entirely too fast. He presses both palms flat to the door as he holds his ear to the wood. He hears nothing, the complete opposite from the other rooms on this floor. He can hear Halcyon’s latest album blast behind the door of one, he can hear screaming behind the other and he prays he’s not hearing what he thinks he hears behind another. He just needs to focus on hearing what goes behind this one.

Just as Eunseok gets an inkling of a sound, the door is ripped open. Eunseok almost falls into the room completely from his sudden loss of something to lean against.

When the door is fully opened he sees the mess you two made. Eunseok has to stand straight to take it all in, his lips part as he’s stun locked in the doors entrance. He heard about your shared tendency to trash hotel rooms, but he never knew it was to this extent. Eunseok looks at the chunks of the drywall ripped straight from the infrastructure of the room to litter the floor in varying chunks. the tiniest pieces are already embedded in the fancy carpeting, pummeled to white dust from the other things that transpired in the room. Every piece of furniture is broken. A chair is leaned on its side and missing all the legs but one. Another chair next to it has the seat cushion smashed in, and the vanity leans the the side completely. 

The queen sized bed in the middle is completely covered by a million things. Torn paper, jostled piles of clothes, balled up sheets. Pieces of drywall rest on the bed and so does one of the chair legs. Eunseok sees the guitar and the bass tossed on top as well. The feathers from the pillow still float around in the air, and only then can Eunseok bring his gaze back up to Wonbin.

Now is reminiscent of the first time he ever saw him. Even underneath the harsh light of the hallway Wonbin’s skin was tan and flawless, complete with beautiful eyes and plump lips. They were bitten and glistening from his tongue that he ran over them as Eunseok took in everything. His hair was newly dyed raven black, the black leftover dye beaded at his wet hairline. His hair still bounced with each turn of his head despite it being weighed down, and it set perfectly the same way it always did. Wonbin stood in front of Eunseok in just his bathrobe, calm and collected despite the scene behind him. He only nodded before flicking his head backwards and leaning in close to Eunseok like he was about to tell him a secret.

“It was her this time, not me.” Wonbin says with a smile on his face.

Only then does Eunseok notice you. Your legs dangling over the edge of the bed as your arms splay out over the sides. Eunseok can see your ripped leggings and your missing shoe, he sees the forming bruises on your legs and your lack of movement worries him. The same time he draws a breath Wonbin follows his gaze backwards. He’s confused at first but then he scoffs, still leaning against the door frame before turning his head to face you.

“Wake up. Eunseokie is here.” Wonbin said.

Eunseok peered past Wonbin to watch you finally move on the bed. When you got up by your arms propping up on the bed Eunseok could make out the red smudges of blood across your face and knuckles, the almost catatonic look in your eyes. Eunseok could see the matching white powder on your black clothes and Wonbin’s robe. He didn’t care to ask if it was the drywall or something else, he convinced himself it was the former. Eunseok was more intrigued by the obvious look of crashing on whatever high emotions you were coming down from, whatever obviously caused this. You seemed unaffected as your feet kicked over the edge of the mattress, you and Wonbin had twin sinister smiles without even realizing it.

Eunseok should’ve stayed home.

“Why am I here?” Eunseok asked.

“Remember when you first met us?” Wonbin asked.

Wonbin pulled at Eunseok’s arm to pull him into the hotel room. Eunseok stayed planted in place, looking over his shoulder towards the elevator. He could make his great escape right now, he could take the elevator down and then sneak past Wendy and go back to his car. He could drive it home and go to sleep, pretending this night never happened. What waited for him in this room couldn’t have been good. But Eunseok kept getting pulled by Wonbin, and the idea of having this exclusive interview prior to your inevitable arrest pulled at him even more. Eunseok sighed heavily and reluctantly let himself be pulled into the mess of the hotel room.

Your feet that dangled over the edge of the bed started kicking in excitement. You watched Eunseok get pulled in by Wonbin, and watched him close the door behind him. He stayed by the closed door as Wonbin walked away, standing next to the place you sat. You watched Eunseok look from Wonbin to you, then he looked from you to Wonbin. He let out a sigh that you two laughed at, and when he went to scratch his eyebrow you and Wonbin looked at eachother. 

“I remember.” Eunseok adjusted the strap on his messenger bag, settling onto the balls of his feet as he tried to get comfortable. He kicked away the piece of drywall that was wedged underneath his foot. Eunseok looks down and continues to drag his foot across the carpet. You see tiny specks of white flick up from the carpet. “I remember when I first met you guys.” He laments.

“What was the question you asked us then that we didn’t answer?” Wonbin asks.

You stop kicking your feet. You watch Eunseok try to remember what happened all those years ago. Truthfully, you two didn’t answer his questions to begin with. Even before the makeshift media training Wendy tried to give you both, you two had the tendency to avoid questions. That first interview Eunseok gave you backstage was a mess. You two derailed constantly, Wendy interjected twice, and Eunseok was such a nervous wreck he stumbled through half the interview. 

Now Eunseok seemed fed up with the band. If you cared, you would’ve felt embarrassed about the common pattern people had in relation to the band. Whenever anyone would first become involved with Halcyon, it was always the same. They would look at you and Wonbin with stars in their eyes, singing praises about the two of you without being prompted. As time would go on they’d get more and more fed up, until they completely avoided the band altogether. At this point, the only person that was consistently in your circle was Wendy, and that was only because she was getting paid an ungodly amount of money to put up with it. 

You didn’t know when it shifted for Eunseok. Maybe it was on his way here. You imagine the wound of remorse had been festering for awhile, he was practically on your payroll while barely reaping the benefits. He was the only reporter you and Wonbin were even remotely candid with, he was at all of your album releases and the big shows behind the stage. But to your knowledge he still drove that busted ass car you’d see broken down on the shoulders of highways. 

“I asked you guys alot of questions then.” Eunseok says.

He’s irritated. He looks around the room at the mess, his eyes drag across everything. You wonder how long he had to drive to get there. 

When Wonbin doesn’t give any more indication of what he’s talking about you watch him look up to the ceiling. You see his face drop at the slanted ceiling fan that was one pull away from falling completely.

“Was it question about you two being lovers?” Eunseok asks.

You almost tilt your head back and laugh at that. You remembered when Eunseok read back the lyrics to a song about lovers meeting in dark alleys and asked if it was about your relationship with Wonbin. Wonbin answered then, without hesitation, Who said we were lovers? Eunseok was taken aback, anticipating that you two would’ve thrown him a bone for being knowledgable about your music. You were taken aback because Wonbin declared his undying love for you only an hour before the interview took place.

“Who said we were lovers?” You say quickly.

There were plenty of things that indirectly explicitly said you two were lovers, or something akin to that. The fact that you two nearly fucked onstage every show, the only thing separating your lips was the microphone caught between you two. The stage lights caught in your eyes as you leaned closer and closer to him, dancing facing him as he did his solo on the guitar. That’s not even to talk about what would happen off stage. Before that interview Wonbin had your back leaned across the hood of his vintage red Mercedes Benz Convertible in the private parking lot, your legs slung over his shoulders as he kneeled on the yellow line of the parking space. You could still smell yourself on his tongue during the interview, and you were able taste yourself after the show too. Groupies fucked him knowing you two were fucking, people in your circles still whispered to this day about your relationship. But of course, if it’s not said, then it’s not true.

Eunseok looks up from the ground to your even expression. Your throat hurts even when you speak quietly, baring the weight of the screaming you were doing an hour ago. Eunseok smiles at you, you don’t know if he smiles at the irony of this answer or the other objectively hilarious things about this situation.

“Your chemistry is palpable.” Eunseok answes.

When Eunseok does a pulling motion at his hair you tilt your head back to laugh. The infamous part during your performances when you’d pull at the hair on Wonbin’s head. The first time you did it was real, a compulsive reaction in response to the constant mess he put you through. After that it was all for show, to play the part of unfaltering love where you needed him close to you by all means. A messy hand tangled in his sweaty hair as you brought him close until your foreheads touched. The hair pull would be referenced throughout your shared careers, something that you two would only shrug your shoulders at. Now it made Wonbin roll his eyes and sit on the edge of the bed to bring attention back to him.

“Not that.” Wonbin clarified. 

Eunseok sighs and brings his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose. You have to bite your lip to hold back the laughter.

“Why’d you two call me here?” Eunseok asks.

Wonbin looks to you. Eunseok looks to the floor and takes in another breath, as if he’s trying to calm himself.

“You did alot of research about Halcyon long before you ever met us.” Eunseok is at the point where he doesn’t care enough to hide it. He simply nods before Wonbin looks over to you and takes in a deep breath. “But there was always the one thing you could never figure out.”

Eunseok scratches the back of his head as he thinks, and when he realizes it his fingers stop in their tracks. Even with his eyes pointed towards the floor you can see them widen before he looks up. 

Eunseok looks between you and Wonbin, hand still in his hair.

“You’re going to tell me how you ended up joining the band?” Eunseok asks.

When you and Wonbin nod together, you can see that Eunseok’s interest has been piqued. He looks behind him briefly and grabs the stool that was tossed on its side, sitting up on it immediately. You watch him try to balance on the missing leg, slinging his messenger bag to his lap so he can open it. Almost immediately that same spiral journal materializes and so does a pen and recorder. Eunseok doesn’t hesitate to press record.

“On the record?” Eunseok asks.

You and Wonbin both nod, sitting up a little straighter. You nod but Eunseok flicks his head towards the recorder in his hand, a silent reminder that he needs to hear you confirm it.

“On the record.” You confirm.

Eunseok leans forward in his seat, and you can see him already imagining all the stories he’s going to sell. This will get him that front cover he’s had his sights on for God knows how long, but you can see him contemplate on why you’re doing all of this. Two selfish rockstars are suddenly willing to reveal something they have kept under wraps for so long. But he doesn’t want to ask the question. Now that Eunseok has you two os willing to spill the secret, he doesn’t want to lose his chance. You’re lucky he doesn’t pry, and he’ll be lucky if you don’t clam up in the middle and recant your statement. You believe that’s why Eunseok acts fast now. He wastes no time to make sure his pen can write, and he opens up his journal to a page that already has questions written on it. A pair of glasses materializes on his face as he reads the page carefully.

“You both said that you met in an alleyway, but that didn’t lead to you getting put in the band.” 

Eunseok looks up from his journal and you shake your head. After Wonbin mounted you in the back of his tour bus while Wendy and and his bandmates looked for him he denied your request to come on tour with them.

“You gotta leave.” Wonbin buttoned his shirt while you were still laid out on your back in his bed. “No groupies are allowed on tour with us.” He said.

That’s when you pulled yourself from the mattress, ignoring the soreness across your body to be eye level with him. 

“I’m not a groupie.” You said matter-of-factly.

Wonbin stopped buttoning his shirt to look back at you with a smirk etched across his face.

“Oh yeah?” He asked.

Despite the obvious taunting in his voice you nodded anyway. You dug your hands deeper into the mattress, ignoring that sinking feeling that was in your gut. 

“I’m a singer. And I play bass.” You said.

Wonbin looked forward with a scoff while continuing to button his shirt.

“The band is full. We already have a singer and someone that plays bass.” He said.

Despite being told explicitly no, you leaned forward on the bed and shook your head.

“I write too. I’m a better at bass than that kid.” You said.

Wonbin only shook his head at you then. He insisted that he couldn’t take that kid out of the band because that was his bestfriend and he was excellent at the bass. He wasn’t wrong, after his time in Halcyon, Sion went on to be a well loved and revered bass player in the industry. He just wasn’t as good at you.

And he was in your way.

You shook your head at Eunseok to tell him that you were not let into the band that night. You saw the inquisitive look in his eye as he continued down the page, eyeing something written in the margins.

“Sion, the previous bassist of Halcyon said that he dropped from the group after he couldn’t complete the tour. He couldn’t give me the specifics then, and he doesn’t accept interviews now—”

“Good for him.” Wonbin interjects.

Eunseok eyes Wonbin carefully. Wonbin has omitted eye contact with both you and Eunseok, now it’s his turn to look around the room. He is focused on the smears of red wine that stain the wall and the broken glass that litters the floor in front of it. 

“I was wondering if you could enlighten me on his departure from the group?” Eunseok asked.

You knew that Eunseok took his research about the band seriously a long time ago. Back when the circle was small and word made it back to you and Wonbin quickly, you were informed that someone was snooping around the scene and asking about Halcyon. Back when the radio play was new and no one knew your names, there was a quiet man snooping around the places the band used to frequent and asking questions. 

You laugh to yourself and shake your head. Then you thought Eunseok was a cop, and you were scared shitless until you found out he was just a newbie reporter trying to impress his bosses.

“What does that have to do with me?” You asked.

“Well. Sion’s departure opened up a spot for you in Halcyon.” Eunseok pointed towards Wonbin, whose gaze had rotated to the wall behind Eunseok. “Don’t you think he left under strange circumstances?” He asked.

Wonbin only shrugged his shoulders. Eunseok went back to his notepad and wrote something you couldn’t see.

“I just heard her voice one night, and I couldn’t let it go.” Wonbin says.

That earns a big laugh. One that has you tilting your head back and laughing directly to the dangling ceiling fan. You laugh even more when you see Eunseok trying to understand, to connect the bits and pieces of stories he’s heard to match your reaction. He knows it’s no use, that he can only begin to assume why Wonbin turns to watch you laugh with a knowing smirk on his face that only grew with your reaction.

“Oh that’s what that was?” You say, wiping away a tear. 

Wonbin’s confession that he loved your voice was said before he heard you sing. He huffed it into the crook of your neck as his fingers pumped in and out of your heat in the back of the tour bus. After Gainesville, it seemed only right to follow him to Raleigh. You started finding your way to the back of the tour bus before anyone else was there. If Wonbin had half a working braincell or any thought beyond feeling good he should’ve been worried about how you so easily found your way onto the bus. But you found out quickly he only worried about his post-concert rituals, evident in the way he practically crawled to you down the narrow hallway of the bus. 

You waited for him at the very back on his bottom bunk, legs open and propped on the edge of the mattress. The closer he got the slower and lower he went, until he pressed a longing kiss to the area right above your ankle.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asked before placing another kiss.

“I didn’t.” You whispered.

That only spurred Wonbin on more. Despite popular opinion, Wonbin was more of the sheltered than he cared to admit. Before becoming a rockstar he grew up in the suburbs of Queens to a working class family. His proximity to the city lead to him seeing crazy on the subways and overhearing it on the bus, but he never met crazy. He never met someone who carelessly exposed herself  in the back of tour busses, or found a way to break into them by stealing the keys. He never met someone who so shamelessly lead his hand underneath the band of her underwear, or would finger herself if Wonbin wasn’t moving fast enough or doing it right. What type of guitarist doesn’t know how to use his hands? You’d always tease him without second thought, looking down to him when he spent his time looking down on everyone else. Wonbin never met someone who would get lost in him so easily, moaning loudly in his ear as he worked another finger in. 

But he had also never met someone who so clearly always had an ulterior motive. When he was getting lost in you and using you to keep the post-concert adrenaline from killing him you’d lean in close, hand wrapped in his hair before sucking harshly on the skin of his neck.

“Let me in the band.” You moaned.

Wonbin was going to say no before you pressed you palm hard against the crotch of his jeans. He felt your warmth and force seep through the thick fabric and his fingers in you stopped there movement. He only regained his composure when you started grinding your hands against his palm.

“Sion.” You pressed harder. Wonbin pushed his dick against your flattened hand. “Bassist.” He mumbled.

“Mhm. I know.” You licked the side of Wonbin’s face and continued talking directly to his ear as you pressed harder. His hand that was behind you suddenly gripped your waist with a bruising strength. “What if I got rid of him?” You asked.

Wonbin couldn’t see the way you were already thinking about how Sion could be dealt with. He was only paying attention to the way your walls clamped around his fingers and how you preened into his touch. He was so consumed by you that he only nodded his head quickly while digging his fingers further into your waist.

You assumed Wonbin took some of the blame for Sion’s abrupt departure from the band. Leaving in the middle of the tour after a brief stint in the hospital, a spot Halcyon suddenly opened up for you. You didn’t question it, neither did Wonbin. Shotaro was the only one that kept a close eye on you, whispering to his bandmate and not saying a word in your presence. You still remembered Shotaro’s reluctancy to even let you in the band, but you were down a bassist and you knew all the music. Just for a couple stops. Shotaro always made sure to make that clear.

Now you were here and he was not.

“Sion and Shotaro leaving is completely unrelated to me.” You say matter-of-factly. “I don’t think they like to be mentioned in articles these days either.” 

Eunseok digresses. He would love to ask how the group dwindled down to just the two of you but he knows he will be here forever, peeling back layer after layer. He’s also convinced he’s running out of time due to the sound of the other people on this floor yelling about pigs and the sound of doors being busted down. It’s only a matter of time before they seize the illegal contraband that’s in the other rooms and seizes you and Wonbin. So he closes his notebook and leans forward in the broken chair, putting all of his weight on the leg in the front.

“Where were you inducted into the band?” He asks.

“Fukushima.” You and Wonbin answer at the same time.

“Okay well.” Eunseok tries getting comfortable in the chair but its missing leg causes it to lean to the side. He has to keep his foot planted where the missing end would be. “What happened in Fukushima?” He repeats.

The same thing that happened in Fukushima happened in New York. And Amsterdam. And Ibiza. Anywhere in the world where you two were left to your own devices it happened.

Before you even landed in Japan, Wonbin was getting on your nerves. You were getting on his. The both of you were getting on the nerves of your entire team, looming over everyone like impeding doom. You both blamed it on the Asian showcase you were forced to go on. You downgraded from the sold out venues in North America to the crowded and stuffy underground clubs of the rock scene across Eastern Asia. 

The first strike happened in Beijing. Halycon’s studio debut record was snuck to the rock scene on cassette tapes from Hong Kong and Taiwan. Everyone in the crowd dressed like Wonbin, they had their hair touching their shoulders and the same leather jacket he donned. There, they liked him more. They sang his lyrics back to him twice as loud, shaking the floor and causing the windows to vibrate. The cramped stage caused you to accidentally step on the amp of Wonbin’s acoustic guitar, causing the music to abruptly stop. You were forced to perform an unplugged version of a song, making you shine but leaving Wonbin looking like an idiot. He was convinced you did it on purpose, seething at you on the private jet that you were jealous you weren’t a star like he was. You seethed back, telling him that he was nothing but a half-baked rockstar who let praise inflate his ego. 

The second strike was in Hongdae. If Wonbin was the favorite in Beijing, you were the favorite there. There all the men fell to your feet, passing you bouquets and crying anytime you looked in their general direction. They worshipped the ground you walked on, they followed you around the city after the show. You could see the anger on Wonbin’s face when you looked towards him in the middle of the show. You smiled at the permanent scowl, you took it a step further to ask the crowd please make some noise for our guitarist as if it was a charity. Wonbin gave a shy smile and bowed, but at the end of the show he held your hand tight, a silent sign that he was upset. You held his hand towards the  crowd, using his silent threat as a testament to your dedication to eachother.

You enjoyed the instances where you could use his narcissistic tendencies against him. He also performed better when he was angry. You liked when he’d look to you before cursing or inciting a fight in the crowd. People like Wonbin were born to be mad, and you believed you were put on this Earth to stoke the fire. 

When he was angry and it’d come to a boiling point when you two were alone it also meant he’d fuck you better. In Beijing you two made a mess of your hotel room, the bedsheets pulled from the bed and the floors cleared from the sounds you were making. 

That night in Hongdae, when you and Wonbin were at a penthouse party of some millionaire you two found a room away from everyone else. He caught you at the base of the stairs getting unbearably close to a man in a suit, and that ensued a screaming match. The drugs and the alcohol made everyone oblivious to your fight, or maybe the anger coursing through your veins made you forget about everyone else entirely. All you knew was that the fight ending with Wonbin chasing you up the stairs, pushing at you while you threw your limbs back in an effort to make him fall. He was poking and prodding at you, while you corralled him into a room with a lockable door.

“I fucking hate you.” You yelled it before the door even shut. 

Wonbin laughed as he turned the lock with his hands shaking from rage. You felt fire from the soles of your feet getting higher and higher, his sudden calmness only making you more upset.

“I fucking hate you back.” Wonbin sneered.

By the time the music changed downstairs to another floor shaking song you had Wonbin pushed against the door. Your face inches away from his, a permanent scowl etched on your face. An article was released the same day that rock-n-roll was dying and rockstars were all narcissists with anger issues. You stared down the man that refused to let you into the band you were singing and writing for so he could be the only star. Wonbin looked at the girl who got rid of his bandmates so she could secure her spot in the group.

When you and Wonbin looked at eachother for too long everything else started to come to the surface. It was hard to pretend to be an unbothered rockstar when someone who was going through the exact same thing was looking at you so intently. It was hard to fake indifference when the overwhelming weight of performing was becoming clearer and clearer. Why were you two doing this? Nothing was binding you to Halcyon or Wonbin. You could’ve booked a flight home and pretended none of this ever happened. He could afford to stop performing then and there with enough money to sustain his lifestyle.

But you two both knew whatever this was, was more complicated than that. Too avoidant and too toxic to quit, and the money and fame wasn’t too bad either. You two didn’t need an understanding relationship. Happy people made ballads and the stupid pop music that was stealing your radio play and the general public. Rockstars were toxic and they were mean, they are terrible because it’s freeing. So instead of bringing you close and telling you that he’s scared for the future of his band, Wonbin reaches forward and clashes his lips against yours. 

His kisses are angry and they make no sense. His teeth clash against yours and he moves you backwards in the general direction of a bed. You pull at him by a hand wrapped in his shirt and you make tiny sounds at each harsh collision. He was never gentle with you, and you liked it that way. Something had to have been fundamentally broken inside of you, something that would’ve made you want a normal life. Or to feel remorse for your actions that led you to this point. It was hard to believe that the way you behaved was wrong, because it made you money and one of the most famous people in the world.

“On the bed.” Wonbin said.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” You said back immediately.

Wonbin replied by tugging at your chest by your perked nipples that poked through your tee. You gasped in surprise and pain before cupping his dick roughly. The two of you stood next to the bed for a moment, smiling at the pain you were bringing the other. It wasn’t long before the pain turned into pleasure and you both fell to the bed at the same time. 

The next morning you two only woke up because Wendy had called every apartment building in the Hongdae area. As if the night before didn’t happen, like you and Wonbin didn’t relieve the tension through rough touches and markings, you still fought. During the plane ride you two were silent, the start of your mutual meltdowns. Wonbin wouldn’t speak directly to you the whole day, using Wendy and the roadies as an indirect link to conversation. You were just as worse, referring to Wonbin as that guy, stripping him of his name completely. That guy wouldn’t look at you as you did your soundcheck, that guy only sneakily said someone’s flat underneath his breath whenever a note didn’t sound right. 

By the time you made it to your underground Fukushima show you two weren’t speaking to eachother at all. Wendy refused to be involved in your mess and everyone else cleared the room when they saw either of you approaching. You two just let the silence continue, neither of you saying a word until you were about to go onstage. The worked of the club set up the mic stands on the small circular stage you two would be sharing before Wonbin suddenly turned to you.

“Halcyon is just me.”

With your eyes casted forward in shock, Wonbin saw his chance to take the stage. He left you on the other side as he started the concert without you, singing your part as you stood there in silence. You stumbled on stage and through the rest of the concert, hating that he bested you. The smile on Wonbin’s face said it all as he continued playing his guitar and singing your lines. When the show was over and the lights went out, Wonbin was like a ghost. He cleared the stage and the venue quickly, leaving you in the dust and without a place in the band. 

Two bangs on the door interrupted your story. Eunseok nearly fell from his chair at the abrupt sound. The impact shook the ceiling fan and made Wonbin look towards the door. 

You almost looked too, but Eunseok’s hand kept you focused on him. 

“What happened next?” Eunseok said, his voice laced with urgency.

“She came to me and expressed,” Wonbin stayed locked on the door as three more harsh knocks rang throughout the hotel room. “Her desire to be in the band.” He says, motioning to the room.

Eunseok would’ve loved to think that you came by Wonbin’s hotel room in Fukushima with agents and your demo tape, maybe even an audition prepared to show him you could fit into the music for Halcyon. But the way Wonbin smiled slyly and you leaned over and hit his shoulder made Eunseok think different. You two giggled together as you recalled more and more of that night. You only continued to giggle as the police made their presence known on the other side of the door. 

After the Fukushima show Wonbin left you all alone. You paced around in your hotel room as the carelessness in his voice as he denied you being a member of the group once again. You heard from security that Wonbin was down the hall with a girl that stayed behind at the venue. The same part replayed again in your mind. You couldn’t control yourself from leaving your hotel room and storming down the hall. 

You told the same story to Eunseok as the cops continued to beat on the door, the one he heard through the grapevines and the mugshot of you that was lost over the course of time and the lack of coverage of the arrest overseas. You often imagined if the story was relayed the same way back to him, or if the details were muddied by the game of telephone.

Wonbin and his groupie of the night just finished. She was face down on the bed, trying to recollect herself. You know Wonbin was able to go through so many girls and have so many crawling back not just because he’s gorgeous but because he knows how to fuck. Just look at him. Eunseok would’ve had to listen to hours of wishful thinking from girls who would never have a chance before getting to the actual information. You’re sure they left out the fact that you were wearing the same outfit you met Wonbin in, except you had no shoes on your feet. Just running down the expensive hotel lobby barefoot, barely making a sound as you cleared the carpet. 

They would’ve never talked about the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you held your ear up to the door. You could barely hear yourself when you covered the peephole and knocked politely. The groupie was so out of it that she didn’t think twice when someone covered the peephole and said “room service!” in a cheery voice. The girl who was still wobbly-kneed and only wearing a bathrobe called for Wonbin to answer the door. Poor girl must’ve never been to a hotel before. What type of hotel has room service that late in the night? She was nothing fit to be a rockstar. Wonbin thought that he could just replace you by finding another girl at the end of his show, like you weren’t one of a kind. He was too busy running the water for a bath and smoking his post-sex cigarette to be bothered. 

He just said “You can get it,” knowing that crazy bitch was on the other side! 

The retellings of that night never got it right. They never stopped to consider what Wonbin was doing. 

Plenty of people naturally assumed he was naked while this was happening. If he was in the bathroom drawling a bath or simply laying in the bed was always commonly fought about. They didn’t know that Wonbin was sitting on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom wrapped in a robe as he watched the tub fill with water. He was smoking his American Spirit in complete serenity while the fight happened behind him. He had the bathroom door opened, watching the fight with a smile on his face and a canoeing cigarette between his fingers before he turned away completely to deny culpability in case it ended badly. He counted the mustard tiles that lines the bathroom as each punch, scratch, slap, and scream came from the other room. You think afterwards he turned to look at himself in the mirror underneath the warm yellow glow of the light and adjusted his appearance. You imagined he knew he’d be suffering the same fate if he didn’t turn the charm on. 

But you didn’t know what Wonbin was doing exactly. You couldn’t see much besides the girl underneath you. You couldn’t hear anything besides the noises you two were making together. 

When you would entertain the rumors and have them relayed back to you, there were always multiple accounts of the brawl between you and the groupie. What they did get right that one the door was open a crack you kicked it open full force. 

What they got wrong was that the groupie screamed immediately. She did yell when you got on top of her after she fell to the ground, but that was only after the initial shock wore off. Even Wonbin turned away from his cigarette when he heard the impact of the door on the groupies nose. The post-coitus warmth was replaced with something burning when you screamed first.

When the rest of the floor started opening up their doors and seeing what was happening in the room was when the other eye witness accounts started getting messy. Some say the groupie fought back. Some of them said that you kicked the door open so hard it fell off its hinges. The common consensus was that you fucked that poor girl up! then wrote a song about it! 

“Did you listen to the song through your blown out speakers, Eunseokie?” You asked.

Even he was turned towards the door as the police continued to slam into you. You focused on the tape recorder instead, eyes locking onto the two spinning reels as you continued your story.

People didn’t know if the stories inspired the lyrics, or if the stories were spun by people overanalyzing the lyrics. You and Wonbin were the only songwriters on all Halcyon tracks, it was hard for people to not think the music derived from your personal lives. The song couldn’t stop people from thinking you came around that corner into the bathroom with a knife in your hand. The groupie found a way out from underneath you and bolted out of the room screaming for her life with a bloodied face and her tail between her legs. You leaned against the doorframe as Wonbin stared up at you, not even looking at what you had in your hand.

“If you want me to do something for you, you need to use your words.”Wonbin would say. 

Maybe if they listened to the prechorus hard enough they’d know you dropped the knife instantly. But if they listened to the bridge they would’ve thought you waved it around just for show to see if you could scare Wonbin. But by the way he joined you as the backing vocals they’d know he had only looked to your bloody knuckles before taking a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill up the last sacred space in America where you could smoke indoors before offering it to you. He’d still sit on the toilet seat but lean towards the small ceramic sink to show you he wasn’t scared in the slightest. 

You took an even bigger drag than Wonbin did, watching the ember at the end ignite before turning to ash. You’d let out a smoky cloud right into his face, shuddering from the release of tension.

“Was she better than me?” You’d ask after putting out the end on the lip of the sink. 

Black and gray ash smeared against the white surface. You looked from the mess you were making on the sink to see Wonbin wordlessly shaking his head.

“Not even close.” He said without missing a beat.

“I should cut your dick off.” You’d laugh about it, pointing your long nail towards Wonbin’s dick that was twitching against the fabric of his bathrobe.

“Why? So you can keep it for yourself?” He teased.

Once again, this was where things got fuzzy for you. Some secrets are meant to stay between lovers, or whatever this mutually toxic and equally awful thing you and Wonbin had going on. The cops that came through then back in Fukushima were alot more serious than the cops that came through the door here, in Paramus, New Jersey. For Wendy—who followed closely behind the cops here—this would be an easy story to cover up. Another mugshot of yours would be taken and hidden behind lock and key, only getting revealed to people who would spend their hard earnings from work to see it behind dumpsters in alleyways. This night would just be another anecdote in the long line of mysterious lyrics and subject-changing phrases. The only form of proof in a small black and white photo of yourself. Your smiling face covered in scratches, makeup smudged across your eye bags from excessive rubbing, and blood on smeared across your blue and black knuckles that held up the card with your name and which jail held you overnight. You looked down to see that the collar of your black shirt was stretched beyond saving around your neck. 

Even when you looked like that, Wonbin stared at you like you put the sun and the the moon and the stares into the sky. You stared him down, leaving bloodstains on whatever you touched. He stood from his spot on the toilet seat to be eye level with you. 

I hear they fuck like they’re at war. I was sleeping with their bassist and I could hear them from down the hall. 

Wonbin grabbed at your wrist, bring your hand to eye level. You clenched your fist in a last ditch attempt at resisting him, but he’d pull you into his bare chest so fast you’d barely have time to adjust. You settled in embarrassingly fast, giving you the most gentle kiss on your cracked red lips. You couldn’t taste any other girl on him over the smoke. You were burning eachother up, only pulling the other to get closer. At the thought of the other girl in this position you felt the rage bubbling in again, but instead of fighting you only leaned fully into Wonbin, making your shared bodyweight pressed against the tiny sink. 

You and him were reacting in desperation only. His rough hand pulling at your waist underneath your shirt, your hand fisting the material of his clothes. Your shirt was off and your pants were wrapped around only one ankle as you two clambered around the tiny space of the bathroom. She’s one of those new-age feminists, ya know the type that likes to be in charge, even in bed. You pushed him against the wall opposite of the sink, then against the closed door of the bathroom. Anytime he tried to take control your took it back, slipping your tongue into his mouth and tilting his head the way you wanted it to go with your bloody hands. Anytime he tried to do the same you smacked away his hand or pinched his neck. The only thing you allowed Wonbin to do was stuff his hand into your underwear, and the only time you let him guide you was to put your foot on the edge of the tub to open you up more. 

Wonbin is even worse than her though. since he’s so used to getting what he wants. If they were wrong they would’ve guessed he took control back by picking you up and fucking you against the wall or on top of the sink, reeling off the metallic smell of blood while your hands tangled in his inky hair. 

In the end they were only right about the two of you being reckless, just reckless. You two carelessly kicked the knife around, causing the wooden handle to ricochet off the walls on the ground. Even with a spinning blade near your feet you two wouldn’t be deterred. You two wouldn’t separated until a police officer came through the crooked open door with the groupie trailing close behind. 

“That’s her!” She said in a shrill voice as she pointed her finger towards you. 

You only rolled your eyes before pulling away from Wonbin. He put on his robe while you lazily put on your clothes, being pulled away in handcuffs. Even haphazardly clothed on your way to jail you were be unbothered, quickly fixing your mussed hair with blood crusting underneath your fingernails. Only when you heard the whistling of a cop as they guided you out the hotel room would you remember the other reason you came to Wonbin’s hotel. 

Other people waited for you in the hallway. Roadies you couldn’t remember the name of, more cops holding things they will try to put you away to jail for, and Wendy with that look of disappointment on her face. Eunseok trailed close behind, Eunseok still holding the tape recorder close to your mouth.

She looked back to him one more time as the police were leading her out. This is seriously what the cops and what the groupie said she said, word for word. She looked back, hair a mess, blood on her hands and scratches on her face but smiling like a fucking crazy idiot. She started whistling with the cop like she knew the mindless tune or something. Before she rounded the corner to leave the room she spoke directly to him. 

He leaned against the broken doorframe of the hotel room with his arms crossed like an upset Mom watching her kid get walked out. When she looked back at him he smiled like he read her fucking mind or something.

“This means i’m in the band, right?”

[freelancearsonist]

brat

➔ Frankie "Catfish" Morales x fem!reader

➔ 695 words

➔ You've been torturing Frankie, so he decides to return the favor.

➔ Rated MA // short and filthy lil giflet, unprotected p in v sex, power dynamics kind of

“You’ve gotta stop doin’ this, babe.”

“Doing what?” You bat your eyes innocently, but you know exactly what Frankie’s referring to.

His dark eyes rake slowly up your naked form, jaw working around a swallow thick with lust. You’ve taken to jaunting around his place completely bare–what’s the point of clothes when he’s just going to rip them off anyway?–and it’s driving him insane.

“You know exactly what,” he growls from somewhere deep in his chest. “Can’t even think with you flittin’ around the place like this.”

“What do you need to think for?” You ask with a practiced smirk, knowing exactly what it’ll elicit from him.

He growls again, somehow even more deep and menacing this time. You’ve pushed him to the exact precipice you were hoping for, and now it’s time to reap your reward.

The aforementioned reward comes springing out of his pants with a heady kind of energy as he shoves his pants down over his hips. He’s already harder and thicker than he should be just from watching you move.

He leans back in his armchair, an easy kind of arrogance about the smirk on his face and the way he sets his hands on his thighs. He can see the way you’re staring at his cock, practically drooling for it, and it only adds to his ego.

“Come get it then, if you’re so eager for it.”

He senses what comes next, and he stops you before you can move to your knees in front of him. “Huh-uh, baby. Only good girls get what they want. You’ve been nothin’ but a brat.”

This is a new development. He’s never turned down head before, especially not when you’re so willing.

“Frankie–”

A simple shake of his head silences whatever you were about to say. He leans further into the chair, arms draped over the rests with complete nonchalance. “This isn’t about you, baby. You’ve been tryin’ my patience. Get up here and make it up to me.”

If this is supposed to be a punishment, it’s the best you’ve ever had. You’re more than happy to climb into his lap, settling your bare chest against the soft fabric of his t-shirt as your mouth meets his.

He wastes no time pulling you down on him, smirk only widening at the little whine that escapes your lips as your cunt struggles to accommodate him with such little notice. It’s always been a bit of a struggle to take him–there’s no denying he’s big. Thankfully he’s completely tuned into your body–his fingers easily find your clit and set a vicious pace to help you out. You’re dripping down the length of him within minutes, and you’re starting to see why this is a punishment. You’re already so achingly close to the edge and you’ve hardly even found a rhythm thanks to his relentless fingers.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispers low and deep. “Lemme have it.”

You think he might actually be trying to kill you. Still, what a way to go–you clench hard around him and delight in the groan it elicits from him through the fuzzy haze of your orgasm.

You’re not even conscious of your pace slowing, but his hands grip your hips and keep you working him as you come down.

“Don’t give up on me yet, my little brat,” he murmurs. “Haven’t made it up to me yet.”

This is definitely torture, albeit the most delicious kind you’ve ever endured. You’ve barely finished fluttering and clenching around him when he starts bucking his hips up, a relentless attack on the spot that he knows draws the most sinful sounds from you.

It’s barely minutes before you’re shuddering and shaking again, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the onslaught of heady pleasure.

“Learned your lesson yet, brat?” He purrs, voice deceptively sweet as he tilts his head down to litter kisses across your collarbone.

You’re shaking your head ‘no’ before you even process the consequences–you open your eyes to see the most wolfish grin that’s ever adorned his face.

“Don’t worry,” he growls as he pulls you down hard on him. “You will.”

➔ gif: @skyshipper (special credit to @bitchesuntitled for sending it to me <3) ; beta: @futuraa-free ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[farmerstarter]

The Bachelors on their Wedding Day

Hi Hello have this short list of my little Headcanons of the bachelors on their wedding day. Hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and likes are appreciated!!🌷🤍

ʚ🏈ɞ ˚ · . Alex :

🏈 Fiddles with his tie relentlessly and ends up ruining it. He runs to Evelyn to ask her to tie it up again. The only other thing he fusses over is his hair.

🏈 Alex keeps a rabbit's foot in his pants, wanting all the luck he can get.

🏈 Spent literal days writing his wedding vows. Ends up opting to wing it. It wasn't the most eloquently worded thing you've heard but it was sweet.

🏈 He gave himself a pep talk in his bedroom before the ceremony. You only know about this because George was complaining about how loud he was to you.

🏈 Dusty the dog is the mermaid pendant bearer, I decided.

🏈 Also, the song that plays during the wedding is the same tune from Alex's music box. 🥺

ʚ🪶ɞ ˚ · . Elliott :

🪶Beach wedding. You guys have a beach wedding. You've expressed your interest in one and Elliott, with the eager help of Willy, clean up the beach for your special day. Elliott's shoes would fill with sand but his discomfort is overpowered by his delight when he sees you all dressed up.

🪶 He reads you one (of many) of his poems about you. You later learned that he's got a whole book of poetry about you that he's been writing ever since you two started dating. The poem he read on the wedding day was the very first one and is the first page of the book.

🪶 He spent hours trying to make himself look good. Asking for Leah and Willy's input on what he should wear for a solid 3 hours.

🪶 Aside from him worrying over his appearance, Elliott is more excited than nervous. He's on the verge of creating a new chapter in his life with someone else. Gone are the days of his lonely shack and the empty (well, not as empty since you moved into town) beach. Honestly, to say that he's excited is an understatement.

ʚ🛩️ɞ ˚ · . Harvey :

🛩️ Gets awfully shy when reading his vows, stuttering his way through his words and being a blushing mess. He has no problem with the one-on-one check up sessions he does with the other villagers of Pelican Town, but to read aloud in front of all of them at once threw him off. But he kept his eyes on you and managed to power through it.

🛩️ He considered shaving off his mustache for the wedding at least twice. But he decided against the idea.

🛩️ Insisted that you eat Farmer's Brunch the morning of the wedding. Even during your wedding day, he wants to make sure you're feeling healthy.

🛩️ Holds your hands throughout the whole ceremony. Whispering apologies for how clammy his hands are.

ʚ🎸ɞ ˚ · . Sam :

🎸 He wrote a whole song about you and played it on your wedding day. He made it a surprise for you and the moments of him hiding his guitar and shoving music sheets under his bed when you visit his room were all starting to make sense to you.

🎸 Couldn't sleep for the whole night before the wedding. He worried over the ceremony and wanted to make it go smoothly. He's not one to meticulously plan every detail, opting to engage in spur of the moment decisions, but he tried his best to make everything as close to perfect as he can get.

🎸 Jodi tried to gel Sam's hair back, but no matter the amount of gel and hours, his hair would always spring back. Sam wasn't a fan of dressing up in a "dorky suit" but he did anyway, for you.

🎸 Sam didn't want to see you until the wedding so he got Vincent to play messenger for the two of you. He wouldn't do it at first but only agreed to do it because he likes you (Cue a dramatic gasp from Sam).

ʚ🐸ɞ ˚ · . Sebastian :

🐸 Ends up smiling through the whole ceremony, looking at you with such a brightness in his eyes.

🐸 He isn't one to wear anything fancy. The closest thing he ever wore that is considered formal was the suit that Lewis got him and the rest of the dancers to wear for the Flower Dance. He asks his mom to help him dress up for the wedding, asking her about it while she was building furniture. Sebastian doesn't want to admit it, but he liked watching his mom so happy over something that was so mundane to him. He makes sure to keep the suit in perfect condition throughout the ceremony because of it.

🐸 He tells his very heartfelt wedding vows. And while he does, you could hear the faint "that's good," from Elliott before a grunt, inevitably elbowed on the side by Leah.

🐸 You and him ride on his motorcycle after the wedding. He drives you two to the cliff overlooking the city, the same cliff where he confessed his true feelings to you. Under the full moon, the two of you would look at the stars with Sebastian occasionally pointing at a constellation that Maru taught him to find.

🐸 Consider: winter wedding.

ʚ🐣ɞ ˚ · . Shane :

🐣 Genuinely doesn't believe that you want to marry him. He thinks it's a dream at best and a prank at worst. It wasn't until you were tying his mermaid pendant around his neck for him to know that you do love him. He still has trouble understanding it sometimes.

🐣 Shane asked Marnie to teach him how to waltz for your wedding day. Sure, he's danced in the Flower Dance countless of times but he wanted to learn something new to surprise you. And he did. After dancing with you, he dances with Jas. Well, it's more of Jas standing on Shane's feet while he walks and glides around.

🐣 He gave his chicken, Charlie, a bow tie for the wedding and everything. Even got a picture of you and Shane with the little guy. The picture ends up being hanged on Shane's side of the bedroom for many years to come.

🐣 Has his pocket full of corn chips, let's be honest. He offers one to you before the ceremony starts.

[bakugoushotwife]

Daddy's Home

a/n: yes this is a repost!! it got com labelled straight at posting last time and didn't even crack a hundred notes! btw there is a continuation coming by request so get excited for baby daddy satoru :0

cw: breeding, unprotetected p in v, daddy kink, sorta rough maybe idk

wc: 2.1k

“You really should know better angel.” He growls, his large hands gripping the backs of your thighs so hard they were starting to burn. You could only choke out a moan in response, your eyes stinging with tears as he fucked into you relentlessly. Your hips hurt from the wide-spread angle your eager husband loves to take you in, keeping your legs by your ears and fingers clawing at his biceps. The pleasure was so intense it colored your vision, circular orbs of bright greens and purples floated across your sight, and you knew you were losing composure. Your screams ramped up deliciously, making the strongest man in the world let his head fall back with closed eyes to memorize the sounds.

He couldn’t help it, really, and it was all your fault. He came home earlier than usual, meaning his sister-in-law’s toddler was still at the Gojo residence. He was two, and just a precious kid. He was usually well behaved and was a massive fan of his Ti-Ti and Uncle Sato. But when he entered his home to see you passed out on the couch, the little boy curled up on top of you, his heart skipped a beat. The boy shared a lot of your features since your sister was the mother, but it took him aback to see you look so peaceful. You had your arms wrapped tightly around him, even in sleep. Your breathing was light, mouth parted slightly. The little boy had his thumb in his mouth  and head buried in your chest. There were soft nursery tunes in the background, and he could smell dinner simmering on the stove. Everything was right in the world, it seemed. The boy must feel someone staring, for he picks his head up and sleepily looks at his uncle. The boy smiles softly at him before turning over on you and going right back to sleep. Gojo smiled at the sight, heart warming in his chest. He snapped a picture for you, but he couldn’t stop staring at himself. 

It stirred something inside him, something that yearned to see you cradle a child he gave you, one that looked just like you. He never pictured being a father. Not even when he took in Tsumiki and Megumi, he felt more like a cool older brother rather than their dad since he was still a teenager himself. But he also never imagined being a committed boyfriend turned completely whipped married man, but here he is. He couldn’t ever possibly imagine the joy and love he feels with the life you’ve built so far. He wouldn’t even know how to tell his past self about it, if he had to. It made him wonder if children were the same. He could only imagine a tiny little mixture of himself and the person he loves most, and he knows they can’t lose that genetic lottery. How could that not be the best thing in the world? Spoiling you for an extended period of time? He does that anyway. The thought of you growing his kid, watching you swell month by month, god it was so perfect to him.

So don’t blame him for this, you had to go and make him think about a family. So it’s only natural that he’s keeping you locked in this position, all his weight leveraging his slender hips into your body. He always abused this power, smirking at you as you twitched and jerked beneath him, getting more and more sensitive with each orgasm he brought you. You looked so good like this anyway, his sweet pillow princess just laying there taking him oh so well. Your hair somehow always fell so perfectly around your head like a halo, lips swollen and bruised from his assault on them and your face pulled together in a picturesque pout. Your gorgeous tits bounced rhythmically along with his feral thrusts, sweet hands pawing at him to ground yourself. Not to mention the view he has of your glistening cunt and cute ass, his balls slapping up against your warm flesh violently. He loved everything about it, watching your ever tight pussy swallow his long curved cock, coating him in your arousal and arrivals so beautifully it made him moan. His noises were always so breathy and dreamy, you felt blessed every time he made one. 

He was impossibly pretty, his hair messy from the paths of your fingers, the tendrils that hung in his face were starting to stick. His eyes always shined brighter, filled with focus and admiration for his wife. His mouth was also slightly open, soft pants leaving his similarly-swollen pink lips. You feel your core tighten again, pulling like a rubber band while your eyes rake over your husband’s body; pale skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat and several fleshy pink scars. His physique was ever perfect, tone chest and tight muscles through his abdomen, you loved trailing your fingers down them. You felt hyper-aware of everything, the sheets tickling your back and the noise from the fan overhead. The moon lit up the scene, giving Satoru an ethereal glow. 

“So pretty Sato..” You mumble mindlessly, smiling to yourself at your magnificent luck in attaining the world’s most beautiful man. 

“Thanks, pretty mama.” He says, managing to pull his lips together in a smirk. He was close, feeling your choking walls spasming around him made goosebumps spring up on his skin. 

You moan softly at the pet name and squeeze down on his muscular arms and his throbbing erection. He grins at your reaction, leaning over your upper half to whisper in your ear. The feeling of his breath fanning over your neck makes you squirm, making him chuckle airily. 

“You like being’ called mama? I’m tryin’ to make you one.” He grunts, kissing the shell of your ear. You can feel him twitching inside you, the slight squelch of your fluids was the only sound other than your soft moans punctuating every roll of his hips and the lewd words he whispered in your ear. 

“Oh yeah?” You muster the willpower to say, getting absolutely punished by his force. “My hubby wants to be a daddy?” You coo, holding the back of his neck. 

He shudders, and you can tell he definitely likes that. You giggle and watch his cheeks flush as that sends him over the edge, pumping his hot seed into you and moaning quietly through his high. He leaves himself there even once he’s come down, intent to keep any of his cum from leaking out. He does let your legs rest around his hips, knowing you must be incredibly sore. 

“You would want that, right?”

You look down at his member keeping you plugged up. “Looks like it’s too late for protests.” You joke, giving him a soft smile after. “Of course I want a family, I just never knew when you’d be ready. I’d love to see you be a father. No doubt you’d be great at it.” 

He smiles in that arrogant way of his. “Just like everything else huh?”

“I would say my favorite quality of yours is your humility.” You groan, rolling your eyes at your lover. 

Things would just spiral from there, his craving to breed you not fulfilled until you present him with the evidence. He would bring you vitamins and you would make sure to track your cycle and dress in a more accessible way at home. If possible, his need to fuck you has skyrocketed, forcing you to be impaled on his cock at any given spare moment of the day. You’re not surprised when your dress is slid above your hips shortly after hearing the front door open and clothes. 

“Hey there pretty mama.” His voice rumbles in your head, his warm bulge pressed against your bare ass. 

“Hey there baby daddy.” You giggle, bending over the counter a little more, wiggling your backside in his grip. His hands press into your hips for a moment, and then you hear the sound of his belt. You grin, spreading your legs wider. 

His expression is similar as he slides his arm around your hips so he could reach the front of your pretty pussy. As eager as he was to plant his kids in your womb he always took the time to get you ready for him. Your body instantly starts to tremble when he begins to rub methodic circles around your bundle, sending jolts of electricity through you. He chuckles at you, making sure his other hand was holding your hips upright. 

“That’s my girl, I know you love this shit angel.” He coos, sliding his hand down to slip a digit inside your waiting entrance. You moan lowly, clenching around the one finger. You’re a whimpering mess shortly after that, his second finger added to the mix doing enough to you fuck yourself back onto them. He always curled them perfectly, tickling your pleasure spot so perfectly you were coming around his fingers in record time. 

You turn your head to watch him pull his fingers out of your cunt, slipping them into his mouth happily. You moan at the sight, wishing nothing more than to have the evidence of his love growing in you. He cleans his digits, pulling off his underwear in a swift motion. His hard member slaps his white happy trail, and you’re wiggling in anticipation at the sight of his pretty length. His tip was leaking and pink, what you guessed must be at least an hour’s worth of need pent up causing that color. Even his veins were pretty, slender and purple perfectly decorating his long shaft. 

“Ooh, mama’s feeling impatient today?” He asks, quickly tugging his blindfold down to rest between his collarbones. He hums, eyeing your weeping cunt happily. “All this after just my fingers? You wanna be bred more than anything, isn’t that right?” 

He spits on his cockhead, stroking the lube around himself. You nod, his words and touch doing unspeakable things to you. It was true, you wanted him to knock you up just as badly as he wanted to do it to you. 

“Yes, I wanna make you a daddy so bad.” You whine, gripping the sides of the counter when you feel his tip spreading your lips. You gasp sharply when he shoves his way in, bottoming out with no resistance. 

He hisses at the tightness, always mystified by your pussy. “You’re gonna, I know you are. Not gonna give you the choice, princess.” He groans, grabbing hold of your hips and using the grip to slide you along his cock. It’s filthy, the sound of skin on skin and your helpless wailing. 

It only takes him a few minutes to have you sputtering brainlessly, grip loosening on the counter, your ability to support yourself long gone. You’re seeing stars and calling out for him in a mumbled pant, letting him know you were adequately satisfied based on your body language. 

“My pretty girl. She’s being so good for me, taking all this cum all the time. Makes me s’happy…can’t wait for my pretty girl to get pregnant..” He voices, only making your walls squeeze down on him sporadically. “I’m gonna give you my kids, mama, you be good and keep it.” He grunts, your ass rippling with his thrusts. He only needed a few more thrusts before his sperm was fertilizing your womb, making you feel impossibly good. 

Your soft pants are music to his ears. He grins as he slides out of you, easily sweeping you off your feet and into his arms bridal style. “Now go lay down and hold onto this round.” He winks, just intent on spoiling you even though you’ve explained that that doesn’t necessarily matter. He refutes you every time, simply refusing to accept that there was nothing extra he could do to help you conceive. 

Luckily you didn’t need any more help. Not two months later are you bringing him a handful of different at home pregnancy tests that prove that all the hard work has paid off. And naturally, you're swept into his arms like a baby yourself, getting peppered with kisses and sweet whispers of his excitement and his oaths to take good care of you, as his latest fantasy has come true. 

He stays true to his word, you don’t want for anything and he keeps you as happy as can be, though his insatiable craving for your body doesn’t lessen now that his mission was successful. Now that he gets to watch you swell with his child, your body changing to become even more heavenly if possible, he can only think of keeping you this way.

[stellas-and-tonitruses]

⚠ SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 93 AHEAD! ⚠

now that we have finally met demetrius, it seems like a great time to dissect his first scene and proper conversation! :]

his wide, unfocused stare hides ✨unexpected complexity✨, as expected of a desmond

he's impatient (common desmond trait at this point)

he's nonchalantly exceptional, as we expected and have been repeatedly told thus far

...but most importantly, amidst a sea of accomplishments, he is burdened with a lack of people skills and visibly frustrated by it, as evidenced by his conversation with damian in this chapter.

the analysis and speculation continues under the cut!!

so, a breakdown of the main meat of his introduction

similarly to every single time there's an interaction between damian and another desmond, damian is the one who reaches out first by calling out to demetrius, who immediately asks him what he wants. damian tries to begin with small talk, congratulating him on his accomplishments of the day

demetrius is brief and to the point, but it doesn't feel to me like he is annoyed here. perhaps curious, perhaps indifferent, we don't know -- demetrius is a boy of few explanatory thoughts, after all

merely in the next page, demetrius is revealed to have a blank mind for most of this conversation.

i don't believe this is a sign that demetrius was experimented on or anything. obviously, this does not rule out that he has been experimented on, but i don't think his lack of thoughts are indicative of that, nor do i believe anya was too far away (in previous chapters, she has read the thoughts of people at greater distances than this with ease!). i think this has something to do with his upbringing, but also very importantly his state of mind at the moment

his eyes are wide open, but his stare is unfocused. i think this is an intentional choice to hammer in that he's not really here at this moment, listening to what is undoubtedly to him pointless praise. he has likely tuned all of it out completely.

(as a side note, if we wanna involve anya in this situation more, we could assume that he is intentionally cloaking his thoughts from anya or any other potential mind-readers, but while i do think donovan is very likely involved in project apple, i severely doubt the financial benefactors of project apple would spend likely a lot of money to figure out a way to shield the thoughts of a middle schooler, regardless of who his dad is, from potential telepaths. as far as we know, anya is the only one with this specific power and demetrius is unlikely to have any information that would incriminate the operation. if that was an issue, i don't see why they wouldn't spend their money to protect melinda's mind, since she likely has way more info than demetrius ever could.)

moving on from that side note though,

we do not see demetrius' face as he says this! this is important to me

we are left unaware to whether or not he is disappointed or just trying to abscond to take a nap (he really needs one)

but then, he says this:

this, to me, is a direct attempt at connecting!! he's trying to reciprocate the small talk, the praise, trying to continue the conversation. his thought, "i don't understand him," may feel contradictory but to me, it only underlines his frustration about this, because he knows what damian is going to say next:

even though it was expected, this is not what demetrius was hoping to get out of this. his downturned eyebrows give a feeling of discontent. he is not blank, he is visibly frustrated, visibly annoyed.

and we are thus made aware of a boundary demetrius and melinda both share:

never mention donovan.

for one reason or another, this is the boundary damian has overstepped with both his mother AND his brother now, without ever being informed that it IS a boundary in the first place

so demetrius, upset, turns around to leave and throws this at damian:

this is important, because damian has shared a very similar sentiment to anya before, albeit in a mournful tone.

demetrius likely feels similarly neglected by his parents, but is long past feeling sad about it. he has moved straight to anger, understandably!

but the bigger reason for his frustration, imo, relates to a problem damian once again ALSO has: people treating them as a gateway to their father and nothing more.

demetrius has more than likely also been treated like this, and probably still is unless his peers have learned not to engage because of his brief, snippy responses, so he is familiar with the feeling of being used.

...and damian unknowingly treated him the exact same way, even though he's also grown to hate it.

of course, he's 6 years old and he meant no harm by this -- he's just a lonely boy trying to be noticed by his neglectful parents, after all, what else could he possibly do?

but for demetrius, this is the end of the conversation. he is not his father's manager, he's not even that close to him, so why does his brother only ever talk to him when it relates to their father?

as he said before: he doesn't understand him, and why he keeps doing this. does he not know there is little info to be gained?

he doesn't understand their father either, with his impossibly high expectations, never pleased, never happy, never available

and lastly, as ewen and emile try to introduce themselves

demetrius has one final thought.

and he casts aside this entire conversation, leaving the scene as empty as he entered it.

of course, the chapter doesn't end here, but this is where demetrius' involvement in it does, leaving us with a newfound understanding that while to damian, demetrius represents everything he can only strive to become... to demetrius? his accomplishments ring hollow in the face of everything he wishes he could understand.

we do get an extra flashback that hearkens back to a better yesterday, but while donovan is lacking some very important details (those scars, that dead disinterest that follows his every move -- he seems mirthful somehow here), we don't know if this scene represents a time when they were closer or if it's simply evidence that as far back as everyone can remember, demetrius has been doing nothing but studying all the time

could this be evidence of something nefarious relating to project apple? eh, not particularly, not to me. the boy's just studying hard, any relation to project apple would have to be more recent in the timeline imo

TL;DR:

demetrius has been built up throughout the past 92 chapters as a figure larger-than-life, and this has been thanks to most of our knowledge of him being directly affected by damian's perception of him, as the younger brother living under his shadow

however, he has now been humanized by his flaws: a short temper and a lack of social skills that comes paired with a clear want to connect, to understand, to converse. he seems to be a very lonely kid, everyone around him either jealous, putting him on a pedestal or actively seeking to use him under the false impression that he has important connections, and although he doesn't mean to, damian has unknowingly been treating demetrius in the same way, only seeking him out when he wants to know something about donovan.

interestingly, him and melinda share the same trigger, that being donovan himself, though we do not yet know if their reason for this is also shared.

CLOSING THOUGHTSSS

it has been so exciting finally meeting this little goober-- i thought i might never see the day 😭😭😭

thank you to whoever read this far, i literally made this blog just now so! HOPE I DID WELL!

💖

[exoticb-utters]

Hello!

So I saw that your requests were open, and would like to ask for a Hank McCoy (Wolverine and the X-Men) x Reader short story, if that isn't too much trouble. If that's not on the table, I'm sorry for bothering you.

YES OFC, I haven’t been writing much, and instead, I’ve been posting a lot more art so it’s about time I get back in touch with my roots 🙏🏽 (sorry this took me forever omg) pls enjoy 😘

Confessions

Hank x Mutant Reader Word Count: 2.7k Words

Mutant Power: Water Manipulation

You’ve been a member of the X-men for the last 3 years. Yes, that’s almost 3 years you’ve had a crush on Henry McCoy. 

I mean, how could you not? He was so sweet, and always put aside time for you whenever you needed it. He’s also, like, insanely hot…

While you do have a huge soft spot for Hank, everyone had given you a warm welcome when you joined of course, this team was your family. More of a family than your parents; who called you a freak for doing ‘tricks’ with their drinks.

You’d make frequent trips to the lab, knowing all too well there would be a big blue hermit waiting for you. As you did this, Hank could never bring himself to admit the embarrassing fact- but your frequent visits were the highlights of his day.

The rest of the team were amazing family to him of course, but no one checked in or visited Hank as often as you did.

Most of the time anyone usually ever came down was if they needed something; nothing this personal. It was new, but it was nice for a change. 

Your jokes with him never got old, and your smile that came with it could only make it better. The willingness you had to sit around and let him rant about the latest experiment that had him losing sleep, to even offer a hand with whatever he was struggling with. Your innocent praises glorifying how smart he was had him hiding his growing blush by looking behind a microscope. 

“I’m afraid blue blushes too, my dear…” He would joke, causing you to smile and chuckle. Ugh who loves a hot, funny nerd. You’d chuckle to yourself. 

Oh who was he kidding, Hank was head over heels. While he tries to use his brain to rationally sugar coat things, he knew he was helpless. 

Your attention to detail was incredible, you somehow remember all of his favorite things without fail. You were just so…thoughtful. 

He couldn’t help but feel a bit selfish, wanting more than your visits down to his lab, the long talks, your presence. He was going crazy.

Then, every night you’d find yourself laying awake in your thoughts, knowing he couldn’t possibly feel the same.

You’d never put your friendship on the line for something so…selfish. 

The thought ate away at your conscious, the numbing sound of your fan tuned out by your busy mind. You sigh, rolling over to your side while pulling your blanket with you. 

You don’t know why you were like this.

You and Hank are…friends. Which is fine- even though it hurts. You are fine with it, and you’ve been fine for the past 3 years.

…for the most part anyway. 

♡ ♡ ♡

You were now hanging out with Hank in his lab, legs dangling over the edge as you talked to each other. Something about a new opera showing happening in town.

Suddenly, you hear Xavier telepathically call for the rest of the X-Men to meet him in the control room, suited up. Must be a mission.

You were informed the Jaggernaut had escaped custody, again.

All X-Men that were on stand-by were now assigned on this task. The team consisted of you, Hank, Cyclops, Jean, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, and of course Storm. Stacked team if you say so yourself.

Everyone was in the Blackbird with the sole goal of neutralizing the Jaggernaut before he caused severe harm. 

Cyclops was put in charge, giving direct orders as he looked to you and Ororo. “I need you and Storm to direct him towards us, we need to keep him separated from civilians. Meaning I need a tall wall of water, Storm you freeze it making sure he won’t be able to get through.” 

You both looked to one another with nod. Scott then turns around to Hank who was piloting the jet. “Hank you go with them and watch from above and make sure things don’t get to out of hand. If they do we need your strength to counter-attack.” 

Hank replies with a “on it” before tilting the jet to left, bringing the stealth instrument closer to the designated location. 

“Logan you’re taking the wheel while those three get dropped down. Everyone else is with me.” Scott said finally while Hank clicked some buttons before switching with Logan. The bottom hatch of the plane opened up, allowing you, Storm, and Beast to exit. 

Storm flew to her position in the air, leaving you and Hank free falling towards the ground. Hank turned to look at you expectantly, blue hair blowing wildly in the wind. 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” You chuckle. You outstretched your arms towards a nearby pond you spotted earlier. Pulling your hands back to your chest in a stream-like manner, a large funnel of water shot out towards you and Hank. 

You grabbed Hank’s arm as the funnel reached you, changing the water into a shape similar to a slide with your free hand. You surfed down the water, holding onto Hank making sure he kept up- and knowing him, it was also preventing him from falling off.

As you neared the ground, you spun the water into a wide spiral to slow down your momentum for an easy landing. 

“I’m still impressed you can do that with your hands.” Hank comments as you reach the ground, earning an amused huff from you. “Well it took some practice,” You trail off, your eyes now looking at his crazy wind blown hair. 

“Actually, I’m more impressed your hair can take that shape…” You snort, biting on ur fist to hold in your laugh. It looked like he had an insane cowlick…well, maybe if the cow had 4 tongues.

“…what?” He said before quickly bringing up a hand to his hair. While he was busy fixing his crazed hair, you spot Storm flying over.

“I’ve located the Juggernaut, he’s down the street!” She briefly informs you before taking off, flying further down the street. 

“Right right, back to business.” You say, waving an arm around yourself to recollect your water. Hank takes off, leaping after Ororo as you ride your stream of water. 

You hear loud commotion around your surroundings the further you went, hopefully you arrived in time. You spot the Juggernaut on the street, wildly flipping cars as if he were in a mad rampage. One was now launched and flying in midair- towards you, specifically.  

You expertly weave around it, spinning upside down in doing so. Before he can flip anymore cars you jump, using all surrounding water to form a wall as Scott instructed. 

You hear a crack of thunder overhead as you land, the air chilling and the clouds growing darker. With a strong gust of wind, the walls you made froze over. You see Storm fly into view along with the rest of the X-Men behind you.

Beast jumps onto a light post, swinging on the end before propelling himself onto the large wall of ice.

The Juggernaut’s actions were now solely limited to facing the X-Men head on. Realizing this, he began charging with full force towards the rest of the team.

“Get his helmet off!!” Cyclops orders before bringing two fingers to his visor, firing off his laser beams.

Night Crawler bamfs around the brute, landing on his shoulders for brief moments, attempting to unlatch the dome.

You shape your water into a whip, ready to attack if the villain closes in. You see Storm raise her hands, calling down thunder as lightning begins to target the Jaggernaut.

You even see Jean pressing her temple with two fingers, using her telepathy with the other outstretched hand to slow down the pursuer.

He wavered just barely under her prowess, the strong bolts only slowing him down slightly before Wolverine decides it’s time he steps in.

With a growl, Logan leaps towards him with his adimantium claws extended before being swatted away by the Juggernaut’s large hand.

Not a moment later he grabs onto Nightcrawler and tosses him aside as well, throwing him on top of Wolverine.

The X-Men were losing options, and fast.

You had to do something.

You swing your water whip from underneath the Juggernaught before quickly whipping it back against his head, effectively tripping him and causing him to topple toward.

Before he could regain his footing completely, you call back all your water to blast him with as much force as you could muster.

And…It was working! He was regressing in distance.

…Until he took a step.

And then another.

And another.

It wasn't long before he began fully charging toward you.

Your concentrated expression quickly fell to one filled with fear and disbelief. “Watch out!” You heard Jean, Scott, and Cyclops warn in unison.

Their cries were all in vain, a large hand splashing out of the water had taken hold of your face. You felt your feet lift off the ground as you were directly dangling in the air, at the mercy of an unstoppable force. In this position, the Jaggernaught could easily crush your skull if he so pleased.

“I will find Xavier. And I will make him pay.” The brute speaks as his grip on your head steadily tightens, your chest burning as you screamed in sheer horror at the increasing pressure.

From above, Hank was almost hesitant to give away his position as the others before you attacked- he knew they could hold their own. But watching you face the Juggernaught head-on…Seeing how your life was in such jeopardy, hearing your screams, Hank had no second thoughts about intervening and saving you.

With a distant roar, you hear Beast come down on the Juggernaut. He releases you, but at the cost of you falling; and of course- hitting your head on the pavement.

Your head began pounding, ears ringing as the corners of your vision grew fuzzy with dark spots. All you could see was a flurry of blue viciously wrestling with a large brownish blob. More figures rushed into the picture before a redhead precluded your vision, concern written all over her face.

“Stay with me! Don’t close your eyes and just listen to my voice…“ Her words began to fade out as the black dots in your vision clouded the world around you.

Your head rolled to the side, your closing eyes finding the blue figure before your heavy eyelids inevitably shut.

Hank.

♡ ♡ ♡

You slowly awoke to a steady beeping of a monitor nearby, your eyes softly fluttering open. Looking up to the ceiling, you recognized it as the flat cement ceiling of Hank’s Lab.

Before you could get up, you felt the intense throbbing pain coming from the back of your head. Had you really hit your head that hard?

Well if it had knocked you clean out it must’ve been…

“You’re awake!” You hear a familiar voice call out to your right. It wasn’t long before a blue face came into view, blocking the blinding glare of the overhead fluorescent lights.

“How are you feeling?!?” Your vision slowly focused in on the figure in front of you. “Good…I think.” You slowly sit up, rubbing the back of your head tenderly.

You notice you had an IV inserted into your right forearm. Without another thought you removed it, ready to go…to wherever you were needed.

“Woah, there- you should slow down it’s been…a bit and you're still recovering.” Hank warns, grabbing your wrist to keep you from moving any further.

You looked to his face…he was worried??? “Hank, I’m fine! See?” You said reassuringly; though, Hank himself didn’t find himself too convinced.

“Hey, what are you so worried about?” You ask, brows drawn together hoping to get a straight answer out of him.

He was worried about you, obviously. You suffered several traumatic head injuries within a short span of time! If you had not been a mutant…he didn’t even want to think of the possible outcomes of that situation.

Hank sighed heavily, organizing his racing thoughts. “I thought I’d lost you.” He managed to drag out.

Huh?

Scared??

That he lost...YOU?!?

“Hank, I think I’ve suffered greater injuries. You should know this.” You say with a small laugh before quickly stopping, his solemn expression instantly killing your attempt to lighten the mood.

His large hands grab your wrists firmly. “You have been out for a month.” His words shook you, so much so that you found yourself shaking your head in disbelief.

You hadn’t been out for longer than a day, right?

Hank must’ve sensed your reluctancy to believe your current situation because he started again. “You suffered several fractures to your skull, luckily, nothing broken or opposing threats to your brain. Unfortunately the stress your skull took on added with the hard contact of the ground practically split your head open.” He explained, running a hand down his tired face.

You hadn’t realized this had happened. “But I’m…I’m okay now, aren’t I?” You ask hesitantly, raising a hand up carefully to the back of your head. You felt stitches, running up the back of your head. Your stomach dropped.

“I performed an emergency medical procedure…which I won’t go into details with you so soon…” He sighed heavily once again, plopping down in his wheeled office chair.

“I hadn’t realized…” You quietly trailed off while fidgeting with your fingers out of nervous habit.

Hadn’t realized what? How bad the situation was? How worried the other X-Men must be? How much Hank went through to make sure you were well?!?

“Please, it isn’t your fault. If anything, this situation has made me realize something…” Now it was Hank’s turn to dramatically pause, his head in his large, blue hands.

“What? What is it?” You ask nervously, fearing your health was in critical condition at this point.

He grabbed you by the shoulders once again, looking into your eyes deeply, “Because…because I fear I’m falling in love with you.”

You stared in utter shock. Had you heard him correctly? He feels the same way?!?

“I-I want to come home to you, to kiss you like it’s been eons since I last saw your face. I need you safe, I don’t know how I’ll live with myself if you aren’t-” You didn’t need to hear anymore. 

You grabbed him by his lab coat, pulling him into you as your lips pressed together in a flurry of passion.

He held onto you, hungrily chasing after your lips as he poured all the love he’d helplessly held in for so long.

Your hands slowly slid up his broad chest and towards his neck, finding themselves tangled in his soft hair. “Hank” You sighed against his lips, the kiss ripping all oxygen from your lungs and leaving you breathless in the process.

He groans into your mouth in response, his tongue running against your bottom lip, silently begging for access.

Your heated ‘session’ was abruptly cut short by the lab door sliding open. Hank shot up, nearly taking a tumble trying to remove himself from you- to avoid any suspicion of…previous actions of course.

Though, the scene didn’t look too convincing; seeing how Hank’s glasses laid crooked on his face and his hair was well tussled. You had to cover your giggle at his appearance.

It was Morph, Cyclops, and Logan. They all start laughing, causing the rest of the X-men to come in, groaning in defeat.

“Woah, woah- were all of you just standing outside the door?!?” Hank exclaimed.

“Pay up, daddy’s waiting.” Logan holds out a hand expectantly towards the other X-Men, a smirk displayed across his face while completely ignoring Hank.

“I knew I should’ve bet with Logan.” Rogue mumbles, fishing out money from her pockets along with the rest of the team.

Oh yes. This was only the beginning of a long, beautiful (and heavily teased) relationship with Hank.

I hope you enjoyed this cute little one-shot! ;)

If you want more like this or want something written, please hit up my ask box! Requests are always open 💕 Until next time🫡🫡

-Mae

[delulu4anime]

𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔗𝔬 𝔓𝔩𝔬𝔱 𝔗𝔴𝔬⇥ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ʟᴏʟʟɪᴘᴏᴘꜱ

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ⇥ ᴀᴋɪ ʜᴀʏᴀᴋᴀᴡᴀ x ᴄᴏ-ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʀʏ ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ⇥ ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜰɪxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴜʟᴏɢʏ⇥ ʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪᴄᴏᴛɪɴᴇ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ꜰʟᴀᴠᴏʀ. ᴡʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ? ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ꜰɪxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏꜱ.

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢꜱ⇥ ꜱᴍᴏᴋɪɴɢ, ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ʙʟᴏᴡᴊᴏʙꜱ, ᴅᴏᴍɪɴᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴋɪ, ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜʀᴏᴀᴛ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱQᴜɪɴᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡ, ᴅᴇꜱᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴋɪ, ꜱʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟᴏʟʟɪᴘᴏᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ.

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴛɪᴏɴ⇥ 2.5ᴋ+

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇʀᴍᴏɴ⇥ 🔞ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇʏᴀʀᴅ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴇᴅ. ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴡ🔞-ɪ ᴀᴍ ꜱᴏ ᴜɴʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴀʙʟʏ ꜰᴇʀᴀʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀᴋɪ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪꜱʜɪʙᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴍ ᴄꜱᴍ. ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴜɴʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ ɪᴛ. ɪ ꜰᴏᴀᴍ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. ʟᴏʀᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ. ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏꜱ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴀʏ ᴛᴡᴏ ʙᴜᴛ ᴏʜ ᴡᴇʟʟ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴅᴀʏ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴏꜰ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴍʏ ᴘᴀɴᴛꜱ. ᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ!

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ʜʏᴍɴꜱ⇥ ᴏᴏʜ, ʟᴇᴛ'ꜱ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴄʜᴇᴍɪꜱᴛʀʏ/'ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪ'ᴍ ᴅʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇʟᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ/ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴍᴏʟᴇᴄᴜʟᴇꜱ/'ᴛɪʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄʟᴇꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴏʟʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ/ɪꜰ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ/ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ/ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴏʀɴ ɪɴ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴏʀ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ-ꜱᴇɴᴛ/ʙᴜᴛ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ'ᴍ ɪɴᴛᴏ ɪᴛ

The music bumped throughout the house and the conversations people were having seemed to all blend together. Aki wasn't sure why he let Himeno talk him into coming to this party tonight or why Power and Denji felt the need to tag along. Regardless he was regretting his decision greatly. Himeno was drunk and moving to the song that played a few feet away, not at all in rhythm with the tune. He'd lost sight of Power hours ago and he would've done the same with Denji had Aki not been staring him down like a hawk.

He could see how flushed Denji's cheeks were as Makima talked to him. She looked so relaxed talking to Denji while he looked like a mess as he usually did when talking to a woman especially one a beautiful as Makima. Aki could feel the jealousy bubbling up in him over this; that should be him having her attention not some idiot like Denji. Aki scoffed as he pushed off the wall he had been leaning against; he needed a cigarette...now. He maneuvered his was through what seemed like an endless see of people to get to the patio.

However, once he was able to get there he noticed even more people outside drinking and laughing with one another. Something he didn't want to partake in at all. He sighed as he looked around and saw a flight of stairs a short distance away so he decided to take his chances. He made his was upstairs and notice immediately that no one had bothered to set foot up here and better yet there was a balcony. Aki made his way through the bedroom and noticed the sliding door was ajar. The curtains on either side swayed in the light breeze that had made its way inside. Soon his gaze shifted to the person who was leaning against the balcony railing. Shit...he really wasn't in the mood to make small talk with anyone; maybe if he turned around quietly he could...

Before a plan could even form in Aki's mind you looked over your shoulder when you sensed someone's presence. Aki froze for a moment when your gaze met his and when he realized it was you he suddenly didn't mind the company. You were technically a newbie, only being with Makima’s sector for a year, but with how reserved you were most of the time he wondered if you had been a private devil hunter that just decided to join something like Public Safety. He didn't ever ask because asking leads to conversations and conversations were the last thing either of you ever seemed to want. You two were cordial with one another, never saying more than needed, and he liked that. You weren't a hassle.

So with his shoulders now relaxing knowing he could partake in his cigarette in peace he reached out and opened the sliding door. He stepped out into the cool night air and closed the door behind him. You had moved your gaze back out to the city around you without saying a word, knowing you didn't really have to when it came to Aki. A lollipop stick hanging out of your mouth like always. Aki pulled the carton of cigarettes out of his pocket and opened the lid with his thumb. He looked at the two measly cigarettes he had left and he made a mental note to stop by the convenience store on the way home.

He pulled one out and put it between her lips before he pulled his lighter out. There was a soft click before the flame appears and he leaned forward to lit the end of his cigarette. He makes sure to keep his distance from you so he doesn't blow the smoke near you. He inhaled the nicotine and it immediately sent a wave of relief over him; his eyes closing to relish the sweet relief.

"That's a nasty habit y'know." You said as you broke the silence between you two.

He opened his eyes and pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and exhaled the smoke. He stared at you for a moment as you continued to look out at the city; the party below seeming like a million miles away.

"Says the one always with a lollipop in her mouth. Don't know what's worse the fact you're bound to have cavities or the fact you look like a ten year old." Aki sassed back and for a moment he felt guilty for doing so…that is until you laughed. You looked over your shoulder and raised a brow.

"Better than getting lung cancer don't you think?" You shot back and Aki paused for a moment before he rolled his eyes.

He took another drag from his cigarette as he leans against the railing away from you still. Despite not really caring about the consequences of his habit he at least didn't want you to inhale the smoke. There was a brief pause between you as he exhaled the smoke and watched it lift into the night sky.

"I never understood your obsession with lollipops." Aki uttered out breaking the silence between you. His gaze moving over to you.

You hummed at his words as you grabbed the stick and slowly pulled it out of your mouth. Aki's eyes locking in on the way you do so and he can't stop the way he swallows thickly before his gaze moves back to meet yours. There was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn't quite recognize especially when it was directed towards someone like you.

"It's called an oral fixation. You have one too just with cigarettes." You replied as you motioned to his cigarette between his fingers with your lollipop. "Helps ease the stress doesn't it?" You say as put it back in your mouth savoring the sweetness of the artificial cherry flavor.

"There's no way a damn lollipop will ease the stress." Aki says with a scoff and you roll your eyes at his skepticism. This reaction out of you was a nice little change up from how you both usually were with each other. It made him want to keep pushing you as he took another drag. "At least it keeps you quiet I guess."

Aki's lips curve up at the corners as he brings the cigarette back up to his mouth to take another drag.

"I know a few things that would keep me quiet for ever longer. Would fill up my mouth too much to even speak actually." You shot back without missing a beat.

Aki's eyes widened as he inhaled too much and started to cough. You watch him with a gaze akin to boredom as you continue to enjoy your sweet treat.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Silence that filled the air between both of you once again as you just stared at each other. Enough to hear the party continuing on downstairs and even the lyrics to whatever pop song was currently playing could be heard if you listened close enough. You could see the resolve in his gaze shift as he clenches his jaw; this was a side of Aki you hadn't seen before and you couldn't deny that you liked it. A lot.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Aki grumbled as the grip on his cigarette tightened between his fingers.

"Oh but I do know what I'm talking about. I mean it's one of my favorite things to do anyways. Suck on lollipops." You said as you continue to taunt him.

You expected him to blush and stammer on about how lewd you were being. To stop and even roll his eyes because despite him being attractive that didn't mean he had any experience with women. He was such a stickler for the rules at work and his mind seemed to have a one way track which really only consisted of killing devils or Makima. Which is why you didn't expect him to put his cigarette out on the balcony railing and his lips to pull into a slight grin. He let out a breathy chuckle and flicked the cigarette butt off the balcony not caring one bit where it could've landed. In the matter of a second he was in front of you and looking down at you with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint in his eyes. You took a small step back but the railing preventing you from going anywhere. He reached out and grabbed your jaw and your breath hitches.

"Open your mouth." Aki commanded.

You blinked up at him for a moment and he raised a brow. He let go of your jaw and patted your cheek lightly.

"I said open your mouth."

You immediately do as your told and open your mouth. Aki tilted his head to the side as his gaze moves down to where the lollipop is sticking out of your mouth. He motions to it with his chin before his lidded gaze moves to meet yours.

"Gimme that." Aki said and your brow furrowed for a moment before your hand seemed to move on its own.

You raised your hand up, grabbed your lollipop, and started to pull it from your mouth. His eyes are glued on the way you slowly removed the lollipop from your mouth. A small string of saliva on the red candy before you reached up to put it in his mouth. He leaned down slightly as he wrapped his lips around the candy. His gaze moving to meet yours as he hummed at the flavor. Aki leaned back and moved his hands to his pockets as the white stick moved from one side of his mouth to the other.

"Get down on your knees." Aki commanded again after a moment of silence which only caused your eyes to widen.

"W-What?" You breathed out not expecting Aki to say or do this.

"You heard me."

Your body moved on its own again as you immediately fell down to your knees in front of him. He looked down at you with expression that was different than his usual aloof expression...he looked hungry.

"Go on. This is your favorite thing to do after all right? Sucking on lollipops. Show me then. Suck on mine." Aki said in a condescending tone as he moved the lollipop around in his mouth again.

You could stop the soft whine that leaves your lips at his words and the butterflies in her stomach start to flutter about. Had you known rilling him up would lead to this you would've done it a long time ago. Your hands reach up and start to undo his belt and slacks; in a matter of second you were eye level with his cock. Your mouth practically watered before you looked up at those blue eyes that seemed to darken the moment your eyes met. You opened your mouth and took in his length into your mouth.

You hummed at the taste of his pre-cum that had already started to form at the tip. The mixture of his taste combined with the after taste of the cherry was quickly becoming your new fixation. Your gaze never leaving his as you start to swirl your tongue around him which only causes him to groan. His eyes narrowing as you start to slowly move your head up and down against his length. His jaw clenched slightly as he watched you move against him and he couldn't stop himself for moving his hands out of his pockets and to the back of your head.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he shifted his hips against your mouth slightly. You moaned around him as you moved your hands to his thighs and gripped the fabric of his slacks.

"T-That's it...just like that." Aki grunts out as you move your tongue about and continue your movements.

The party continued on downstairs and occasionally you could hear the people right below you on the patio laughing and conversing with one another. They had no idea the lewd actions that were happening just above them on the balcony. It only excited you and made you want to please him more. Your eyes flutter shut as you focus on making sure he feels good. You pick up your movements which only earns you a string moans and grunts from the man above you. His grip on the back of your head tightens as he starts to move his hips more. His lips part and the lollipop hangs lazily in his mouth as feels his restraint snapping.

"F-Fuck m' sorry." Aki breathes out and before you can even process why he was apologize he was already bucking his hips forward. "C-Can't help it. Feels so good."

Tears build up in your waterline as you let him use your mouth the way he wants. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Had planned to save himself for his work and that was it. But seeing you standing there, taunting him, with that goddamn lollipop. Something took over him and right now he was feeling anything but regret.

He clenched his jaw and he feels the candy crunch under his teeth. He can feel his release coming sooner than he thought and it was all because of that mouth of yours. Because of your sassy remarks, the way you flaunted the lollipop, and now this. This might be his new fixation. His new way to dull down the stress of being a devil hunter. For having to baby sit Power and Denji. For not being able to even touch Makima the way he wanted. No this...this would be what he'd crave from now on. You.

"O-Oh fuck baby...baby...h-haa...m' gonna cum." Aki moaned out.

Baby? Heavens he was losing his mind. Your mouth felt too good. The way he spoke only caused you to moan around him and that was all he needed to send him over the edge. His teeth biting down on the stick of the lollipop as he held your head in place. His release filling your mouth as you gripped his slacks tightly. You swallowed every bit and as you pulled off of him you were expecting to be able to take a breath of air. What happened instead was Aki kneeling down to crash his lips against yours. The stick from the candy discarded but with the way he moved his tongue into your mouth all you could taste was the aftertaste of his release and cherry flavored bits of the lollipop. You moaned into the kiss as you both moved in sync with one another before he pulls away first. You both pant and swallow the pieces of the candy as you look at one another.

"Let me be your fixation," Aki panted out. "Let me taste you...devour you."

©ᴅᴇʟᴜʟᴜ4ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ 2024 ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

ᴅᴀɪʟʏ ᴄʟɪᴄᴋꜱ

ᴘᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇ

[tekumaniac311]

My Space Rider team

Credit of the artwork goes to the mastermind of this au herself, @onyxonline!

This is one of the various Space Rider groups out there in the galaxy right now, doing the duty of battling the Cult, and combating the Red Mist itself, all that shtick. However, what stands this particular group out from the others is their eagerness, well their leaders eagerness, to best Dogday and his group in the battle against the Prototype!

Introducing from left to right:

Captain Dogbite Solaris: Sounds familiar right? Well he is Dogday's BROTHER, younger than him by 3 years, he's one of the youngest to ever achieve the rank of captain at the academy. His leadership skills and sun abilities are almost identical to that of his brother. But what he has that Dogday does not is an extreme arrogance, recklessness in combat and leading. Fueled by his jealousy towards Dogday, he aims to best him and his squad any way he can.

Drago Kitano: Second in command of Dogbite's crew, Drago Kitano posses a calm, level-headed manner in combat or off duty, he attains an inner peace and care toward his fellow members. It often takes him to stop his captain, Dogbite from going overboard in challenging Dogday. Possessing the power of pyrokinesis.

Leopardaisy: A quirky, fun loving and very sneaky snow leopard, Leopardaisy is always one to joke and kick butt at the same time, a born optimist and acrobatic expert, she's there to lend a hand to folks and cheer up. She possesses power of limited invisibility and phasing through solid objects.

Lean Lemur: As a communications helper and mechanic assistant, Lean Lemur despite his size and age is a valuable member regardless, although he tends to be the most antisocial and secluded of the group, shy of meeting others and not used to being in parties at all, poor guy.

Prettybird: Pretty is the best to describe Prettybird, she is the top medical expert of the squad and fashion expert to. Born from a doctor and a fashion expert, she went instead to the academy to see the galaxy and help others with her medical knowledge...and look pretty while doing it.

Mama Mammoth: Working hard, large and full of heart is what to describe Mama Mammoth, an expert chef who's cooking skills can bring any diner/fast food joint to shame. With a huge gentle giant personality, she often leads the group who stay behind while the other four fight. She always shows a motherly nature towards her fellow teammates and always makes sure not one of them are without what they need.

FixFox: Not afraid to get her fur all greasy and having a big love for engines and vehicles, FixFox fits right at home tuning the vehicles and designing the gadgets for her Rider team, her upbeat, quirky personality always shines through when working on a vehicle or just chilling out with her buds.

Berserkerine: The muscle of the squad, Berserkerine grew up beating up bullies or punks before joining the riders, quickly growing a friendship with Dogbite he joined the team after graduating. Now he rides with the team, looking for more cultists to bash and skulls to crack. He possesses powers of pain resistance and enhanced strength.