#i know it was a simple question that could be answered with 'no' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kirammanswifey · 3 days ago

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arcane characters in a zombie apocalypse x fem reader (AU)

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i’ve always wanted to do a dynamic like this, i’m a total zombie fan and i loved how the settings turned out. i’m literally speechless! the post-apocalyptic vibe is on point, and i can’t wait to see how the next parts unfold. this project has mad potential, guys i swear! every new twist has me hooked, and i can’t stop thinking about what’s coming next. it’s definitely got everything to be epic! as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

The night was thick and cold, the air heavy with the echoes of a world crumbling to pieces. The streets, once bustling with life, were now engulfed in an unsettling silence, broken only by the crunch of debris under your boots. The zombie apocalypse had taken more than words could express. As you moved forward, hunger and thirst became your constant companions, but so was the hope of finding a refuge, a temporary respite amid the chaos.

It was then that you heard it. A soft, ethereal melody, floating in the air like a whisper, like a lament. You stopped, the sound calling to you like a siren, a promise of something human, something real, in a world that seemed to have lost all connection to the soul. Following the trail of the music, you arrived at a semi-collapsed building, an old concert hall. The doors were ajar, and the sound of the piano echoed through the walls, a melancholic tune speaking of losses and longings.

Entering cautiously, your eyes adjusted to the dimness, and there, in the center of the room, was him. Viktor, his slender figure bent over the piano, his long, skillful fingers gliding across the keys with a precision almost mechanical. He didn’t stop when you entered, his eyes closed, lost in a world of his own.

"Are you real or a ghost?" His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, barely a whisper over the music. He didn’t wait for a reply, his fingers never faltering.

"I’m real... I think," you responded, stepping closer with light steps, as if afraid to break the spell he had created. "Your music... it’s beautiful. But why play for the dead?"

He opened his eyes, his gaze tired, marked by a pain you recognized immediately. "The living don’t listen. They don’t understand. The dead... they make a better audience."

It wasn’t the answer you expected, but you didn’t question it either. There was something in his voice, in the way he said it, that made you feel that this man, this stranger, carried a pain like your own. You sat at a respectful distance, not wanting to interrupt more than necessary.

"Not all the living are deaf to pain," you said softly, your eyes fixed on his hands still playing. "I understand. I’ve lost as much as you, maybe more."

For the first time, his hands stopped, and the silence filled the room. Viktor looked up at you, as if he were truly seeing you for the first time. "Why are you here?"

"I was looking for water, shelter... but now I think I was looking for something else. Something that would remind me there’s still beauty in this broken world."

There was a moment of silence, tense but full of possibility. Then, he nodded, as if accepting your presence. "The water’s in the room behind. You can stay, if you want. But don’t talk too much."

You chuckled softly, a sound you hadn’t made in weeks. "Deal."

Thus began your relationship, silent at first, sharing space with few words. Viktor played, and you listened, finding comfort in each note. Slowly, the walls he had built started to crumble. He would tell you small things, fragments of his life before the apocalypse, the people he had lost. And you shared your own stories, your own scars.

One night, after an especially sad piece, Viktor stopped playing and looked at you directly. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who made me feel like I wasn’t alone."

"And now you’re not," you responded softly, taking his hand in yours, a simple gesture but one full of meaning. "You don’t have to face this alone, Viktor. No one should."

The touch was a catalyst, a spark that ignited something within him. Viktor nodded, his eyes shining with something more than pain for the first time in a long time. "Maybe... maybe you can teach me how to live again."

"And you can teach me to find peace in music," you said, your words sincere, your heart open.

It was the beginning of something deeper, a bond forged not only in shared pain but in the hope of healing together. Every night, Viktor played, not just for the dead, but for you, and in each note, you both found a path to redemption.

Jinx

The roar of gunshots and screams tore through the air, interrupting the unsettling silence of the night. You approached cautiously, your heart racing in your chest, driven by curiosity and the instinct to survive. The sounds came from a narrow alley, a trap of shadows and death.

There, you saw her for the first time.

Jinx, a whirlwind of bright colors and madness, fired with brutal precision, her eyes overflowing with an intensity that froze your blood. Her laughter was a cry of defiance, but also a disguised plea for help. Around her, the bodies of zombies fell, but it didn’t seem like she was fighting just them. There were others, humans, equally dead or dying.

"Come on! Is that all you’ve got?" she shouted, her blue braids spinning as her machine gun spat fire. There was a twisted joy in her voice, but also something deeper, something broken.

For a moment, you hesitated. This girl, this wild creature, was she someone you could help, or someone you should flee from? But something in her eyes, in the chaos of her mind reflected in her gaze, drew you in.

"Enough!" You found yourself shouting, your own words surprising you. "They're already dead!"

Jinx turned sharply toward you, her eyes narrowing, assessing you as if you were the next enemy. "And who are you? The savior of the day?" Her smile was a mix of mockery and distrust.

"No, just... someone who doesn’t want to see more unnecessary deaths," you said, raising your hands in a peace gesture. "You’ve already taken care of them."

For a moment, there was silence. Jinx lowered her weapon, though her fingers stayed tense on the trigger. "Maybe, but there’s always more. There will always be more."

"That doesn’t mean you have to fight alone," you dared to say, moving a little closer. "No need to be a war machine all the time."

She laughed, a dry and bitter sound. "And who are you to tell me what to be? The world is chaos, and I... fit perfectly in it."

"I don’t doubt it," you admitted, your voice soft but firm. "But even chaos needs a moment of calm."

Jinx stared at you, as if searching for something in your eyes, something she hadn’t found in a long time. "You’re strange, you know that? Not many come close when they see what I’m capable of."

"I’m not like the others," you simply said. "And I don’t think you are either."

For the first time, Jinx seemed to relax, lowering her weapon completely. "Maybe you’re not. What’s your name, strange one?"

You told her your name, and she repeated it, as if testing the sound on her lips. "So, are you going to follow me then, or are you just here to preach?"

"I could follow you, if you’ll let me."

She smiled, this time more genuinely. "Well then, strange one. Let’s see how much you can handle."

And that’s how your relationship with Jinx began, a whirlwind of emotions and danger. It wasn’t easy; she was unpredictable, her moods shifting like the wind, and her inner demons always lurking. But there were also moments of genuine connection, of vulnerability she only showed to you.

Over time, Jinx began to trust you more than she ever thought possible. You were the only one who could calm the storm inside her, even though sometimes she dragged you along with her. There were nights when she clung to you, whispering her fears and nightmares, and you were there to hold her.

"You’re always going to remind me that I’m not alone, right?" she asked one night, her big eyes full of a mix of hope and fear.

"Always," you reassured her, gently caressing her face. "As long as you let me stay by your side."

Jinx smiled, a smile that, though still broken, was starting to heal. "Then stay, strange one. Stay with me in this chaos."

And you did. Because, despite everything, the chaos with Jinx was where you started to feel like you belonged.

The night was dark, barely lit by the fire consuming the camp around you. The screams and mess were deafening, each second a reminder of how fragile life had become in this new world. You were trapped, surrounded by the bandits who had attacked, their cruel laughter and weapons gleaming under the light of the flames.

"What do we have here?" one of them mocked, stepping closer with a depraved smile. "Another victim of this rotten world."

You were exhausted, too weak to resist, but before they could harm you, a roar echoed through the camp. Shadows moved swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, the bandits were on the ground, neutralized by a figure who moved like lightning.

"Get out of here, or the next blow won’t be so merciful," said a firm, deep voice belonging to the woman standing in front of you. She was tall, muscular, with an aura of authority that left you speechless. Her short dark-red hair, along with the visible scars on her fists, made her unmistakable.

It was Vi, the leader of a resistance group. You had heard of her, a legend among the survivors, someone who never left anyone behind. But in person, she was even more imposing.

"Are you okay?" she asked, without wasting time, her eyes scanning your body for injuries.

"Yes... thank you," you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly. "I thought I was... done for."

"Almost," Vi said, with a slight smile that barely touched her lips. "But not while I'm on guard."

She helped you stand, her grip firm but surprisingly gentle. "Let's go, we can't stay here."

As you moved forward with her group, you noticed Vi stayed close, always vigilant. Her presence was comforting, despite her distant attitude. There was something in her eyes that made you think she had suffered too, that her strength didn't come without a cost.

Days passed, and although Vi was reserved, you noticed small moments when her facade would crumble. A lost look at the horizon, a sigh when she thought no one was listening. You couldn't help but feel curious, a need to understand her, to reach the heart of the woman who had saved your life.

"Why do you do this?" you asked one night, when the others were asleep. You were sitting by the fire, and she was on the perimeter, always alert.

"Do what?" she responded, not looking at you directly.

"Lead, protect people like me," you said, your voice soft but firm. "You could just worry about yourself, but you don’t."

Vi sighed, finally sitting next to you. "Because if I don't, who will? The world has already lost too many good people."

"And you’ve lost too, haven’t you?" you ventured, noticing how her eyes darkened at your words.

"We’ve all lost," she murmured, looking away. "But not everyone has the luxury of letting that destroy us."

"But that doesn’t mean you have to face it alone," you said, gently touching her arm. "Sometimes, sharing the weight makes it easier to bear."

Vi looked at you, surprised by your boldness, but she didn't pull away her arm. "I’m not used to sharing," she admitted, her voice almost a whisper. "I’ve always thought showing weakness is dangerous."

"It’s not weakness, Vi," you reassured, holding her gaze. "It’s humanity."

There was silence, one that seemed endless, but eventually, Vi nodded, as if your words had broken something inside her. "Maybe you're right," she said with a faint smile. "Maybe."

From that moment on, your relationship with Vi began to change. She remained the strong, distant warrior, but privately, with you, she began to lower her guard. She confided in you her fears, her memories of the past, and you were there to listen, to support her. In return, Vi became your protector, but also someone who trusted you to be her emotional anchor.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," she said one night, her voice filled with contained emotion.

"I’ll always be here for you, Vi," you replied, gently taking her hand. "Because you give me strength too."

And so, in the madness of thus new world, you both found a reason to keep fighting, together.

Caitlyn

The air smelled of decay and disinfectant. Every step you took echoed through the underground hallways of the shelter, a maze of steel and concrete that promised safety but hid dark secrets. You were injured, exhausted, and desperate for medical help. The last zombie ambush had left your group in ruins, and you had barely escaped with your life.

Following the signs toward the medical room, you stumbled until you reached a door slightly ajar, from which murmurs and the soft hum of machinery emanated. Pushing the door open, your eyes met a sight that froze you in place.

Caitlyn, a woman with a serene and elegant appearance, was standing in front of an operating table. On it lay an immobilized zombie, still half alive, groaning under the cold lights of the lab. Caitlyn seemed absorbed, meticulously recording her observations as if it were a regular patient, not a monstrous creature.

"What... what are you doing?" Your voice came out broken, almost a whisper, but loud enough for Caitlyn to glance up, her blue eyes meeting yours. There was something in them, a mixture of weariness and determination that unsettled you.

"I'm looking for answers," she said, her tone soft but firm. "If we don't understand the disease, we won't be able to stop it."

"But... experimenting on them like this?" you gestured to the zombie in horror. "This... this isn't right."

"Not right?" Caitlyn set aside her instruments and approached you with a calmness that contrasted with the situation. "What would you do then? Let humanity go extinct while we cling to our morality?"

Her words left you breathless. There was a brutal truth in what she said, but also a line you felt shouldn't be crossed. "I don't know, but this... this doesn't seem like the answer."

"I need time," Caitlyn sighed, her gaze softening slightly. "And understanding. I'm not proud of what I'm doing, but someone has to do it."

Although your initial instinct was to flee from the scene, something in Caitlyn's vulnerability made you stay. "I need help," you finally said, pointing to the wound on your arm. "I was attacked, and I barely managed to escape."

"Come," Caitlyn said, pointing to a cleaner cot on the other side of the room. "Let me help you."

As she tended to you, the silence between you two became heavy, laden with unspoken thoughts. Caitlyn worked with precision, her face showing a mix of concentration and exhaustion.

"Do you always do this alone?" you asked, trying to break the ice, your eyes fixed on hers as she stitched your wound.

"Yes," she replied without looking up. "Most people don't understand what it takes to survive in this world. They prefer to judge from afar."

"I'm not judging you," you clarified, though part of you still struggled with what you had seen. "But... maybe you need to remember why you're doing this. Not just to stop the virus, but to save what's left of us."

Caitlyn paused, her hands still holding the needle. She looked at you with an intensity that made you shiver. "And you? Why do you fight to survive?"

"Because I believe there's still something worth fighting for," you answered honestly. "And because I think if we forget that, we become them."

There was a long silence before Caitlyn resumed working on your wound, but this time her touch was softer, almost as if she were reconsidering her own actions.

From that day on, a fragile connection began to form between the two of you. Caitlyn remained the distant scientist, but in your conversations, you saw glimpses of the woman she once was—someone who had lost as much as you but still fought to find a purpose. You became her constant reminder that science and humanity were not mutually exclusive.

"Thank you for staying," she said one night, when the experiments had ceased and the shelter was calm. "Sometimes, even I need to remember there's something beyond these walls."

"There's always something more, Caitlyn," you smiled, touching her hand gently. "And you deserve it too."

And so, amidst the darkness, feelings began to emerge that neither of them had expected, a bond that promised not only a cure for the world but also for their broken souls.

Jayce

The ruined city was shrouded in a deathly silence, broken only by the occasional crunch of debris beneath your feet. You had been wandering for hours, searching for supplies in an area that had been abandoned since the outbreak began. The air was heavy with dust and desperation, but your instincts guided you, as if something else was calling you.

Turning a corner, you found yourself facing a half-collapsed building, but through one of its broken windows, a faint light filtered through. Curiosity and the need to survive pushed you inside. As you crossed the threshold, the sounds of an improvised laboratory reached your ears: the hum of machines, the clinking of glass vials, and a soft murmur.

Cautiously, you ventured further into the interior until you saw a man with light brown hair, clad in a lab coat, working frantically among various homemade devices. His concentration was so intense that he didn’t notice your presence until you stepped on a loose piece of metal.

"Who's there?" His voice was firm, though tinged with a slight tension. He quickly turned, and his eyes met yours. There was something in his gaze, a mix of distrust and exhaustion.

"Sorry," you raised your hands, showing that you were unarmed. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just looking for supplies and saw the light. I didn't know anyone was here."

Jayce narrowed his eyes, evaluating you. "This place isn't safe. What are you doing here alone?"

"Surviving," you answered honestly. "Like everyone else. But it seems like you’re doing more than just surviving." Your eyes scanned the makeshift laboratory. "What is all this?"

Jayce hesitated for a moment before speaking. "It's... an attempt to correct a mistake. I'm looking for a cure for this damn virus."

Your eyebrows rose, impressed by his confession. "A cure? Do you really think it's possible?"

"It's all I have left," he sighed, returning to his instruments. "I can't afford to doubt."

You moved closer, watching his hands as he mixed compounds and adjusted rudimentary microscopes. "Can I help? I'm not a scientist, but I have some medical knowledge. And a lot of desire to make this work."

Jayce looked at you again, this time with a spark of hope in his eyes. "Why would you want to help me? You don’t even know if this is possible."

"Because if there’s a chance, no matter how small, it's worth trying," you replied firmly. "Besides, I don't have much to lose."

A small smile crossed Jayce's lips. "Alright. But if you stay, it'll be on my terms. This isn't a game."

"Understood," you nodded, sitting down in a nearby chair. "Where do we start?"

Days turned into weeks, and what started as a simple collaboration turned into an inseparable partnership. Jayce, always focused and methodical, found in you a companion who not only shared his determination but also reminded him of the humanity behind the science.

There were nights when frustration consumed him, when the experiments failed, and hope faded like smoke. During those moments, you were there, offering him comfort in words and actions, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in his mission.

"Jayce, you can't do this alone," you told him one night, as he sank into his chair, exhausted and defeated. "You have to let someone else share that burden."

He looked up, his tired eyes meeting yours. "I don't know if I can," he admitted. "I've made mistakes before. I don’t want to drag you into my failures."

"This isn’t just your fight," you said, taking his hand in yours. "If we're going to save this world, we’ll do it together."

Jayce gently squeezed your hand, allowing a warmth he had been repressing to seep into his heart. "Thank you," he murmured. "For staying. For believing in me."

"Always," you smiled, drawing closer, your proximity a balm for his restless soul. "You’re not alone, Jayce. And you never will be as long as I’m here."

That night, something changed between you. Science and the search for a cure were no longer the only things that united you. A deeper connection had begun, a bond that grew with every challenge overcome together, with every moment of vulnerability shared.

And so, amidst the chaos and desolation, hope no longer existed solely in Jayce's test tubes but also in the love that blossomed between you both, a cure as essential as the one you were searching for for the world.

Ekko

The night fell heavily over the ruined city, the shadows stretched long between the rubble, and the distant echoes of the infected resonated through the desolate streets. You moved cautiously, your eyes scanning every corner in search of a safe place to take refuge. You had heard rumors of a nearby shelter, but getting there would be nearly impossible without help.

The sound of a metallic click and a blue flash caught your attention from a dark corner. You approached silently, your steps light on the debris. Turning the corner, you saw a young man focused on a holographic screen, his fingers moving with astonishing speed as he hacked into a control system. His white hair shimmered under the dim light, and his face was furrowed in a mix of concentration and frustration.

"Trouble with the system?" you asked, breaking the silence.

Ekko jumped, quickly spinning toward you, his hand flying to a device on his belt. "Who are you? How did you find me?" His voice was filled with distrust.

"Easy," you raised your hands in a peace gesture. "I'm just another survivor, looking for shelter. I saw the light and thought you might help me."

He squinted, scanning you quickly. "I don't need distractions. This is delicate and complicated."

"I'm good with complicated," you replied with a slight smile. "I can help, if you let me."

Ekko hesitated for a moment, his gaze darkened by distrust. But something in your expression, in the determination of your eyes, made him reconsider. "What do you know about zombie control systems?"

"Enough to know you need someone to cover your back while you work," you said, stepping closer. "Besides, it doesn’t seem like you're in a position to turn down help."

He snorted, turning his attention back to the screen. "Fine, but don’t get in my way. This is harder than it looks."

You positioned yourself beside him, watching how his fingers flew over the controls. "Are you trying to access the shelter?"

"Yeah," he muttered, his concentration returning to the task. "If I can hack this system, we could gain access to a safe place. But it's protected by layers of security that... well, they're a headache."

"Let me take a look," you leaned closer to the screen, your fingers brushing against his. "I can help with that."

The days that followed were filled with long hours of work, where you and Ekko collaborated closely, sharing technical knowledge and survival strategies. Every time he wavered under pressure, you were there to offer him a steady hand, a word of encouragement.

One night, as you worked in silence, Ekko spoke, his voice low and filled with guilt. "All of this... the virus... it's my fault."

You looked at him, surprised by his confession. "What do you mean?"

"I was part of an experiment that went wrong," he admitted, his eyes fixed on the screen. "I thought I was helping, but I only made things worse."

You stepped closer, taking his hand in yours. "Ekko, we all make mistakes. But you're doing everything you can to fix it. That's what matters."

He looked at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of vulnerability and gratitude. "You... you see something good in me, despite everything."

"Because there is," you said softly. "And I won't let you drown in guilt. We'll get through this together."

That night, as the world continued to crumble around them, a spark of hope and something deeper began to blossom between you two, a bond that would be as strong as the mission you shared.

Silco

The smell of mold and decay filled the air of the abandoned casino as you moved cautiously, your breath controlled and your senses on high alert. The echo of your footsteps resonated in the silence, broken only by the faint hum of a slot machine that, miraculously, was still working. Your goal was clear: find supplies and get out of there before the place became your tomb.

However, fate had other plans.

"What’s a fascinating creature like you doing in a place like this?" The voice came from the shadows, velvet and dangerous. Your body tensed instantly, spinning on your heels with your hand ready to reach for your weapon.

From the threshold of an old VIP room, a man emerged, his slender figure and sharp gaze striking you immediately. His elegant demeanor, despite the surroundings, and his green-blue eyes trapped you at once. You didn’t know who he was, but his presence carried a weight you couldn’t ignore.

"Looking for luck?" The man raised an eyebrow, his thin, calculating smile evident.

"I don’t believe in luck," you responded firmly, keeping your guard up. "Only in what I can take for myself."

"An interesting philosophy," he murmured, stepping closer with slow steps, his presence dominating the room. "But here, everything has a price."

"I don’t have time for games." You kept your voice steady, trying not to show the slight tremor in your fingers as he stopped a few meters away from you.

"Games?" The man’s laugh was low, almost a whisper. "There are no games, only transactions. And you, it seems, aren’t willing to lose."

"The same could be said about you," you challenged, holding his gaze. "What are you after?"

For a moment, the silence between you two stretched, heavy with tension. The man tilted his head as if deciding whether to reveal more or continue his game. Finally, he spoke, his tone serious and measured.

"The same as you," he said, his voice deep. "Survive."

"And manipulate," you added, not missing a beat.

The man laughed again, but this time, there was something different in his laugh, something you couldn’t quite decipher. "Maybe," he admitted, with a frankness that unsettled you. "But don’t we all manipulate in our own way to get what we want?"

"Not everyone sells their soul in the process," you retorted.

"Ah," he took another step closer, almost touching you. "And you, what would you be willing to do to survive?"

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and for the first time, you noticed the faint shadow of something beyond his cold facade: curiosity. This man, the manipulator, seemed genuinely interested in you, not just as a pawn in his game, but as someone who could be just like him.

"Whatever it takes," you said, not backing down. "But never at the cost of my humanity."

The man looked at you for a long moment, as if committing every word to memory. Finally, he took a step back, his lips curling into an enigmatic smile.

"Then perhaps we can find a common purpose," he offered, his tone softer, almost... inviting?

The relationship that began that night was a constant dance between power and vulnerability. Silco, accustomed to manipulating and controlling, found himself intrigued by your resistance, by your ability to see beyond his calculating facade. And you, despite your reservations, couldn’t help but feel drawn to the enigma that was Silco, to the intensity with which he challenged you and made you question your own limits.

Over time, the barriers between you both began to crumble, revealing a bond that you both had denied for a long time. Silco, the man who seemed unbreakable, showed moments of humanity that only you could see. And you, the woman who swore never to compromise her morals, found in him a reason to reconsider where survival ended and true life began.

Mel

The silence in the field was oppressive, broken only by the crunch of leaves under your boots as you approached the isolated house on the outskirts of the city. You had heard rumors about this place, of a woman who lived there, far from others, taking care of something... or someone. You needed shelter and, perhaps, answers.

The house was old but well-maintained, a sign that, despite the circumstances, whoever lived there kept up an appearance of normalcy. You approached slowly, with the distrust that had become your second nature. You knocked on the door, hoping someone would answer, or that the echo inside would confirm the place was empty.

The door creaked open, and there she was: Mel. Her beauty was ethereal, almost as if she didn’t belong to this desolate world. Her eyes, however, were another story, filled with a pain you recognized instantly.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was soft but had an edge that made you hesitate before answering.

"I’m looking for a safe place," you said, keeping your hands visible to show you weren’t a threat. "I just need to rest for a while and move on."

Mel studied you for a moment, her eyes searching for something in your expression. "No one comes here by accident," she murmured, almost to herself. "Come in."

The inside of the house was warm, a contradiction to the cold you felt in your chest. Mel led you to the living room, where the fire flickered weakly. The house was decorated with little keepsakes, photos of better times. However, a door at the end of the hallway was locked, and your instinct told you that was where the real reason for her isolation lay.

"Why are you here, really?" Mel sat down in front of you, her hands folded in her lap, but her eyes still filled with caution.

"I didn’t want to stay in the city. There’s... there’s nothing there for me." You averted your gaze, unable to hold hers for long. "I lost my family."

The tension in the room thickened, and for a moment, Mel seemed to wrestle internally. Finally, she sighed and offered you a cup of tea. "I’ve lost things too... important things."

The conversation halted, but in that silence, something began to form. An unspoken understanding between two broken people in the same world.

Days passed, and during that time, you noticed that Mel would disappear for hours, always returning with a distant expression. You didn’t want to press, but curiosity, mixed with concern, was a potent combination.

Finally, one night, when the moon was high, you got up and followed Mel. You found her in that locked room, the door slightly ajar now. Inside, you saw a child... or what was left of one. His skin was pale, his eyes hollow, but he still moved, still responded to Mel.

"He shouldn’t be here," Mel whispered, noticing your presence. "But I can’t let him go. He’s all I have left."

"I don’t judge him," you said, moving closer slowly. "I just wanted to understand."

"Understand what?" Mel turned to you, her eyes filled with tears. "How can a mother hold on to something that’s no longer her child? How can I live with this lie?"

"Because you love," you answered, your voice soft, almost a whisper. "And love isn’t always logical."

That was the moment everything changed. Mel began to open up more, sharing not only her pain but also her hopes, her fears. And in those moments, you became someone special to her, someone who didn’t judge her, who saw her as a woman fighting to keep a spark of her humanity alive.

The relationship between the two of you grew amidst the ruin, with each day bringing you closer, with each confession building a bridge of trust and understanding. In a world where everything was lost, you had found something new in each other: a reason to keep going.

Sevika

The sound of gunshots echoed through the ruins, blending with the screams and chaos around you. You were running, your feet frantic on the gray ground, the air thick with the dust rising from the collapsed structures. Your refuge had been attacked, and just as you found yourself trapped, a shadow intervened between you and the danger.

The woman who rescued you was unlike the others. Her presence was imposing, an echo of strength and determination. Her face was marked by scars, not only physical but emotional as well. Desperation was palpable in her eyes, but also a kind of warm darkness, as if she had long since given up on the light. You didn't say anything when her firm hands lifted you and dragged you to a safer place. The warmth of her body, the tension in her posture, all spoke of a heavy past, battles fought long before the one you'd just faced.

"Are you okay?" Sevika's voice was deep, sharp, but there was something in her tone that, though distant, made you feel like you weren't alone.

"Yes," you responded, though the fear still gripped your chest. "Thank you."

"It's nothing. Not the first time I've done this." Her intense gaze scanned the area before settling back on you. "Why do you keep fighting? There's no hope here."

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the world around you faded away. The question she asked, so simple and direct, struck a deep chord. Sevika wasn't expecting an answer, but in that moment, you felt the need to share the truth.

"Because I believe there's still something worth fighting for," you said, each word full of conviction. "People can be better, even in a broken world."

Sevika looked at you for a long moment, as if your words were a puzzle she was trying to solve. For a brief instant, her disbelief showed, and a bitter smile formed on her lips.

"That's what sets us apart, you see? I don't believe in those people anymore. Humanity is lost. There's no redemption."

Her words were like a dagger thrown without remorse, but something in her tone suggested that, perhaps deep down, she still wanted to believe it. She wanted it as much as you did.

Time passed, and although at first her presence was a kind of protective shadow, your own faith in the good of people began to penetrate the hardness of Sevika. Day by day, you realized that beneath that layer of disillusionment, there was something more. When the battle finally ended and the calm seemed to settle in the camp you'd managed to find shelter in, Sevika began to share fragments of herself. Her gaze was no longer as cold when she looked at you; she even let out a low laugh when, with your unwavering optimism, you insisted that the world could still have a chance.

"You’re going to end up killing me with all this hope," she joked one day, as you walked through the ruins of what once had been a vibrant city.

"I’d do it gladly," you replied, smiling. "If it meant you’d ever see that there’s more to this world than just survival."

And it was in those small interactions, in that resistance to disillusionment, where something more began to grow between you. Sevika started to depend on you, though she never said it aloud. Perhaps she didn’t understand how, but she felt that your presence was the only reminder of something she had lost long ago: the belief that even the most broken could find purpose, a path.

One night, after a long day, you sat next to her, watching the fallen stars that adorned the sky. The softness of the moonlight illuminated her face, and for a moment, you could see something beyond the woman hardened by life. She, who had never shown vulnerability, slowly turned toward you, her voice barely a whisper.

"I don’t understand why you follow me, I don’t understand why you haven’t walked away. What I do... what I am... isn’t something someone like you should stay for."

Your hand touched hers, without thinking. "Because I believe in you, Sevika. And I don’t care what you’ve done, what you’ve lost. The only thing that matters to me is what you choose to do now."

There was a long silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Sevika didn’t answer right away, but something in her expression changed. Somewhere inside, she began to accept what she hadn’t been able to believe before: that maybe, just maybe, humanity wasn’t as lost as she thought. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was something in her worth saving.

From that moment, the barriers between you began to crumble, though Sevika would never stop being who she was. She was a woman who had lost much, but also someone capable of changing, even if only in small doses. And you, with your unshakable faith, continued to be her refuge, her contradiction, the reminder that maybe hope hadn’t entirely disappeared after all.

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juniperskye · 2 days ago

Text

Just a little something.

Based on the following ask: I have a request that may be a little difficult for you to write, if you're up for it. I would like to request Hotch with a non-bau reader that likes to crochet in their spare time, particularly stuffed animals, and gift them to others. Jack and Hotch would obviously receive the majority of the amigurumi projects, but one day, the reader makes too many little crochet animals and persuades Hotch to take them to work and hand them out to other agents. You wouldn't have to go too into depth about the crocheting techniques if you don't think you could properly write about it; you could honestly just mention the creation period in passing and the present the finished crochet piece in the plot.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 841

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, Age gap (non-specified), established relationship with Hotch, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description, reader crochets, mention of Jack, mention of reader’s nieces and nephews, mention of anxiety (reader uses crocheting as an outlet) use of pet names, let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You had picked up crocheting back when you were in college. Then, and even now it served as an outlet to release stress and anxiety. When you had started out your projects were fairly simple, wash cloths, granny squares, simple blankets.

The beauty of this hobby was that it allowed for some beautiful handmade gifts. As time went on, you began making stuffed animals. Your sister had gifted you a book with patterns for amigurumi projects, and from then on you’d been making all sorts of little creatures.

The primary recipients of your creations had been your nieces and nephews. First it was their baby blankets, then elephants, and turtles, which turned into cows and opossums, and most recently Pokémon.

When you and Aaron started dating you’d mentioned your hobby in passing, but as things progressed in your relationship, crocheting seemed to come out a little more in you. You’d casually pull out a project while watching a movie with Aaron and Jack, you’d brought over a throw blanket for the back of the couch. You’d even gifted Aaron a scarf and some socks before he left for a case in Colorado in the dead of winter.

One night after finishing a plushie of Charmander for your nephew, Jack spoke up…soft and unsure.

“That’s really cool.” He whisper.

“Thanks bud, do you like Charmander?” You replied.

“Kinda…I don’t really play Pokémon that much.” He shrugged.

“Oh yeah, what do you like then?” You smiled.

“I like spiderman!” Jack exclaimed.

A few days later you’d showed up with a stuffed spiderman for Jack. He was over the moon and from then on, he wasn’t afraid to ask you directly for something.

He was an incredible kid, he’d patiently wait for you to complete the project, even asking you questions throughout the process.

“And what kind of stitch is that?” He’d ask.

“This one here is a half double crochet.” You answered.

“And that’s different than a single crochet?”

“Yes, for a half double, you put the yarn over and then pull it through all three loops. You see that?” You asked, holding the project up as you showed him how to do it.

That night you hopped online and ordered Jack a Woobles crochet kit so he could learn alongside you.

For as long as you’d been crocheting, people have suggested you open an Etsy shop, and you always met them with the same response; it’ll lose the serenity it currently brings me. And this is why you only make small batches for two local boutiques.

Once a month you make a few things for each shop, and you go in and drop them off. As they sell, the profits are split 60/40 between you and the shops, which gives you the money for yarn and a little extra.

In the last week, you’d made a wide variety of stuffed animals, ranging anywhere from dinosaurs and bunnies all the way to peas in a pod and cherries. You had been packing everything up to get ready to deliver them.

“Hey sweetheart.” Aaron called as you entered the apartment.

“Hi honey.” You set your tote bin down and made your way to the kitchen.

“How were the deliveries?” He asked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“They were good! I actually came home with a few things. With the Holidays just ending, one of the shops still had a few items and so they didn’t need their usual stock.” You explained.

“Oh, well now you’ll have some for next time?” He offered.

“You know, next time it’ll be Easter themed stuff…chicks and bunnies. What if you took some of these in for the BAU?” You suggested. “I can wrap one up for each of them and you can leave them on their desks for me.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Oh, please Aaron! Think of it as a late Christmas gift from me! I’ll even write them notes so they know it’s from me!”

“Sweethe-”

“Please!” You begged.

“Okay sweetheart. Whatever you want.” Aaron pressed a kiss to your forehead.

The next morning Aaron arrived at work even earlier than usual, that way he could place the brightly colored bags on everyone’s desks prior to their arrival. You had selected a specific plush for each person, even pulling from some other projects you had stored for an event you’d be participating in.

One by one, each member of the BAU arrived, quickly taking note of the giftbags on each desk. They shared confused glances and shrugged before Aaron stepped out of his office.

“There should be a note in each bag. Feel free to open them and enjoy.” He said, returning to his office.

Aaron smiled gently, toying with the crocheted whale shark you snuck into his bag. You always said he, like whale sharks frightened people, due to preconceived notions derived from fear, but in all actuality, they were gentle creatures.

Aaron’s smile only grew as he heard Garcia squeal with joy over the soft unicorn you’d gifted her.

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wordsmeetwbb · 24 hours ago

Note

One shot/drabble of p being obsessed with azzi's body (is p a boob or ass girl..)

Inspired by this post of p just straight up looking 😩

https://www.tumblr.com/paigebucketss/773164320108445696/lmaooo-paige-been-on-that?source=share

Stare

Word count: 770

Content: Fluff, kind of suggestive

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: Just a short little something for y'all today :)

________

Paige couldn’t stop staring at Azzi’s ass, and everyone except for the woman in question had noticed. KK had already hit Paige twice when she saw her eyes wandering in not-so-family-friendly directions.

“Dude, please get a grip. I don’t need to see you look at my mom like that,” KK complained as she forcefully turned Paige away from Azzi.

“What’s your problem? I’m not allowed to look at my girlfriend?” Paige protested. KK scoffed.

“You call that ‘looking’? I call that eye-fucking. control yourself and have some respect for your children.” Paige could feel her cheeks warm. She pushed KK away. Even as she did, her eyes slid back to Azzi. They first dragged over her face, skin glowing as always, and a soft smile settled on her full lips. Then her eyes wandered right back down to her ass.

Azzi was wearing simple black leggings today, which was pretty typical, but she had paired them with a cropped shirt so no curve of her body was hidden from view. The slight arch of her back, the curve of her hips, the swell of her ass in those tight black pants… Paige swallowed. She was so fucked.

Azzi glanced over at Paige from where she was talking to Carol in the kitchen. Paige wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the shift of her body that drew her eyes back up to her girlfriend’s face. Azzi raised her eyebrows as if to ask “What?” Paige smirked back at her. Azzi’s face scrunched in confusion, eyes flicking over to look at KK for answers.

“Girl, don’t look at me! Ask Paigey why she can’t stop staring at you!” KK exclaimed. This drew the attention of their other teammates. Azzi’s eyebrows arched once again and Paige wanted to bury her face in her hands just to avoid the embarrassment. She didn’t, though, as much as it would have been nice to not have all of her teammates see the blush on her face.

“What is everybody’s problem with me appreciating how good my girl looks, huh?” Paige asked defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. Azzi’s mouth broke into a grin.

“Because none of us want to see that! Y’all need to be gross in private!” KK said petulantly.

“Yeah, Paige, the way you look at her is really not appropriate for us all to see,” Aubrey agreed. Paige’s eyes darted around at the rest of her team, feeling absolutely betrayed.

“Okay, but she looks good!” Paige argued.

“I don’t have a problem with you looking at me,” Azzi supplied helpfully.

“Thank you!” Paige exclaimed, completely exasperated.

“None of us care what you think, Azzi,” Ice cut in. Paige groaned.

“My own children are betraying me,” she whined. Her eyes flicked up to Azzi and found that soft smile back on her lips. Paige pushed herself off the couch and marched over to Azzi, grabbing her hand and leading her to the door of the apartment.

“If y’all are just gonna bully us, we’re leaving,” she announced, pulling the door open and turning in the direction of Azzi’s apartment.

“We’re just bullying you, not Azzi!” Jana called after them as the door shut. Paige’s grip tightened on Azzi’s hand.

“They’re right,” Azzi said softly as Paige pushed the door to the apartment open.

“So what? I’m allowed to look at my girl, especially when you look as good as you do today!” Paige defended. Azzi tugged her hands free from Paige’s and brought them up to cup her face. The warmth of her skin immediately calmed Paige.

“I know, honey, but the girls don’t wanna see you stare at my ass,” Azzi soothed, fingers brushing over Paige’s jawline.

“But you have such a nice ass,” Paige whined, hands drifting down Azzi’s back to settle right on the curve of her hips, squeezing the flesh slightly. Azzi let out a soft breath.

“How about this- we’re gonna go lay on the couch and watch a movie, and you can touch my ass the whole time, and then you’re gonna agree to keep your staring to private occasions only, okay?” Azzi bargained, pushing her hips further into Paige’s grip. Paige let her hands drift a little bit lower, trying to get as much of the supple flesh in her palms as she could.

“Okay,” she mumbled, thoroughly distracted. Azzi smiled.

“Does that sound like a deal to you?” She asked. Paige’s brain was already so far out of her body from the feel of Azzi’s body in her hands that she just let her head drop to Azzi’s neck.

“Mhmm. Yeah, deal.”

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconn wbb #pazzi #uconn women’s basketball #pazzi fics #meryn’s anons

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wagconts · 2 days ago

Text

F1 Alert | Formula 1

➤ summary :: Where you create an interactive game for Formula 1 fans, and become the new star of the pits.

➤ warnings :: a quick imagine, with prior development.

➤ word count :: 0.839 words

➤ masterlist | sportify

➤ Notes :: I had this idea because Swifitie fans know about "Swift Alert", which was a game where we bet on the clothes from The Eras Tour. So I wanted to bring this into the context of Formula 1.

Working on F1's social media was a daily grind, but you loved every second of it. Between creating posts, planning content, and keeping up with trends, your mind was always spinning, thinking of ways to make fans feel more connected to the drivers. Then, one brainstorming night, the idea hit: an interactive game where fans could bet on little details of the race weekends.

— What if we created something like a more elaborate 'Fantasy F1,' but focusing on the small stuff? Helmets, suits, celebrations... — you suggested, drawing curious looks from the team. — We could call it 'F1 Alert'.

After a few weeks of planning, meetings, and tweaks, the app was ready. It was simple: fans could make predictions about visual and behavioral items about the drivers before the GPs. Each correct guess earned points, which could be redeemed for virtual prizes or discounts on official products.

On launch day, you were nervous. Would it be a hit or a flop? It only took a few hours to get the answer: it was a phenomenon.

The app had questions that kept fans hooked, especially with the fact that those points were worth something.

— Leclerc’s helmet in Monaco: same as always or something special?

— Which driver will complain the most on the radio?

— How many drivers will retire from the race? And who?

The numbers didn’t lie. In the first weekend, a little over 70 thousand people signed up. And the drivers quickly took notice.

At the pre-GP press conference, Russell was the first to mention it:

— Did you guys see that app? F1 Alert? Are you betting on my training suit now? That’s a lot of pressure! — he joked, drawing laughs.

Next to him was Charles, who also smiled.

— I saw it too. Someone bet my helmet will have gold on it. — he made a confused face. — Gold? I don’t know if I’m that fancy.

You didn’t realize the impact would be so big until that moment. Seeing the drivers talk about something you created was surreal. But things got even more intense in the paddock.

At the Italian GP, while you were tweaking a post backstage, Pierre showed up out of nowhere behind you.

— So, you’re the one behind the app? — he asked, crossing his arms with a big grin.

You laughed, a little startled.

— It depends. If you like it, then yes. If not, marketing came up with it.

— Oh, I like it. But now I have to think of new helmets every week, because I don’t want the fans to get bored. — He winked before walking off, leaving you laughing alone.

The F1 Alert craze grew with each race. Fans’ discussions on social media were massive, and even journalists started mentioning the game in their reports. Some drivers, like Norris, began directly engaging with the fans.

— Do you think I’ll use a special helmet in Singapore? Place your bets on the app. — he smiled at the line of fans in the stands.

Meanwhile, you started getting recognized in the paddock. It wasn’t something you expected, but the drivers and teams now knew who you were. At the Las Vegas GP, Max Verstappen stopped you during a technical meeting with a rare smile.

— Just wanna know... Who was the creative genius that put “Max will smile on the podium” in the game?

You tried to keep your composure but ended up laughing.

— My bad. Sorry, but it was irresistible.

— Well, I hope no one bets on that. It’ll be money down the drain. — he joked.

The interactions with the drivers became more frequent, but the peak came at the last GP of the year, when the season had ended and some fans were satisfied with their scores on the game. And the burning question was whether the game would continue the next year.

During the final press conference, Daniel Ricciardo — who was making a special appearance as a third driver — decided to mention you.

— I wanna thank the person behind F1 Alert. Thanks to them, I’m already thinking about how to celebrate before I even know if I’ll be on the podium.

The cameras zoomed in on you in the corner of the room, as everyone laughed. It was the moment you realized how much your idea had impacted the world of Formula 1.

After that GP, you got nicknames in the paddock: “the pit star,” “the mind behind the game,” among others. And while you tried to stay grounded, you couldn’t deny that the app’s success had put you in the spotlight.

Now, you were more than just another face in the paddock. You’d built an incredible bond with the fans who always asked you questions like, “What’s the next update for the game?” and you’d made amazing friendships with some of the drivers. It was all like a dream. F1 Alert was just the beginning.

#formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader #charles leclerc x you #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #imagines charles leclerc #charles leclerc #formula one #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x y/n

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reven1c · 3 days ago

Text

A Little Death

Professor!Lee Byung Hun x Student!Reader

Summary: He wants you but is afraid for his reputation. Warnings: 18+ (minors do not interact), oral (male receiving), age gap (reader is 20, byung hun in his 40s), kinda a sad ending

A/N: I know it’s my 2nd post and i’m already writing a sad one but oh well who cares :3

——————————————————————————

You were a simple student trying to get through the classes of getting a degree in Psychology. You always loved psychology since you were 13 years old and always wanted to help people feel better about themselves or figure out something that bothered them. Until you joined college and realised that Psychology is a difficult subject, but no matter what that’s what you wanted to study.

For a weird reason in Psychology there is a subject called statistics that has to do with maths which you always hated, until your 3rd year in college, when the new professor who joined is a hot, charismatic, intelligent and a kinda cute man.

Since your first lesson with him, you have a crush on him. You always try and look at him in class, when you go home you always think of him, and those thoughts turn into dirty thoughts and many more. Your friend always teases you about it but you turn down the fact on having a crush on your professor.

Byung Hun noticed you since the first day he joined this college and he was the one who chose to teach your class. When he has the chance he tries to catch a glimpse of your beautiful face which he finds adorable. He always calls up on you, when you raise your hand, to answer his question so he can hear your voice.

One day you thought of approaching him, so when the class ended you walked towards his desk “Hi Mr Byung Hun”

“Oh hello, Y/N. Did something happen?” he asks a bit confused since no one would come up to his desk, all the students would quickly leave the class to go to their homes.

You chuckle “Oh no no everything is fine. I just don’t understand a unit and came here to ask you if you could help me” you say while smiling

Byung Hun stunned says “Of course of course what is it?”

You explain to him the unit you don’t understand and what exactly troubles you.

“Okay come here so i can explain it to you”

You stand next to him while your heart starts beating faster by the fact that you are standing so close to him. You lean a bit forward, closer to his face and he starts explaining to you.

Through the time he was explaining you weren’t even hearing him, you were observing his face and his facial futures. His beautiful eyes, his lips… especially his lips that you want to kiss so bad.

“Do you understand?” he turns his head towards you, his question waking you up from your dream.

“Uh yeah yeah now i understand” you throw a smile anxiously

You both freeze when you realise how close your faces are.

Byung Hun looks at your lips and back to your eyes “Okay Y/N if you have any other questions you can always come to me. Now you can leave” he says nervously.

You look into his eyes a couple seconds more and stand up “Uh thank you Mr Byung Hun. Have a good day” you turn and leave the class while your heart is ready to leave your chest by how fast is beating.

—

For a whole week there was a tension between the two of you. When you would leave his class, he would throw a smile at you and you always return it.

While Byung Hun was teaching, you and your friend were laughing which made him a bit angry “Y/L/N (your last name) will stay after class”

You freeze “But i didn’t do anything”

“I don’t care” and he returns to his lesson

After class ended you walked up to his desk “So what do i have to do?”

“Do some exercises on the unit you didn’t understand” he smiles sarcastically

“Oh okay” you say stunned cause you clearly didn’t understand that unit, even though he explained it to you, since you chose to day dream. You bring a chair to his desk, sit and try to do the exercises.

Byung Hun notices you struggling and chuckles “You didn’t actually understand when i explained it to you, did you?” he smirks

You look up to him and side smile “Uh well no” you shrug

He comes a bit closer to your face “And why is that?”

You freeze not knowing what to say.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” he chuckles

You look into his eyes and he smirks “Come here” he motions to his lap. Your eyes widen “Don’t be scared.” he chuckles and you stand up and sit on his lap.

He looks at you and observes your face. He pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear “Where you day dreaming about your professor?” he smirks.

You gulp and keep your mouth shut. Byung Hun laughs “Why are you not answering? You know girls who don’t answer to me, get punished” he smirks.

Your heart keeps getting faster and realise that you are getting wet by your professor.

“Will you answer me?” he says while he brought his hand behind my neck. You nod your head as an answer.

“Use your words, dear” he presses a bit on your neck “Y-yes i was day dreaming about you” you breath out air that you have been holding for a while now.

“Attagirl” he smiles “And what exactly were you day dreaming?” he looks deep into your eyes waiting for an answer.

You mumble and lower your head, not wanting him to hear cause you are kinda embarrassed. “I didn’t hear you, doll. Speak louder” he caps your chin to make you look at him “I was having dirty thoughts of you” your face getting red.

Byung Hun smirks with your truth “You were having dirty thoughts about me, your professor?” he says while caressing your arms making you get goosebumps.

“I know that’s fucked up-“ he shuts you up with a kiss. You freeze for a second and then kiss him back “It’s not fucked up, okay? More fucked up is me having those kinda thoughts about you”

You look at him stunned “You did?”, he nods, “Then i guess that’s more fucked up” and you both laugh.

“Since the moment i stepped on this college and saw you” he starts kissing your neck “I have been having these thoughts” he continues by leaving little bites behind and a whimper slips from your lips “Thinking about your face, your body, you” he smiles.

You smirk and kiss him. You caught him off guard which he just laughed off. The kiss was so passionate that made you melt. You break the kiss and slowly get off his lap and fall to your knees.

Byung Hun freezes “What are you doing?”

“I want to please my professor. Can’t i?” you smirk

He caresses your cheek with his thumb “Hmm i wouldn’t mind”

You smile and while looking at him you unzip his pants and slip a bit off his underwear. Your lips leave a lil gasp and he chuckles. You bring your hand to his dick and slowly stroke it. Byung Hun moans. You feel yourself getting more and more wet.

Without a second passing you take his dick into your mouth and at first you slowly go up and down making him moan “Oh just like that doll” and with him saying that, it made you moan on his dick.

You start going faster making Byung Hun groan and he brings his hand to grap your hair. Tears stream down your face.

“Your pretty face getting fucked looks so good. Keep going” you continue going up and down when suddenly Byung Hun stops you, having his dick down on your throat trying not to gag. You moan and he feels himself getting closer “I think i’m close”

Byung Hun fucks your face trying to get closer to his climax “Oh god Y/N you are taking my dick so good”

You let him do whatever he wants with your head and the only thing you can do is moan on his dick.

He lets a loud moan and he cums in your mouth “Ah yes” He takes your head off his dick “You better swallow it”

You swallow his cum and open your mouth to show him.

“That’s my good girl” he praises and wipes your tears off your face “I hope i didn’t hurt you” he looks at you in awe

“No Im okay don’t worry” you smile and stand up “I guess i have to go home now” you kiss him

Byung Hun groans “Okay”. You turn and look at him for the last time and leave the classroom.

—

Byung Hun since yesterday, the only thing he had in his mind was you. How good you looked getting face fucked. But in the back of his mind he thought that it was a bad idea.

On the other hand you were the happiest person. You couldn’t sleep because you were only thinking about him.

You went to college, entered the classroom and sit next to your friend with a smile on your face “Whose dick did you sucked?” she asks and you hit her while laughing.

Byung Hun enters the classroom without books “Today’s lesson won’t happen. Everyone you can go home”. When he finished talking the whole class cheered and quickly left the class. You, though, stayed behind to see him.

“Hi” you say happily

“Hello” he says without any emotion

You look at him confused “Byung Hun is everything okay?” you walk closer to him.

“No it’s not” he spits “What happened yesterday should be forgotten. This between us must stop”

You freeze when you see him getting angry and saying those things “W- What? Why?” you try not to cry.

“We shouldn’t have done what we did yesterday. It’s literally fucked up. Everything is fucked up” he walks closer to you raising his voice “If anyone learns what happened i can lose my job or even they can kick you out of this school” he stops in front of your face.

You look into his eyes with your eyes wide when a tear slips on your cheek.

Byung Hun groans “Don’t even try and cry in front of me”

“I will do whatever i want” you get angry “Then why did you let me suck your dick if we came to this point huh? WHY?!” You start crying “You should have stopped me- or no, I should have stopped myself” you back up slowly “I am so dumb for falling for you”

He walks towards you “No Y/N”. You raise a brow “No what now? You are gonna tell me you weren’t thinking right? That you are scared? That you are a pussy?” you laugh sarcastically “Oh my god i’m so dumb”

Byung Hun looks at you with pity since you caught him; that’s what he wanted to tell you but he brought it to this point “I’m sorry”

“No no i don’t want to hear it” you get your bag and turn to him for the last time “I don’t want to see you again” and turn to leave the class.

He watches you leave without stopping you.

#lee byung hun x reader #lee byung hun #lee byung hun smut #squid game #squid game 2 #front man #front man x reader #smut

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evnseokz · 2 days ago

Text

꒰ ☆ cologne ~ s.es ꒱

pairing: bf! eunseok x f. reader

contents: p in v, unprotected sex (don’t), established relationship, insecurity, vulnerability, eunseok is whipped, soft dom eunseok, praise, pet name baby, kissing, light choking

this is loosely based off the song cologne by beabadoobee

a.n: been working on this for days trying to get it exactly how i envisioned originally and i think im finally happy with it! w.c: 1.5k

MINORS DNI

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“seok, am i attractive?”

your voice was soft, almost tentative, as it cut through the stillness of the room. the only light came in from the faint glow of a street lamp outside, filtering through the curtains and casting pale streaks across the bed.

eunseoks fingers, which had been lazily tracing invisible patterns on your bare arm, stilled for a moment. then they resumed, this time slower, more deliberate, like he was thinking through your question as he moved.

“what kind of question is that?” he asked quietly, his tone laced with warmth, though his brow furrowed slightly.

“its a simple one,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest. “yes or no.”

he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath your cheek. “you think a question like that can be answered with a yes or no?”

“maybe,” you said, your voice light but tinged with uncertainty. you shifted slightly, your fingers toying with the hem of the blanket covering you two. “i guess i just… want to know what you see when you look at me.”

eunseok didn't answer right away. his hand moved from your arm to your shoulder, his thumb brushing your skin in slow, soothing circles. you closed your eyes, inhaling deeply, catching the faint scent of his cologne—warm and musky with a hint of citrus, something that lingered on the sheets and in the air around him. it was comforting, familiar, and entirely him.

“baby, you’re beautiful,” he said, breaking the silence, his voice steady and sure. “you’re beautiful in a way that’s not just about how you look, though that's definitely part of it. its the way you smile when you’re trying not to laugh at your own jokes or how your face lights up when you talk about something you love.”

you tilted your head slightly to look up at him, your eyes searching his face. “thats… sweet, but it's not really any answer,” you said, though your cheeks had already warmed at his words.

eunseok smiled, his fingers gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “fine. you want the short version?”

you nodded.

“yes, you’re attractive,” he said simply, his voice firm. “you’re stunning, y/n. i mean it. you make it hard to think sometimes, and trust me, i’ve tried to act normal around you.”

your lips parted slightly, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart caught somewhere between disbelief and something deeper. the scent of his cologne seemed even stronger now, grounding you, making the moment feel even more real.

your heart raced as you shifted closer to him, the desire to have his lips on your skin suddenly burning through you. it was overwhelming, almost consuming, the kind of need you didn't know you could feel so strongly until now. the weight of the blanket draped over your tangled bodies made the air between you feel heavier, warmer. every subtle shift of your skin against his beneath the covers was a reminder of just how little was separating you.

and as if he could read your mind, eunseok leaned in, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder, then grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. the warmth of his breath sent a shiver rippling down your spine, and you couldn't stop the soft sigh that escaped your lips.

his lips worked slowly against your neck, savoring every inch of your skin like it was something precious, something he couldn't get enough of. his movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he wanted to memorize how you felt beneath him. the heat of his body pressed against yours only heightened the sensation, the closeness between you almost unbearable in its intensity.

your breathing quickened, your chest rising and falling against his. his hands, warm and steady, skimmed along the curve of your back, the sensation of skin on skin igniting sparks of heat that spread through you. with each kiss, the warmth in your stomach grew, spreading through your body like wildfire.

his lips finally trailed upward, brushing the edge of your jawline as his hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling gently in your hair. he placed small, lingering kisses along your jaw, each one drawing out a quiet hum of pleasure from you.

when his lips finally found yours, it wasn't hurried. it was soft at first, exploratory, like he was still savoring the moment. then, as the heat between you grew, the kiss deepened. his other hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face slightly as if to make sure he could reach you perfectly.

the world outside the room seemed to fade completely, leaving only the sound of your breath mingling with his and the pounding of your heart in your ears. his kiss was intoxicating, pulling you further into him, your body pressed against his in a way that felt like you belonged there.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against one another, your breaths heavy and uneven. his thumb brushed your cheek as he looked into your eyes, his gaze soft but burning with something deeper.

"you're incredible," he murmured, his voice low and rough from the heat of the moment. "you have no idea how much I need you right now."

your lips curved into a small, breathless smile, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. "then don't stop," you whispered, pulling him back toward you, your lips meeting his once more.

the kiss intensified quickly, your salivas mixing as you ran your hands up and down eunseoks firm chest. his skin, warm and soft against your touch. eunseok moves himself to where he is slotted between your legs. his hardened length resting on your bare cunt. the weight making you sigh against his lips.

“seok…” you trailed off, voice breathy with need.

eunseok practically melted at the sound of your voice, pulling back to look at your kissed-out face. “yeah baby?” his breath fanned over your face as he spoke, reminding you how close you two were in proximity.

"please," you whined, beginning to writhe underneath him with impatience. "please, i need you, please—"

"you have me," he murmurs, cutting you off by attaching his lips to yours again, one of his hands moving down the curves of your sides, the other caressing your head gently. his hand moves in between your bodies, taking hold of his thick length and lining it up with your soaked entrance. he gathers some of your wetness on his tip before slowly pushing himself inside of you.

your jaw falls slack at the feeling of him stretching you out, your walls fluttering around him. you arms make their way to his biceps, fingernails digging into his skin as he eases inside of you.

“i got you, baby, doing so well for me.” he cooed, dropping his head to place a kiss on your forehead. he stilled for a moment after he bottomed out completely, letting you adjust to his thickness. his head fell forward again, heavy breaths leaving his lips at the feeling of your tight, warm walls around him.

after a moment, he began to move, starting off slow before picking up speed. his hips snapped against yours at a quick pace; moans fell from your lips at every thrust. his arm that wasn’t holding himself up trailed up your stomach and chest, eventually resting on the base of your neck.

the light pressure he applied sent your eyes rolling into the back of your head. a sense of overwhelming pleasure washing over you as the knot in your stomach tightened. eunseoks thrusts became sloppy, his balls tightening with every thrust. your walls clenching around him, making it hard to hold himself back from spilling into you at that very moment.

he can tell by the way you tense with every thrust and the way your face is contorting that you’re close. his hand falls from your neck, and in between where you two are connected. his thumb finds your clit as his palm rests on your pelvis, preventing you from squirming too much. heat travels up your skin, your entire body flushing as your orgasm washes over you.

“eunseok!” you cry out, your legs shaking and your eyes squeezing shut. “doing so—so good for me, baby. im c-close,” his eyes screw shut as he speaks, the way your walls spasm around him sending him over the edge, hips stilling as his cock twitches inside you, painting your insides white with his seed.

he collapsed on top of you, your chests heaving in sync as you come down from your highs. your hands found his face, cheeks flushed, and sweat dripping from his temples. he’s never looked so good. his hand has found your hip again, his touch setting your skin alight.

the tension between you built again, humming and electric, until you couldn’t hold it back any longer. you tugged him closer if that was even possible, your lips brushing against his ear.

“lets go for another round,” you murmured, the words hanging heavy and deliberate in the charged air between you.

eunseok didn't answer with words. instead, his lips found yours, and the world outside you began to fade.

…

#evnseokz #✫ quinn posts #riize headcanons #riize hard hours #riize hard thoughts #riize ff #riize scenarios #riize smut #riize smau #riize x reader #eunseok headcannons #eunseok hard thoughts #eunseok hard hours #eunseok imagines #eunseok x reader #eunseok smut #riize eunseok #song eunseok #riize imagines

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x-aefx · 19 hours ago

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i neeeeeed more jim and pam inspired blurbs for billie

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At Your Side - Billie x fem!reader

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Summary: you and Billie attend a meeting together, however you had a long night last night but luckily Billie has a shoulder for you to lay on.

A/N: sorry this took so long but ask and you shall receive 🤍🌚

No warnings

Based on this scene from the office⬇️

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Billie stared down at her hands, moving and twisting the rings on her fingers absentmindedly as her team talked, mostly between themselves about details that weren't particularly important for Billie to know.

She was going on tour for her new album, 'Hit Me Hard and Soft', which meant a lot of meetings. However it was different, this entire tour would be different then her previous ones, because you were going to be with her.

Billie knew immediately she wanted you to be the opening act for her tour, she went straight to you before any member of her team.

Her knee bounced up and down as she tried to stay awake, which was hard but she knew she had to.

Billie hummed a tune in her mind, thinking about future plans in her head as she fiddled with her rings.

She was completely lost in her thoughts, slapped by reality when she felt a weight on her shoulder. She looked down slightly, trying her best not to move too much, and then she realised.

By accident, you had managed to fall asleep, your head falling against Billie's shoulder who sat beside you in the meeting room.

Billie looked down at you, slightly surprised.

You were at the meeting with her since you were going to be the opening act on the tour, and there were a few details Billie's team had to talk you through.

The meeting was nearing its end though, all the important things said and explained, and Billie would answer any questions you had anyway.

She knew you were up all night reading some book you had bought, or finishing a painting you had begun, it was a habit of yours she knew all too well.

She couldn't help but smile down at you, having the feeling of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She took the time to admire your peaceful expression, how you smiled even in your sleep, how clear and soft your skin looked and the pretty rose colour of your lips and cheeks.

Billie soon realised she enjoyed the feeling of you laying your head on her shoulder, the closeness it brought. It felt as if a butterfly had landed on her shoulder, delicate and gentle. Billie could smell your vanilla perfume and she could feel your hair prickle against her neck, leaving a slight ticklish feeling she managed to ignore.

Her manager and team droned on in murmurs, she found herself not paying attention, her attention solely on you.

Billie found herself smiling without releasing, but once she did she couldn't hide it. She allowed herself to relish in your presence and under your touch.

She looked away from you shyly even if you were asleep and couldn't see. She felt giddy and completely happy, almost like all her other desires had vanished.

Billie bit her bottom lip as she looked down at her lap. She was sure she was blushing. It was a simple act and yet it had completely taken a hold over her.

As she stared down at the floor Billie realised how fast her heart was thumping in her chest, and how she had the urge to stay in this position and not wake you, bask in the feeling of your head on her shoulder.

You weren't big on physical touch, just offering a short and quick hug here and there, or slightly leaning against her when you two walked side by side, but in this moment you were completely still and relaxed against her. She could really cherish the moment, you didn't pull away and you weren't going anywhere.

Billie wasn't one to get nervous easily or often, she was usually quite a confident person. That never changed much when it came to people she previously had feelings for, but with you that all changed.

As she sat there in the meeting room, Billie was nothing but nerves, scared she would move by accident and wake you, scared that you would pull away and scared she that you may never get this close with her again.

She didn't realise the meeting had ended until people began walking out of the room, one by one, some stopping to talk with others.

Billie frowned as she remained seated, unsure of what to do. She watched people leave the room one by one as she contemplated if she should wake you or not.

Twelve became six and six became three and suddenly it was just Billie and you, alone together with you remaining asleep.

She looked down at you one last time, her smile returning as she noticed how peaceful you looked. She didn't want to wake you but knew you had plans of your own that you had to get to.

Billie hid her smile as she leaned slightly closer to you. "Ahem." She cleared her throat, "hey." She called softly towards you ear. Billie watched you stir awake slowly, your features turning confused as you adjusted yourself in the seat. "Hey." Billie said again, this time with you awake.

She hid her disappointment when you lifted your head from her shoulder rather quickly.

You looked around at the now empty room, which had been full when you arrived, and then to Billie, quickly putting the pieces together as to what had happened.

You cringed, feeling embarrassed, causing your face to flush as you stood up. "Im so sorry." You said, your voice slightly hoarse from sleep. "I don't remember falling asleep, you should have pushed me away or something." You joked, feeling awkward.

Billie looked up at you with a shake of her head. "I didn't mind." She had a small smile on her face that made you believe her words.

You smiled back. You were relieved that you didn't annoy her. "I'll see you around?" You asked shyly.

Billie nodded her head, slightly laughing as she watched you be all cute and shy. "For sure." She said confidently.

With one last smile to her you left the room, you face a rosy hue.

When the room was empty and it was just her, Billie laughed quietly to herself, beginning to play with her rings once again. She smiled at the memory of you asleep on her shoulder, noticing immediately how she longed for you to do it again.

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aeternallis · 2 days ago

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one of the things most frustrating to think about as someone who did go through the immigration system in the US is the fact that there seems to be a genuine belief by a significant portion of the populace in this country that the immigration system is a simple, straightforward process, when it most certainly is not.

for one thing, the applications to gain some form of legal status themselves are confusing af to actually read through. most of the applications uses legal, albeit confusing language and can be upwards of about 15-20 pages worth of documents you gotta spend time to actually pour through.

for example, currently the i-485 form (application for green card) sits at about 24 pages, and requires a couple of hours to fill out. for most immigrants who know little to no english, either they would have to sit with an english-speaking paralegal to help them, or one of their relatives who knows english would need to be the one to help them out.

the i-130 form (application for alien relatives) is about 12 pages, and just as hella confusing to go through.

the i-589 (application for asylum) and i-765 (application for worker's permit) aren't too bad in comparison, at about 7-8 pages, but even so, the legal language is still a hassle to try and understand.

oh, and did i mention that every one of these forms cost money to file and submit to uscis for processing? this is not counting the typical immigration lawyer's fees immigrants have to fork up in order to get some decent representation, most immigrants still need to make a living one way or another, or how else are they to provide for their families and give their children a better future? (and ya know, afford the fees to try and actually go through the process of gaining legal status here???)

not only that, answering any of the questions wrong on any of these forms could be enough for uscis to reject the filing or outright deny it. and no, ofc there's no refunds on the application fees.

for a country that has a horrendous literacy crisis, i would so love to see the rest of y'all try to take a gander at these forms and see if you don't lose your goddamn mind.

have i mentioned how fucking terrifying it is when uscis officers grill you during the interview process???? because yes, there is an interview component to most of these forms. as if their questions are literally designed for you to fail???!!

this is just a few aspect of the immigration process that's so broken right now, it might as well be a 10k puzzle piece scattered in a room.

the strenuous waiting time between processing of applications, the anxiety of the elections every goddamn year because politicians cannot fucking make up their minds with how immigration ought to be tackled in this country, all the while immigrants also have to deal with the stress of everyday life and whatever challenges that brings.

uscis is still working through a backlog of applications from decades ago, and some people in this country really have the goddamn audacity to think, "they have to get here legally and go through the process that way"???!

a fucking luxury (ignorant af though, mind you) for some of y'all to say, indeed, especially if all it took back then for your family to get here was through ellis fucking island.

my aunt petitioned my dad with the i-589 form over 38 years ago when he was still living in the philippines, and mind you, the visa number from that filing was only granted and mailed to my dad's old house last year in december 2024, when we went home to visit relatives for the holidays and long after he's already become a US citizen.

i'm not asking for people to change their minds about immigration or that this country ought to let everyone in, i knowwwwww the system is broken and terrible.

but what i am asking is for people to educate themselves and to be open-minded, to not dismiss the struggles of immigrants, because those who think that the immigration process in this country is easy are hella ignorant and will never understand the sort of anxiety illegal immigrants go through, for the sake of trying to provide a better future for their children

#immigration #personal rant #frustrations #ice raids #us politics #united states #immigration policy

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centrally-unplanned · 3 days ago

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I think Tyler Cowen is kinda officially washed at this point. He still has many good individual takes, by no means a broken thinker. But there is just too much hype and meme stuff now, too much useless crud to churn through.

Obviously AI and the Trump Culture stuff is the biggest part. He was not a man who would positively link to ludicrous Trumpian shillcoin stuff by grifters in the past, but he does that now on the regular, with positive framings. AI is very impressive, but he links every progress report breathlessly, often with framings that are at odds with the actual text of the document. And again with a credulity towards people whose literal job is hyping their product he would not have previously had.

I have never once clicked on a link of his where he says "o1 pro comments" as he does so often now and learned anything - it is, incredibly reliably, either straight wrong with hallucinated facts, providing vague "list of possible ideas" with no actionable conclusion, or just 90% copying the wikipedia page for the topic. I started clicking the links intentionally, btw, to test this idea! I tracked 10 results, 0/10 that I thought added knowledge worth the cost. Not useless, 6/10 I thought were "slightly better than googling", but that is not results that match the tone.

Previously you could tell that he was essentially "compromised", like on crypto he has a bunch of investments there and so he essentially is boosting the product. Which, that is life, you just kinda ignored it. But he was on a series of podcast recently, like he had a blitz - and each one was incredibly mid. All simple, high-level answers to questions, never taking a thread and running with it, not even really engaging in conversation. And I know that he can do that, still? But he needs the inspiration, and now it is hard for him to find when previously it was always on call. (Tellingly, it comes out with his friends, old grooves reactivating)

So I don't think it is just shilling. Part of it is that he too emotional, he let the Culture War tiger out. He obviously just really hates the Dems at this point and very openly blogs partisanly when previously he made a point of goring both oxes. And the other part, sad to say, is that I think age might be hitting him a tad early. Honestly one's 60's aren't even rare for this, it is the default assumption that you stop pushing and settle into your rut at that point. Happens to us all, happening to him now.

Anyway, sort of an official notice my brain sent to myself that I am officially downgrading him on the reliability metric. He was absolutely in my Top 5 Bloggers for econ/policy for a long time; but all things come to an end.

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glowingbadger · 3 days ago

Note

Could you do office sex with claude? Love the way you write his character!

Ohh that's an intriguing one. Who let Claude be the boss of anything in a corporate setting is one question, but we don't have to sweat the particulars when there's smut to be had.

THAT SAID, can y'all believe this is the first smut fic I'm posting in like... actual months lmao. I needed to do a quick and simple drabble to get my brain working on writing again, I think- since the other things I'm working on are much longer fics that are taking a lot out of me. Anyway, I had fun with it, so hopefully it's a fun read :3

CWs for office romance and sort of fucking your boss!

Claude (FE3H) x Reader (AFAB)

Kink prompts list #5 - Office Sex

NSFW 18+

You're the last one still lingering at the office today- or, second-to-last, and you'd made sure of it. The door to Claude's newly bestowed and highly coveted corner office shuts quietly behind you as you enter and take stock of the place. It's still fairly sparse, with only his work laptop and a few essential files having been moved here from his old desk. He stands facing the window opposite from you, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the suit jacket slung over his shoulder. Those trousers and white dress shirt fit him almost too well, and it's impossible not to notice with him silhouetted against the lowering sun over the city outside. He glances back at you as you step toward his desk, but you're the one to speak first,

"Congrats on the promotion, Mr. Riegan," he doesn't miss the sarcasm in your tone, and it shows. His lips slant into a smile as he turns toward you, dropping the jacket across his chair on the way.

"You sound thrilled," he says as he rounds the desk toward you, "Let me guess- you were gunning for the position yourself."

"Maybe," you say with a shrug and a smile, "Though to be honest, I'm not sure I'd want to get bogged down in this department anyway. Been thinking of a transfer."

Claude's arms are crossed as he leans back against his desk. His posture is at-ease, relaxed, but you know him well enough to recognize the more serious tenor of his voice as he speaks.

"Seriously? First time I'm hearing about that. Care to fill me in?"

"Claude, in case you haven't realized it yet, this promotion technically makes you my boss," you're facing him, and frankly, closer than you should be- but you struggle to meet those brilliant green eyes as they silently pry at your defenses. You'd think you'd be used to it by now.

"On paper, sure," his hand trails around the small of your back, his arm at your waist tugging you towards him. You're between his legs and flush against his warm frame, and at last, you rally yourself and meet his gaze.

"So... we really shouldn't be doing this anymore. We shouldn't have been doing it to begin with," you sigh in your frustration, but despite your words, your heart is already racing at the feeling of his body near yours. At first, Claude doesn't respond. His arm holds you more firmly to him, and gently, he brings his lips to the side of your neck. You feel them brush you gently, the heat of his breath seeming to sink beneath your skin and warm through your entire body.

"Do you want to stop?"

You know he means the question sincerely- he'd stop if you asked, you know this. But the low rumble of his voice and the graze of his lips is setting your heart pounding up through your chest, and your thoughts are so scrambled that your answer rushes past your lips before you can consider it,

"Of course not," your voice is soft but certain, and you feel Claude's lips smiling as he kisses down your throat.

"Good answer."

He stands upright and, without warning, turns you around to face his desk. His body presses to your back, and already you can feel the pressure of his hardening cock against your ass behind layers of clothing. You bite back your voice, not sure if you're holding in a gasp of surprise or a moan of pleasure. Soon, his hands are running up your hips and along your waist, and his lips are teasing the shell of your ear,

"How about this... I'll promise to behave during work hours, and you promise that you'll come see me after work any day you like so we can... review your performance."

"Claude..." you can't help the breathy, heated tone of your voice, and you find yourself arching your body against him, your hand coming to cradle his face while the other steadies you against his desk. His hands cup your breasts, savoring the feeling of them in his palms, and you know he can feel the way you're surrendering to him already.

"Don't ask for that transfer, Y/N," he murmurs as his hands fondle and caress you all over, "Please," there's a disarming sincerity in his voice for a moment, "You know as well as I do that I can't do this job without you. You're the only reason I've gotten this far- you're brilliant," he kisses the corner of your jaw, "and I need you."

It takes an agonizing extra few moments to put your thoughts together enough to respond. Your heart is fluttering erratically, and the rest of your body isn't making it any easier to think straight. His hands feel far too good holding you to him, adoring your curves while his cock twitches conspicuously against your ass.

"You... you really think you can behave during work?" you say at last, "The stakes are way higher if we get caught now."

"Hmm," he places a firmer kiss to the top of your neck, just below your ear, and you know he hears the stifled whimper that sneaks past your lips, "You know, come to think of it, I'm not sure. Will you have to punish me if I'm bad?"

You're about to tease him back- or at least try to -but then his teeth nip at your ear as one skillful hand travels down the front of your body, and whatever clever quip you'd had in mind evaporates. With his hips very subtly pressing his erect length against your body, he sneaks the hem of your skirt upward, his hand trailing up your leg along the way. You whine his name as his fingers dip between the plush softness of your thighs, stroking across your dampened panties.

"Damn, you're wet," he says in a heated whisper, "Maybe you're the one we have to worry about misbehaving."

"Damnit Claude, fuck me already," the words rush out without a thought, and now you find yourself pressing yourself back against him, your fingers dragging up the side of his neck and into thick brown hair. He utters a raw and lustful groan against your neck, and now his kisses are deeper, more forceful, and his fingers are rubbing against your clit from atop your soaked panties.

"That should be 'Mr. Riegan' now, shouldn't it? You said it before- I kinda liked it."

As he speaks now, he's unbuckling his belt and opening the front of his trousers. He pushes you forward gently, just a bit, and tugs your panties down your thighs. Before you can answer him, you feel the hot, stiff cock head press between your lower lips, and you let out a needy whimper.

"P- Please..." you arch yourself against him, spreading your legs wider, desperate to feel him enter you.

"Come on, you know what I want from you," you can hear his smirk in his voice, but where ordinarily you'd match his attitude with some of your own, right now you can't be bothered to fight back. He strokes the tip of his member along your slit, letting your overflowing arousal coat him as he rubs against your entrance, but refuses to give you what you need.

"Please, Mr. Riegan..!"

"That's it, good job Y/N," Claude groans once more as he begins to drive his length into you, his size stretching you around him as he pushes deeper and deeper until your lower body is flush against his hips. With an appreciative hum, he runs a hand over your backside, fondling and groping it against him, perhaps admiring where he can see your tight cunt clinging around the thick base of his cock. His hips sway just a little, rubbing himself into you in a way that makes your knees tremble. Then, his hand slaps against your ass- not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to enjoy watching the way it jiggles against him.

Slowly, he draws his hips back, then plunges back into you, forcing a gasping moan from your lips. He begins to buck his hips, quickly establishing a firm and steady rhythm that has you clinging to his desk. His hands at your hips guide you back against him with each thrust, ensuring that you feel every single inch of him as he fills your body and empties your thoughts; yet through the daze of pleasure, you manage to focus enough to hear him say,

"Mmgh, having my own office will be nice. Can't wait to spoil my favorite employee every single day..."

#claude von riegan #claude fire emblem #claude x reader #fire emblem x reader #fe3h #few3h #fe3h x reader #x reader #fire emblem smut #office smut #kink prompts #fire emblem three houses #not sfw

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theharrowing · 14 hours ago

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MY CHELL!!!!!!!

i read this review back when you posted it but life has been so hectic that i haven't had a chance to respond 😭😭😭 but i am here now and so excited to see (once again) what you have to say.

that ursula gif tho 💀💀💀

how i picture you wiggling in your seat:

you know, i hadn't fully considered the image of Taehyung in a balaclava, but now that you mention it..........................yes.

Stroll in with a pair of bloody chopsticks and a simple, “Darling”...what a charmer.

lolol idk why this is so funny to me.

definitely manipulative to bring Jimin along. i did my best to paint it as him bringing the whole crew as man power but those of you who've been paying attention know that Jimin is not a fighter, and that at the end of the day, he is absolutely a bargaining chip.

MC comparing Yoongi and Ryujin hurts. I can see what she means but damn does it hurt to admit it. After all is said and done, Yoongi is a shady ass dude with a shaky track record in love. The way he goes about things aren’t always clear and are often very infuriating.

yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. sigh lmao. this is something i have been anticipating showing for a long time and i am glad you had thoughts.

i actually had other plans for Ateez, but i scrapped some chunks of my outline that i didn't think suited the story anymore and lost those characters in the process. now they are heeerrrreeeee haha. i also think they fit the vibe, honestly.

I love that you can include such innocent and cute scenes in between the death, sorrow and destruction.

that's what i do hehehe.

The one on one talk went a lot better than I thought it would. MC needed to let those tears out with Yoongi and I’m more at ease that he is willing to wait for her mental health to get better. Healing takes time and having him/the guys not push for her to come home too soon means a lot.

....................we'll see how this thought has aged in chapter 24 lmao. i know you will have WORDS.

There is a subtle shift in the family dynamics or I could just be reading too much into it but with Seokjin’s bullshit out in the open, it seems to me that everyone is a little more relaxed. Not as on edge with being alive.

you are so observant 🥰🥰🥰

your observations re: ryujin & yoongi (and ryujin & mc) are on point. definitely nothing is black and white but where are the lines drawn, and where are they grey???

I hope Yoongi puts a fucking bullet in Ryujin’s skull, right between her eyes! This slimy two-faced bitch! Harmless my ass! I want to reach through the screen and punch Ryujin myself!

THANK YOU FOR READINGGGGGGG!!!!!!!! you will get answers soon but i wonder if you will also have more questions. my hope is that from chapter 24 on, all we are doing is answering questions and letting all of the pieces finally fall into place. it's.................going to be a mess haha. SEE YOU SOOONNNN!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😍🥰💜😍🥰💜

Collateral 🗡️ 23: This life of death and destruction

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon

🗡️ word count: 13.6k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️warnings: violence (a man gets stabbed in the eye, weaponized chopsticks, blood); recreational drug use & getting drunk; vomit.

🗡️note: are we ready to continue this story??? the cast of characters has doubled in size, and i think the angst & drama has multiplied, as well. i wrote this opening scene on april 20, 2023 moments after watching the Haegeum mv. it feels good to have finally built the rest of the chapter around it over a year later. this chapter is like 80% dialogue, lol sorry. we are setting up for what is to come in the rest of the fic. enjoyyy!!!

🗡️ also note: in this chapter, mc is borrowing clothing. if you are comfortable with imagining the clothing belongs to the thin kpop idols, please do. if you are not, then please don't. i am not making assumptions or allusions to body size but instead trying to paint a picture of being at the mercy of others.

🗡️ if you have not read the Yoongi POV chapter, i strongly recommend you do so before reading this.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted sept. 2024 | read on ao3

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“He looks hesitant,” Ryujin drawls in a bored tone. She turns to face you and her lips upturn at the edges, eyes sparkling. “Like he’s scared of what he may find when he gets here.”

The air is stiflingly hot, creating a sticky film over your skin, and your body feels heavier than it should. In this humidity, you are dizzy and agitated. More than anything, you are not ready to come face to face with the man who has caused you so much confusion and mental duress.

“Good,” you say, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Your fingers dig into your hip bones, and you do your best not to shuffle anxiously. You do not fully believe in your conviction, but you want your performance to be believable enough that the girls don't think you're weak. “He should be.”

“Looks like he brought all the family men,” she adds, turned back to watch their approach.

Your heart flutters suddenly, wondering whether she means Jimin is there too, unable to hide the tremble in your voice as you ask, “A-all of them?”

This time, when Ryujin faces you, her expression appears contemplative, almost sad.

“All of them,” she confirms, causing nausea and excitement to stir.

All you can say in response is, “Oh.”

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you forward, toward the window. You do not fully approach, not wanting to be seen, so you stop as soon as you spot them walking in the street toward the noodle shop downstairs that doubles as your hideout.

Seven figures approach in a V formation. Six of them wear ratty dark t-shirts and khaki pants, and they hold what look like juvenile weaponry—baseball bats and chains. Over their heads are balaclavas, reminding you of Christian's men. Is it meant to taunt him, you wonder. Do they think they will find him and his men here?

Yoongi is in the center, leading the charge, with no face covering and wearing a baby blue satin bomber jacket with thick white lines down the sleeves. On the breasts of the jacket are embroidered dragon heads, reminding you of Namjoon.

Namjoon. The thought of seeing him again, like this, makes your insides stir. You feel the urge to vomit, but you hold your ground and watch as the men approach, wearing a frown on your lips.

When the heads disappear from sight, you turn and listen for the silence that lingers in the air, save for the thrum of your pulse. A calm before a terrible storm.

Ryujin lets out a long, loud trill of a whistle—a signal, no doubt��and you listen as the

hideout breaks out into chaos. Men scramble through the short hallway that leads out into the open space that Yoongi and his men will soon enter.

"No guns!" Ryujin commands as she stomps through the space toward the hallway, clad in a white tank top tucked into a short black tennis skirt and tall leather equestrian boots. "You are on the defense only. Do not harm a single hair on any of these men's bodies. Do so and you die!"

As you stand near the window, you listen to the street commotion below. Vehicles drive along the narrow roads, vendors shout while ringing bells and chimes, and in the distance, a dog barks.

You know that you will not hear the men's approaching footfalls, but you listen for them, anyway. Yoongi and the family men only need to walk through the small dining hall of the open-air restaurant below, then up a flight of stairs. You hear nothing that might give their positions away.

"Wanna hide?" Hwasa—the nickname of your darling friend Hyejin—asks. She rests her chin on your shoulder and loosely wraps her arms around you, engulfing you in a perfume of roses and lilies.

You shake your head and mutter, "No," watching the doorway for any movement.

Finally, heavy footfalls echo through the space, giving you goosebumps, and when you hear the sounds of shouting followed by someone running into the room, you hold your breath.

"Fuck, fuck!" a man yells as he rounds the corner and cowers, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He seems to be patting himself down for a weapon, then he sighs and squeezes his eyes closed as he presses his back to the wall.

"Ya!" Hwasa yells, making the man gasp. "What is it?"

"B-big Duri," the man stammers, eyes wide. He shakes his head quickly as if attempting to clear away his thoughts.

Duri is a hulk of a man who stands watch at the top of the stairs. He is as muscular as he is tall, with a bit of softness around his belly, and his towering status has earned him the title Big Duri from the other men. One snarl from him makes men cower away in fear.

"What about him?" Hwasa asks.

"He was s-stabbed," the man says, staring at the floor. "In the f-f-fucking eye."

Hwasa drops her arms from around you and stands up straight. You open your mouth to speak but find no sound can pass your lips.

Footfalls approach, heavy and fast. You are not sure who you expect storming in from the hallway, but for some reason, it is not Yoongi.

He walks in assuredly like he owns the place, dark hair framing his face in waves. Clenched in his right fist are two bright red chopsticks that look like the ones served at the restaurant downstairs, and you could swear the thinner ends of them are dripping with blood.

"Darling, let's go," Yoongi says, wide eyes fixed on you. He looks like a madman with his hair somewhat disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his throat.

You are surprised to see Yoongi dressed as he is. Under the pastel jacket is a white tee tucked into loose-fitting blue jeans. When was the last time you saw him in blue jeans? Your first trip to Hong Kong?

You heavy-blink, breaking from the thought process, and attempt to hold steady and keep cool. But you do not feel cool. Your pulse quickens, and you worry you might faint.

"I'm staying here," you say, voice trembling.

You half expect Yoongi to storm over and grab you by the arm. Part of you even feels saddened when he stays where he is.

"Darling," Yoongi says, lifting his free hand to wave you over. "I'm not asking you twice."

"How many men did you kill out there?" you ask, eyes on the chopsticks that drip blood beside his dusty white sneaker. Yoongi's arm drops to his side and he heaves a weighty sigh, shoulders falling.

Behind Yoongi, Ryujin saunters in. She grins and stands beside Yoongi, resting her head against his shoulder as she reaches for the bloodied chopsticks in his fist, saying, "You owe me a bodyguard."

Yoongi—whose eyes never leave you—throws the chopsticks to the floor, off to the side. They clatter against the uneven wood, and you wince at the thought of blood splattering.

He mutters, "Fine."

With that admission, you surmise that Yoongi has, indeed, stabbed Big Duri in the eye. How he managed to do so when he is so much smaller than the man is beyond you. You would be amused by the visual of Yoongi leaping onto him like a kitten if the situation were not so infuriating.

Slowly, Ryujin lifts her head from Yoongi's shoulder. She turns her gaze to you as she says, "She doesn't want this life, Yoongi. She told you so, herself."

"Darling," Yoongi says, seemingly ignoring Ryujin, making her roll her eyes. "I will make some changes. We will figure it out. Just come home."

You shake your head. "I told you I wanted to leave."

"You are in danger," Yoongi insists, and you scoff. For the first time since you have arrived to this dingy place, there has been no hint of violence until he turned up.

As Yoongi sighs, his nostrils flair. You can clearly see that he has something on his mind, but he remains still and silent.

Anger rises, and you clench your fists at your sides. This is not the reunion you expected, but you cannot say you are shocked. "I told you I no longer want this life, and the first thing you do is stab a man—a good man!"

"Darling, I—"

"Go home," you interrupt.

Yoongi watches you, expression cold save for a flicker of sadness in his eyes. Every nerve in your body wants to propel you forward and into his arms, but you do not want to return to the home of a maniac who attacks men with chopsticks, beautiful as that maniac may be.

"I have told you time and again that I cannot handle this life of death and destruction! And here you are, bringing it straight to my feet. Go home, Yoongi."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, raising his eyebrows. In the doorway, you see Namjoon appear, balaclava raised to his forehead. His dark grey tee is smeared with sweat and blood, and before he can open his mouth to speak, you turn around. There is absolutely no way you will be able to keep your strength if you are forced to face any more of them.

"She wants you to leave," Hwasa says. You are grateful for her as you hear the heels of her boots against the rickety hardwood. "Now!"

"I want to speak to her," Namjoon says, and you are surprised to hear Yoongi say, "She does not wish to speak. Come on."

As their deep, low voices mutter, tears fill your eyes. You breathe in deeply, hoping to ward them off, but as you exhale, the air comes out shattered, and you know that you are only moments away from crying.

"Tomorrow night, we can sit down and discuss matters," Ryujin says.

You keep your eyes on the late afternoon sky, hanging on her every word.

"Amicably," she continues. "No weapons. No hot tempers. And you have a man en route to Busan to take Duri's place when we arrive. Deal?"

"All of us?" Namjoon asks, and you fight the edges of your lips, which curl into a sad smile.

Ryujin sighs. "Yes, all seven of you sordid little devils. Now get the fuck out of my hideout. You gave our darling a scare and I will not have her fainting because of it. I will send you a time and place, and you will show up dressed as respectable men. Seriously, what the fuck are you guys wearing? You look like trash."

Ryujin's voice fades as she continues to berate them, footsteps retreating, and it occurs to you once more that somewhere out in the chaos is Jimin. You turn, and the movement causes Yoongi's head to lift and eyes to open wide and expectantly, standing halfway in the hallway. You were not expecting him to still be here. To your disappointment, Namjoon has already left the room.

"Is Jimin here?" you ask.

Relief floods Yoongi's face, and he cracks a smile, nodding as he says, "Yes. Come see him."

You shake your head, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall.

"Glad he's awake," you say. "Perhaps I will see you all tomorrow."

Yoongi's expression turns sad, and you watch as he mouths the word perhaps before you turn your attention back to the window. The sound of his shoes retreating makes you want to throw up, and you swallow it down as a single tear streaks your left cheek.

* * *

Ryujin lies on a large fur rug that she has pulled near the window. Atop the rug is a mess of blankets and pillows, and her limbs tangle with those of Hwasa and the other three girls.

You sit arrow straight on the wide window sill, staring at the street below. The sky slowly darkens, illuminating the buildings with an orange glow that is exaggerated by the neon lights on each restaurant and storefront.

"Yes, Yoongi," Ryujin says into her phone, playful irritation in her tone. "I swear to you there is nobody by that name in our ranks. Seokjin-oppa has already warned me about his possible presence."

You listen, hoping to hear traces of Yoongi's voice coming through the phone, but you know that it is hopeless; his dulcet tones do not exactly travel far even while in the same room as him. Muffled and at a distance, the notion is hopeless.

"You know," Ryujin continues, "you would have less to worry about if you hadn't stabbed my most trusty security guard in the fucking eye with a chopstick."

Her words make you wince, and you turn away from the window, staring at the empty wall opposite where Ryujin and the girls rest. The floral wallpaper is peeled in places and tinted brown from water damage, but otherwise, the space is clean and empty, save for six suitcases and the items Ryujin has brought in and strewn about for comfort.

Outside of this room is a hallway that connects to more rooms, though you have not bothered to look into any of them, save for the bathroom, which is the first room to the right as you exit this one. Whatever this hideout was originally built for, you do not know, and you do not care, although you imagine at least one of the rooms could serve as office space for the restaurant below.

A shrill laugh barks through the air, making you jump. You gaze over your shoulder to find Ryujin's head tilted back, eyes closed as she full-body laughs.

"Don't be a fucking idiot," she says, opening her eyes to meet your gaze. "No scrub in clown paint is going to buy our little darling from me. Now get some sleep; we'll talk about this tomorrow evening, as promised."

Something about Ryujin calling you our little darling sends a chill along your spine, and you turn back to staring at nothing. She ends the call abruptly, and you hear as her phone clatters against the wooden floor, undoubtedly tossed aside.

"Darling," Ryujin calls, voice soft and pretty, causing your shoulders to rise to your ears as if protecting you—from what, you are unsure.

You swallow hard. "Hmm?"

Ryujin giggles. "Come. You're so tense. Relax with us."

She is correct that you are tense. You have been tense for days. When you got into her car at the airport, she said you would be here for two or three days, but it is going on a week, and you are tired of sleeping on rugs in a pile of bodies. You want to return to a bed. Any bed.

As you turn to face Ryujin and the others, you are struck by a sense of homesickness and longing that makes your stomach churn. Hwasa and three slender beauties called Solar, Wheein, and Moonbyul crowd Ryujin, who sits up on her elbows, gaze fixed on you.

Hwasa's head is against Ryujin's left shoulder, near her breast, and she watches you, as well, gaze soft but pleading. Moonbyul, with her long, straight hair lightened to a pale gold blonde, has her head on Hwasa's tummy, curled in on her. The other two are resting similarly, with Solar clinging to Ryujin and Wheein clinging to Solar, long dark hair draped over limbs which are draped over more limbs clad in white cotton and black spandex.

You watch them in their near-stillness, questioning where you would fit. Clearly, the five of them are tight. They call her mother, and she proudly dotes on them as if they are her precious children.

Ordinarily, you wait for everyone to begin dozing off, then you curl up on one of the outside edges, back turned from whichever woman is beside you. But you know that Ryujin wants you to be physically close to her—you can tell by the way she watches you.

What would physical closeness to a woman like her entail, you wonder.

"So shy," Ryujin pouts. "So moody."

Hwasa, as if mirroring her energy, juts out her bottom lip.

Ryujin tilts her head, studying you. "What does the lady require to help take the edge off?"

Although she is not explicitly saying so, you know that she is offering pills. Every day that you do not give in and crawl to Ryujin and her pile of women, she assumes it is due to some defect in your ability to relax. In a way, you suppose, she is correct.

"Going home would take the edge off," you respond, voice flat and lacking all mirth.

Ryujin sighs, and her pretty, impish smile falls into a dramatic frown. "I, too, would like to go home. And I promise that we will, soon. Yoongi is convinced there is some third party attempting to track you down, and he has been insistent on weeding the man out. He seems to think that you are safest while remaining in hiding. I, however, think we are sitting ducks."

You hum and nod.

She sits up ever so slightly, causing the clinging women to shift along with her movement. "What do you think?"

What do you think? Such a simple, innocent question, yet it stirs an anger in you that is so deep, festering in the dark pits of you that are fed by lack of proper comfort and sleep.

There is a part of you that wants to snap at Ryujin and ask whether she really cares what you think. You want to storm up to her, take her by the straps of her white tank top, and shake some sense into her while demanding she returns you to Korea at once.

Another part of you worries that Yoongi is being too paranoid to think clearly and that he is making an already strange situation worse. You find it hard to believe Christian has weaseled his way into Taiwan and is lying in wait to pounce, if that is what the phone call just now suggests.

But, then again, you never would have imagined Christian would show up with a briefcase of money, nor did you expect to see him turning up to the mansion in the middle of the night. Still, the notion feels ridiculous. You're not in Korea anymore.

You shrug, purse your lips as if you are thinking it over, and say, "I don't really know."

Truth be told, you are exhausted, catapulting emotionally from one extreme to another, finding it impossible to truly relax. You are not sure whether Ryujin has done anything to deserve your vitriol; she has kept you safe and fed, even if you are slowly succumbing to exhaustion-induced hysteria.

Her history with Yoongi notwithstanding, she appears reasonable and kind. It is hard to hate her for her past when it has opened up Yoongi's arms to you—for better or worse. It is not as if you regret the time you have spent with him.

And, if you are being honest, you wonder whether the transgression between them was as simple as the men put it, or if there is more to her side of the story. Surely, she did not wake up one day and decide to betray the man she loved.

Or, perhaps, she is charming you the way Yoongi did. What better way to tame a wild beast than to uproot it from the comfort and safety it has grown accustomed to and force it into close proximity, giving it no other choice than to be grateful and eventually feel some semblance of love toward its captor. Maybe she and Yoongi have more in common than you realize.

The thought makes you snicker, and you stand, taking notice of how Ryujin lifts her chin and watches you. Hwasa stirs and sits up, causing Moonbyul to roll off of her with a groan and clench onto the pillow below her.

"Going to the bathroom," you say.

Hwasa stands as Ryujin sing-songs, "Buddy system," causing you to smile and roll your eyes.

You are not allowed to do anything outside of this room—including taking a shit—without the accompaniment of one of the girls. Lucky for you, Hwasa is always willing and eager to be close.

Hwasa tiptoes over and snakes an arm around your elbow, momentarily resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you walk. You have come to enjoy her company quite a bit, and you are relieved to have her here.

While it was shocking to lay eyes on Hwasa after your plane landed in Taiwan, she was very clear and open about her circumstances, and you found it easy to trust her. According to her, Seokjin and Jimin gave her the position at Paradise knowing she was one of Ryujin's women, reminding you of Hyunjin and how he and his family were safe, after all.

Yoongi may not have been working directly with Ryujin this entire time, but it seems that his men have been. And, judging by how comfortable he seemed with letting Ryujin touch him and boss him around earlier, you do not suspect that he harbors the same ill thoughts that he seemed to when you first encountered her all those months ago.

You wonder what has changed. Has it been your presence in his life, or something more? After all the destruction Ryujin's team has caused Yoongi's family over the last several months, ending with Jimin in a coma, some sort of truce had to have been made. You have heard whispers of conversations, but you are curious about the specifics. It seems the woman who was at the helm of the destruction, Hyungseo, is not here.

In due time, you think. You have no doubt Ryujin will open up to you.

As you and Hwasa leave the room and venture quietly into the hall, two armed men look up from the game of Chinese checkers that they play on the floor, and smile. They are beautiful, and you smile back, yanking your gaze away from them before you are able to make any more of an impression on either of them.

Admittedly, you are lonely. Physically, emotionally, sexually…and there is something in the gleams of their eyes that stirs you deeply, but you know that it is not them who do it for you.

It is their eyes. They share the same piercing, knowing gaze of hunger and brutality that glimmers in the eyes of the family men. Your family men.

"I think Yunho likes you," Hwasa teases, voice loud enough for him to undoubtedly hear, though you do not turn back to look.

Instead, you press your palm against the cold metal door leading into the small bathroom and sheepishly ask, "Which one is he, again?"

A snicker comes from the floor, undoubtedly from Yunho's companion Seonghwa, and you turn as you enter the dimly lit room, grinning widely at your friend. The bathroom door swings shut, and the scents of toilet cleaner and bleach sting your nose.

There are three toilet stalls in this room with mint green painted metal doors. The walls are a similar shade of green, and the yellow and white tiles on the floor are chipped in places.

You make your way to the sinks straight ahead and turn on the water, which is always cold, and run your hands under the stream. On the counter, in the corner, is a large black makeup case containing travel-sized toiletries for yourself and the rest of the women, and you open its lid and rummage around for your toothbrush and toothpaste.

"How are you holding up?" Hwasa asks as you unscrew the cap from the toothpaste and squeeze a small dollop of its contents onto your bristles, careful not to take too much.

You shrug, and rather than respond, raise the brush to your mouth. The mint is cloyingly sweet as it hits your taste buds, and you close your eyes, worried that its minty sting may tangle with your emotions and cause tears to well.

"Will you be joining Ryujin to meet with them for dinner tomorrow?"

Without opening your eyes, you begin to shake your head, not sure whether you can handle sitting at the same table with all of them. But then Jimin's bright, gleaming smile crosses your mind, and you shrug and nod. You may as well.

Hwasa chuckles, and her hands rest softly on your shoulders before giving a gentle squeeze. All at once, you relax, dropping your shoulders and tipping your head forward, instinctively giving her permission to do anything she would like.

As you finish brushing your teeth and tongue, she squeezes your muscles and rolls her thumbs in circles. You hold the small plastic brush between your teeth, feeling a dribble of frothy, minty spit roll down your lip to your chin, and you rest your palms against the counter until Hwasa lifts her hands away.

"I suppose I should brush my teeth, too," she says with a pout in her tone, and you open your eyes to see her squirting some paste onto a matching toothbrush that she has written AH on in large letters for Ahn Hyejin.

You spit, rinse, and spit some more, then use the inside of your sweaty black tank top to dab the moisture from the edges of your mouth. When Hwasa is finished, the two of you link arms once more and make your way out of the bathroom, ignoring Yunho and Seonghwa as you walk by.

The rest of the girls, led by Ryujin, walk by in a fit of soft giggles, and you make your way to the pile of blankets and pillows, feeling physically exhausted despite being uncertain of whether you may actually be able to sleep.

Hwasa follows and lies down beside you, beaming as she scoots nice and close and wraps an arm around your waist before you have a chance to roll away and face the wall.

"Not so fast," she says, causing you to chuckle despite yourself. "You always roll away. Snore in my face for once."

Affronted, you attempt to wiggle out of her hold, surprised by how strong she is as she holds you in place. "I do not snore."

Hwasa rolls her eyes, says, "Everyone snores a little," and wiggles closer as her hold on you loosens—so close your noses nearly touch.

You feel too warm, and the scent of Hwasa's perfume mingling with her body heat stirs something inside you, filling you with the urge to flee. You are lonely, and she is beautiful and soft, and suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room.

At a loss, you close your eyes. Whether you roll your body away or continue to face her, she will not create more distance because she cannot. As soon as the other girls return, they will pile into the bed, and you will feel the weight of ankles and wrists drape over you.

"Good night, pretty dove," Hwasa sing-songs.

You crack a smile, unable to hold back despite how dangerous it feels to allow yourself to be anything but stoic and collected for the time being. The nickname reminds you of Paradise and of Jimin, and you are unable to hold back.

"Good night, Hyejin," you mutter in response, forgetting her nickname for the familiar one as her warmth and comfort lulls you fast into a sleep you did not expect to come.

You actually feel…good.

* * *

The rattle and clanking of dishes and silverware have all of your nerves on high alert, causing your pulse to spike and your palms to sweat. You are acutely aware of the fact that at any moment, several men you miss and adore are going to come walking into the private dining room to join you, Ryujin, and Hwasa, and you are going to have to face them.

Each time a member of the serving staff enters, your eyes dart up in panic, and each time they bow apologetically, confusion painted across their features. Under the table, from your right, Hwasa grips onto your hand and mutters kind words that are lost over the pounding of your heart.

When your trio arrived first, you were grateful. You assumed that by the time you waited on the arrival of the men, your nerves would have calmed and you would have composed yourself.

But you were wrong. Oh, how you were wrong.

With each passing second, your heart riots behind your ribs, quick and dizzying. You feel the urge to excuse yourself to the bathroom, but you are terrified of what it may do to Yoongi if he arrives to find that you are not sitting at this table.

Food and drink are brought in. Large dishes covered in steaming meat, vegetables, rice, and noodles. Carafe after carafe is set down, and as you sit forward to peer into one of them, Hwasa says, "That is kaoliang. Fermented liquor from China." Your mouth begins to water, but you are not sure you are ready just yet to start drinking.

Shadows linger outside the door to the private room, tall and wide blobs obscured by the privacy glass. Ryujin glances at her watch, mutters, "Fucking finally," and stands, causing Hwasa to stand as well.

You remain glued to your seat. Even if you wanted to stand, you are not sure you would be able to.

As the door slides open, your heart pounds. Seokjin enters with a smirk and a bow of his head, followed by Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jeongguk, Namjoon, and finally, Yoongi.

Jimin beams, eyes and mouth wide and happy, and he rounds the table in a rush, pushing past Ryujin, who attempts to pull him into a hug. Your eyes fill with tears, and as you finally get onto your feet, legs wobbling beneath you, the tears spill, streaking your cheeks.

You stumble and crash into the papered wall from the force of Jimin's hug, elbow scraping and stinging, but you do not care. Jimin smells and feels so familiar, and you sob in his arms, burying your face into his black lapel and letting out a deep, shattered breath.

"Oh my god," you manage to mutter against his shoulder, and he tries to loosen the hug to hear you speak, but you shake your head like a petulant child and pull him closer, refusing to let go. "I was so scared, Jimin. I thought I might never— I've missed you so much."

Voices greet one another, and chairs scrape across the floor, signaling that the others have begun to find their seats. This time, when Jimin begins to release the hug, you allow him, dropping your hands from his shoulders but holding them loosely around his hips.

Jimin's eyes are glassy with tears, and hair is slightly longer, almost grown out into a mullet. For the first time since you have met him, it is brown, and you mutter, "Nice hair," while doing your best to smile widely despite still crying.

He grimaces at you, lifting his hands to thumb away the moisture under your eyes. Then he leans in, kisses the tip of your nose, and says, "All better, dove."

"Thank you," you whisper, sound lodged in your throat, then you release Jimin for good and pivot to take your seat, taking a deep breath before allowing your eyes to fall on the rest of the men.

To your surprise and dismay, you find Ryujin sitting across from you with her eyebrows raised and a sharp, devious smile playing on her lips. To her left is Hwasa, and to her right is Jeongguk. You do not need to look to see that Yoongi and Namjoon have taken the seats on either side of you because of course, they have. Where else would they be?

But you do look. You sweep the sprawling rectangular table, starting with Namjoon at your left, then Hoseok, with Seokjin at the far end, where you anticipated Yoongi might sit. Past Seokjin is Taehyung, then Jeongguk, then Ryujin, who is leaning to the side and whispering something to Hwasa, whose hand reaches to where Jimin sits on the other far end.

Jimin inspects Hwasa's rings and nails, dainty fingers tracing delicate lines. When she turns back to look at him, there are tears in her eyes, and you realize belatedly that she has missed him, as well. Of course, she has.

You do not look at Yoongi, gaze ending with Jimin. Yoongi clears his throat, causing Ryujin to stand, and—feeling uncomfortable with also standing while she speaks—you quickly have a seat.

Ryujin bows her head, hair pulled in a tight bun at the back of her head. She, matching Hwasa, wears a black suit with a white silk blouse, blending in with the black suits and black satin undershirts the men wear. You are the odd one out in a sleek black evening gown; Ryujin was insistent. At least it, too, is satin.

"Gentlemen," Ryujin says, and all at once, the men stand, bow their heads, and sit, including Yoongi, who scoots in close beside you. "Thank you for joining us tonight. I trust you have found us a replacement bodyguard?"

Yoongi hums a gruff, low note, and you are acutely aware of his presence by your side. His scent—earthy and musky, ever so slightly tinged with citrus—sneaks past the savory blend of food smells and floods your senses. You swallow a lump of trepidation that has crept its way to your throat.

"First of all, I would like to thank you for trusting me with taking care of our little darling," Ryujin says, turning to look at Seokjin. She remains standing. "As you are all aware, things between Yoongi and I have not always been easy. But, moving forward, I would like for all of us to remain amicable."

At this, Ryujin's eyes land on Yoongi. She appears fierce and ruthless in the way she looks down at him, lips upturned as if to show that she is enjoying this position of power.

You glance from the corner of your eye to find that Yoongi peers back up at her, sitting tall on the edge of his seat. His expression is blank, as is to be expected. There is a long pause during which you wish someone would speak or move to eat or drink—anything to cut through the tension.

Finally, Yoongi folds his arms over his chest and sits back, shifting his weight in a more relaxed position. He clears his throat, and you turn your gaze to the piles of meats, vegetables, noodles, and rice.

It sounds as if Yoongi attempts more than once to speak but struggles to find the words. At this, Namjoon sits forward, pulling your attention to the left, and he asks, "May I?"

Ryujin's face lights up. "Of course, Joonie-oppa. The floor is yours."

"Firstly, thank you for your hospitality. The hideout was certainly difficult to locate—"

Ryujin snickers. At this, Jeongguk stands, facing her, "Look, noona, if you would have answered your phone, we never would have shown up there with—"

"Sit down," Ryujin snaps, turning a playful but intense glare on Jeongguk, whose mouth snaps shut as he takes his seat. Beside him, Taehyung snickers. "I didn't answer my phone because I wanted to converse with her before making any choices, and you idiots acted irrationally."

At the word her, Ryujin lifts her hand and gestures to you, momentarily pulling your gaze. Although you do not glance around, you are certain that all heads turn to look your way, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat while you begin watching droplets of condensation streak your water glass.

"Pardon us for being concerned," Yoongi responds, voice tense and pained.

This seems to quell whatever emotion that has Ryujin acting defensive, and she slowly takes her seat and reaches for the bottle of kaoliang. All seem to be waiting for her response, and she takes her time lifting her glass to her lips and sitting back in her chair.

"Nobody faults you for being concerned, oppa. But you need to be more considerate of the reason she has come to me in the first place."

Yoongi must open his mouth to speak once more because Ryujin lifts her hand to stop him before she continues.

"Yes, I know that you are concerned for her safety, especially in the wake of some mysterious man from her past showing up out of nowhere. But she was already planning on leaving for mental health reasons. So maybe storming in with chopsticks blazing is not the wisest way to reunite with someone who is already shell-shocked from all the other bullshit she has had to witness."

"Some of the bullshit was at the hands of your people," Namjoon interjects.

Ryujin levels her gaze on him. "The most heinous bullshit, I would imagine. And as you can see, Hyungseo is not present. I am dealing with her, and Seokjin, Yoongi, and I have already discussed ways I can help with harm reduction."

Your gaze moves to the right, to Jimin, and you are surprised to find he is already looking at you. You smile, unable to stop the tears that form from how relieved you are that he is alright.

"I know that trust has been tarnished between our families, and that myself and my girls have taken things too far," Ryujin admits. "I sent my people out to scare you, and they did so much more than that. I will never stop feeling sorry for what has happened. Not a night has gone by that I have not been filled with regret over someone so precious to all of us becoming seriously injured."

Ryujin lifts an arm, reaches over Hwasa, and holds out her hand to Jimin. He takes it without hesitation.

"He could have died," Jeongguk says, brows knit in a frown.

Ryujin sighs. "I know this, Ggukie. And I am so, so sorry. I am determined to quash any bad blood and begin earning your respect. Tomorrow we leave for Busan. Once we are all back home, Serendipity will be opened for a night of drinking, drugs…whatever you heathens do."

To your surprise, many of the men snicker, amused.

"Seokjin and Hoseok already have a security team on standby so that you are not only relying on my people to keep you safe," Ryujin continues. "The era of family feuding is over. I am happy with my little piece of the peninsula, and I want drug operations to continue in a way that is lucrative for both of us. We will remain your first line of defense in the harbor, and in return, all that I ask is that we get free reign in Seoul to come and go."

Yoongi clears his throat. "If Sunmi-noona will accept the offer, she can be your liaison in the city once more."

At this, a mischievous smirk tugs on Ryujin's lips. She gives Jimin's hand a squeeze before releasing it, then raises both elbows to the table to cradle her chin in her hands. "Tell me, oppa. Why does Sunmi-unnie spit at my feet whenever I mention your name?"

Yoongi says nothing.

Rather than press him, she winks, then reaches for a large metal spoon and begins to fill her dish. Everyone hesitates, and it is Jeongguk who breaks the tension and follows suit, scooping food onto Taehyung's plate and causing the others to act in kind. You sit still, unsure whether you have an appetite.

"Darling?" Yoongi asks at the same time two fingers gently caress the back of your arm.

Your evening gown is a form-hugging halter top with a low back, leaving your skin open to soft, delicate assaults like the ones Yoongi likes to conduct in gentle motions. You flinch but try not to pull your arm away, worried about hurting his feelings.

Yoongi chuckles softly. "Are you not hungry?"

You shake your head but mutter, "I don't know."

"Should I have sat elsewhere?" he asks. He shifts as if he is looking over and around you, and you imagine he is speaking nonverbally to Namjoon.

The room is too bright, the food and cologne smells are too numerous, and the sounds of voices and silverware and porcelain are too loud. You raise your shoulders to your ears, then turn toward Yoongi, still unable to meet his eye as you ask, "Can we talk somewhere else?"

Yoongi stands, says, "Excuse us for just a moment," and waits for you.

As you stand, you catch Ryujin's eye. She appears concerned and places her palms on the table as if ready to stand and defend you.

You nod and say, "We'll be right back," and watch as she relaxes.

A warm palm presses against your lower back, and Yoongi guides you toward the door, out into a small hallway, and to the left. The restaurant's main dining hall is to the right, and you are thankful to walk in the opposite direction, not sure whether you can handle another person's eyes on you.

Yoongi walks into an empty private dining room, switches on the light, and holds out his arm for you to enter. As you step inside, you hear him conversing softly with who you assume to be an employee, and then he joins you, closing the door behind him.

As you stand and face the large, empty dining room, you expect Yoongi to touch you or prod you into speaking. Perhaps you expect him to beg you to return home. Instead, he seems to be waiting.

After only a handful of seconds, you decide you cannot take it anymore. Every ounce of you yearns for Yoongi, and knowing he is so close and being so patient has you reeling. You turn and quickly step toward him, reaching for his lapels and burying your face against his chest. He smells like home, and as he wraps his arms around you, warmth fills your chest, and you begin to cry.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm sorry I had to leave. I miss you, Yoongi, but I can't stand being there. I can't do it."

"Shh," Yoongi whispers, lips pressing to your temple, causing you to cry harder. It has only been a week, and yet you feel as if you have been away from him for so long.

"I'm sorry we keep creating distance. I don't know how to make it work out. I'm so scared, Yoongi." You are fumbling, mouth on autopilot, dredging up each time you and Yoongi were apart, feeling somehow responsible for everything despite knowing you have always only done your best.

"Yesterday was a mistake," Yoongi says, peppering kisses from the crown of your hair to your cheek and back up. "I was terrified and not in my right mind. You left in a frenzy, and then there was that letter, and it all been very confusing—"

You sniffle loudly, letting out a sound that halfway sounds like a laugh. "Oh my god, the letter. I'm so sorry."

Yoongi chuckles, gently grabs your shoulders, and pries you away from his chest. You allow him to move you, and you stand straight but keep your eyes on his black satin shirt. You do not want to see his scar or the pretty way in which his eyes downturn when he is sad.

His voice is soft and conspiratorial as he says, "I almost killed Seokjin after I found it."

With wide, surprised eyes, you look up, unable to hold back any longer. Yoongi's smile is loving and big, and his eyes sparkle with happiness, making your stomach roil with uncertainty. His scar is still so red against his soft skin, but it adds so much to his allure and beauty.

"I was under the impression you were running away with Barom, what with the timing of it all. You packed a bag, left behind all of our gifts, and disappeared into the night the moment he arrived."

Despite Yoongi's high spirits, you shake your head somewhat desperately. "I wrote it earlier that day, thinking I might run away a night or two later. I was scared that if I said goodbye, I wouldn't be able to leave." Tears build once more, and your body goes limp, hanging against the weight of Yoongi's hands. "Yoongi, I'm so—"

"Alright, no more sorries," Yoongi says, pressing against your shoulders enough to signal that he would like you to stand up and get your shit together. "Seokjin explained your conversations and motives to us already, and I have long since forgiven the both of you. I understand why you felt you had to sneak away. Remember when I went missing in Hong Kong? I was also in the midst of a mental health crisis, darling. I have no hard feelings."

You straighten out and search Yoongi's eyes for any hint of dishonesty, but all you find is a soft, loving gaze looking back at you. With a relieved sigh, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing the side of your cheek against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"I love you," you say, feeling the words fill you with warmth.

Yoongi drapes one arm over your shoulders and rests his other hand against the back of your head. "I love you, too," he says. "And if you need time and space, I will give it to you. Despite everything, I trust the girls to take good care of you."

"Is it weird?" you ask, pulling out of the hug and stepping back only far enough to see Yoongi's face. His only response is to raise one eyebrow. "Being around her again, I mean. Was she always so bossy?"

Yoongi chuckles and shakes his head. "I suppose it is a little weird, but we were friends first and foremost, and being friendly with her again feels easy. She has not always been that bossy, per se, but she has always been strong-willed enough to face all seven of us down the way she did tonight."

This makes you laugh, and you lean into Yoongi once more, tilting your head to press your lips to his throat, just under his chin.

"Thank you," you say. Yoongi hums, and you add, "For giving me time and space. For being understanding. That night was a fucking mess, and I have been really scared for what the aftermath may look like."

"No hard feelings," Yoongi repeats. "As long as you are happy."

All at once, you are flooded with myriad thoughts. Are you happy? This last week, while being more or less calm on your nerves, has also been lonely and strange. Would you feel better if you cut your losses and went back home to your men, where everything felt familiar again? Could you cycle through medications until finding the magical cocktail that would allow you to be whole again?

No, you think. Probably not.

"Are you sure?" you ask, voice soft and uncertain. "I don't know how long I might need. I can't promise—"

Yoongi kisses your forehead, pressing his lips slowly as he hums. He says, "I'm sure. We can figure it out one day at a time."

With everything out in the open, your stomach pangs with hunger. You smile and ask, "Can we go eat now?" and you are delighted when Yoongi smiles with relief and says, "Yes, of course."

With his thumbs, Yoongi rubs below your eyes. His hands linger on your cheeks, and you expect him to lean forward and kiss you, but he drops his hands a beat later, then grabs onto one of yours and asks, "Shall we?"

Yoongi leads the two of you back to the dining room, and as you enter, you are pleased to find the entire table has erupted into pleasant conversation. Jeongguk's arm is draped over Ryujin's chair while Hwasa emphatically tells them a story, and Jimin is leaning close, listening with his chin propped onto his hands.

Taehyung is explaining something while glancing between Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok, and as you and Yoongi round the table and return, nobody acknowledges the two of you until you take a seat and Namjoon—eyes still on Taehyung—gently places a hand on your knee.

It is only when you begin to reach for half-empty bowls of food that Namjoon takes your plate in his hand that you realize how long it has been since the two of you have spoken. You are once again overwhelmed with emotion and fight the urge to say sorry a hundred more times.

Instead, he points with a large metal spoon and says, "Both of these dishes have a tangy garlic sauce, but this one is a bit more spicy."

"I'd like to try both," you say, watching as Namjoon spoons a heap of chicken with vegetables onto your dish, followed by a heap of tofu and peanuts with vegetables in a slightly redder sauce full of chopped red peppers.

As Namjoon sets your plate in front of you, you reach with your long metal chopsticks with the intent to gather some noodles from a dish that is across from Yoongi, out of Namjoon's reach. However, Yoongi takes the dish and begins to scoop some onto a smaller plate for you, and you sit back with a smile and wait for him to finish.

"Still having those dreams?" Namjoon asks.

You know in an instant that he is referring to the dream that you wrote about in your letter, and you feel silly as you bite your bottom lip and nod.

"That has to be really stressful," he says, reaching for a pitcher of water to fill his empty glass.

You smile sadly, imagining his white shirt filling with blood. It is stressful, but— "On the plus side, I get to see you."

As you lift your gaze to meet Namjoon's, his furrowed brow and wilted frown gently lift, not quite into a smile, but at least something a bit more relaxed.

"Hi," you say softly, taking in Namjoon's familiar, beautiful face.

His smile widens, creasing his cheeks with dimples. He mutters, "Hey, you," and the soft, dulcet tone of his voice fills your chest with warmth.

You open your mouth to tell him that you love him. That you miss him. That you're sorry for leaving. So, so sorry.

But Ryujin loudly asks, "Caviar?" pulling the attention of everyone at the table.

Behind her, waitstaff hold new plates, and everyone nods in agreement before continuing their conversations. And although you could pour your heart out now, Hoseok steals Namjoon's attention away, and you decide the moment has passed.

Food and drink continue to appear in waves, and suddenly, you are tipsy and full and tired. Namjoon stands to walk around the table and have a quiet conversation with Ryujin, and Jimin seizes the opportunity to steal his seat. He and Jeongguk discuss business operations at Paradise while you rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes listening to the sound of his voice. He is alive. He is awake.

He speaks slower, and there is a rough quality to his voice that was not present before. It seems to take him more time to process what is said to him, and he reacts as if on a delay. But he is here and alive and awake.

Only when more kaoliang is poured, and Ryujin raises a toast do you sit up and take your cup. You barely hear what she shouts, booze and excitement slurring her speech, but you make out the words together, family, and happy, and you tap your small glass against as many as you can reach before shooting the strong liquid down.

A large, warm hand rests on your right knee, and as you set down your empty glass, you turn to find Yoongi watching you, glassy-eyed with a smile on his lips. You attempt to smile back but instead, swallow thickly and search for something to say. Luckily, he speaks first.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it has been without you at home?” Yoongi’s gaze becomes pained but remains soft, tugging at your heart.

And although the sentiment is sweet, you are unable to ignore the impossibility of his question. In fact, for some inexplicable reason—you suppose you must blame the alcohol—you become somewhat annoyed.

You ask, “How could I possibly know that? And anyway, don't you have your hands full as it is?”

Across the table, Jeongguk snickers. It takes Yoongi a second to react, and you are glad when the corners of his lips raise into another smile, even if just for a second.

“Being around those girls has made you sassier than you were before, darling,” he mutters under his breath.

You roll your eyes. “It has only been a week, darling.”

Leaning close, elbows on the table, Yoongi lowers his voice and says, “It only took me about a week to begin wearing you down.”

Arousal stirs from the tone of his voice, but so does your stomach. Being kidnapped and worn down is not exactly a topic that you delight in discussing. You must not show your dissatisfaction, however, because Yoongi leans in close and presses a soft, warm kiss against your cheek.

As the raucous dinner comes to an end and you begin to wish everyone a safe trip home, Jeongguk finally approaches. You have been holding back the urge to kick him in the shin all night, feeling somewhat scorned by his lack of attention.

"So you're going to stay with the girls?" he asks, standing close enough to wrap you in an embrace but keeping his arms to his sides.

You nod and find it hard to hold his eye contact, looking down at his satin-clad shoulder instead. Jeongguk lifts a hand and delicately places two fingers under your chin, tilting your head until you look him in the eyes. The contact of his skin against yours sends an electric current through you, and you shiver.

"Call me if you need anything. I can be to Busan in a matter of hours."

Sheepishly, you glance down again and mutter, "I don't have anyone's number anymore."

Jeongguk drops his hand, turns to the left, and says, "Seokjin-hyung! What the fuck, man?"

Arguing ensues, but you are too distracted by Namjoon wrapping his arms around your side and pressing his lips to your neck. Suddenly, your bones are jelly, and you stumble to the right, leaning your weight against his embrace. Yoongi joins, taking your chin in his hand in a similar fashion to Jeongguk, and tilting your lips against his.

"We'll be ready whenever you are," Namjoon insists, lips grazing over your skin. "Whatever you need…please don't shut us out."

Somewhere behind Namjoon, Seokjin shouts, "Yah! I'll upload everyone to her contact list. Quit fussing!"

"Okay," you mutter while smiling against Yoongi's retreating mouth, unable to find anything more substantial to say despite it all lying in wait at the tip of your tongue all night.

"We miss you," Yoongi says, pressing another kiss against your temple. "But we can wait if that is what you need."

Tears well and you fight the urge to sob. Not here, you tell yourself. Not now. You have already cried so much.

You hug everyone, even Seokjin and Hoseok. Jeongguk attempts to play it cool, but he stares at your lips the entire time, and you practically beg him to kiss you before ultimately letting him walk away. Jimin litters your cheeks and temples with loud, wet smooches, causing you to giggle and shriek.

Taehyung asks about your medication, making your heart ache from his kindness. You briefly inform him that you have been having no dizzy spells, and he promises to send you more medication as soon as you are in Busan.

Finally, Namjoon and Yoongi pull you into another three-way hug and take turns kissing your lips, cheeks, and forehead. They mutter soft, sweet phrases that you only make out the tones of, feeling the whooshing of your pulse as you begin to question whether you are making a huge mistake and should just grab your shit and go home.

And then, all waving and clambering out the door haphazardly, they are gone, and the room is quiet.

You sigh and glance around at the dregs of food and alcohol, feeling simultaneously full and empty in more ways than one. Tears fill the edges of your eyes, and you do your best not to blink, worried that any movement will cause them to spill.

Ryujin sighs loudly. "Alright, well, this was fun and all, but I want to get fucking laid. You girls down for a night on the town?"

You glance down at your outfit, ready to complain, only you look good enough to go to a nightclub and find you have nothing to say to the contrary. You even wear a pair of cozy black ballet slippers, which you slid on while feeling unsure whether you could handle so many tumultuous emotions while wearing heels, and for that, you are grateful.

"Sure," you utter while turning to Hwasa, who has a drunk but devious grin tugging on her lips. Her smile widens and she claps excitedly.

The drive to the nightclub is long, and you are exhausted by the time you arrive, having been fading in and out of a stupor. You feel more drunk than you had earlier, and you are tempted to suggest taking a cab back to the hideout alone. Of course, that would never fly. You can already hear Ryujin singing buddy system in your head.

Hwasa eagerly pulls you from the back of the car and chuckles as she rubs her fingertips along the edge of your hairline and says, "Poor sleeping beauty. We'll get you something that will wake you up, okay?"

You respond with a halfhearted smile and nod, and she takes your hand in hers and yanks you to the door, not bothering to stop for the security guard who, to your surprise, makes no move to stop you either. Inside, loud bass-heavy club music plays, and you are led through a series of hallways until you enter a large room full of the rest of Ryujin's girls and a group of men.

The room is dark and somewhat hazy, lit by strips of purple lights along the ceiling and floor. Short two or three-person sofas line the mirrored walls and are dispersed throughout the space, most of which are occupied. On tables set beside each sofa are bottles of champagne and piles of cocaine, with glasses large and small scattered throughout and topped with small lamps that emit very little light.

Ryujin approaches a man sitting amidst the chaos by himself, sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees, thumbing through his cell phone. You are curious whether these men are people she knows, and you watch to see how familiar she is with the lone man, but Hwasa steps in your line of vision and takes your chin in both of her hands.

"Coke?" she asks.

You want to say no, proud of yourself for being off the shit for as long as you have been away from home. But you are certain that without it, you will not survive this night, so you nod and allow yourself to be tugged further into the room, to an unoccupied table.

"Don't worry, this is from our stash," Hwasa says as she picks up a discarded rolled-up 100-dollar Taiwanese bill and tightens it between her finger and thumb. "Moon and Solar were in charge of overseeing the distribution process."

You mutter, "How generous," doing your best to smile, and watch as Hwasa snorts a small pile into one nostril and then the other. When she hands the bill to you, you take in a deep, slow breath, and let it out, then lean forward to snort from the edge of the pile first into your left nostril and then your right.

As you let the bill fall to the table and tip your head back, sniffing in again on each side, you ask, "Does Ryujin know these men?"

"Mmhmm," Hwasa hums as she fills two glasses with champagne and hands one to you. "A few of these guys worked at Paradise while I was there, and some of them are from Serendipity. Maybe you know them."

"Oh," you say, pulling the glass to your lips but stopping to ask, "How did they end up here?"

Hwasa purses her lips and tilts her head, making a show of how hard she is trying to conjure the answer to your question. Then her eyes widen and she says, "Oh! Some guy started to come around to Serendipity and just sort of gathered the rest of these guys up as, like, a posse. I don't really know what they do, to be honest, but they always dress up in matching suits and cover their faces, which is creepy as hell."

Your stomach tenses, and you feel too anxious to turn your head to the left and figure out who Ryujin is talking to. Although you know that there is absolutely no way in hell it is Christian, something about the description of the men reminds you of his men, and you begin to wonder whether there really was credence to Yoongi's worry surrounding the possibility of Christian being on this island.

"What's his name?" you ask, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Hmm?" Hwasa asks into her champagne glass as she leans closer.

You begin to glance over to where Ryujin and the man are, but your heart pounds so hard, you worry you might be sick if you see him.

"The man who gathered all the guys, from Serendipity, " you say, leaning closer.

"What's his name?"

"Oh," Hwasa says, taking a slow slip of her champagne while her wide, dark eyes stare past you. She blinks owlishly, then pulls the glass from her lips and says, "He has a nickname…Insanity? Something like that."

Unable to stop yourself, your head flies to the left, searching the features of the man whose lap Ryujin has claimed with her legs. His nose is sharp and somewhat hooked, and it is not a familiar shape. Worried, you glance around the room, but there is no sign of Christian, as far as you can tell.

"Something the matter?" Hwasa asks, touching fingertips to your arm and making you nearly drop your glass of champagne.

You must look frantic when you turn back to her, based on the fear that pulls at her pretty features. You blink and wet your lips, shaking your head. Unconvincingly, judging by the way her brows knit and she continues to stare at you.

"I just..." you swallow thickly and glance around the room once more, slowly scanning every face you can see. "I just thought he sounded familiar."

Hwasa makes a small sound, and you scan several more faces before returning your gaze to her and asking, "Huh?"

"It's just," she says, uncertain, "well, I heard he was previously working on Jeongguk's team, back when he was a drug runner. So…maybe he is familiar?"

Something is not adding up. Although Seokjin mentioned that he has kept Christian around to do whatever he pleases, it seems odd that he would be known to these women as someone who was once part of Jeongguk's team. As you recall from the day you were taken to the mansion, he did not seem to perform his drug-running duties to Yoongi's liking. Did Seokjin keep him on Jeongguk's team even after that day? Could he have had something to do with the group of men Jeongguk massacred with kunai knives for fucking him over?

You stare at your glass of champagne trying to make all the pieces fit, but it feels like you are missing a huge chunk of information.

Hands touch your shoulders, causing you to jump. You mutter, "Shit," under your breath at the same time Ryujin's high, somewhat mocking laughter fills your left ear.

"So sorry to scare you, pretty darling," she slurs, sounding quite inebriated.

"Don't worry about it," you say, attempting to loosen your posture. Ryujin's hands remain on your shoulders and you do not want her to feel how tense you are. But then she squeezes your shoulders and you close your eyes, this time succeeding in relaxing.

"How do you feel after such an emotional dinner?"

"Good," you respond while her thumbs circle over your muscles. You wonder whether she is the reason Hwasa always gives massages. Or perhaps it is the other way around. "And, I don't know. I guess also conflicted. Homesick."

Ryujin's hands fall away and she rests her chin on your left shoulder, loosely wrapping her arms around yours and pinning yours to your sides. Hwasa busies herself pouring a third glass of champagne.

"You really like them, hmm?" Ryujin asks.

"Yeah," you say, possibly too quiet for how loud the music in this room is. "Most of them, anyway."

The last part is a joke. You like Seokjin and Hoseok just fine, but you are certainly not as close to them as you are to the others. Taehyung, too, for that matter, although he has had the pleasure of watching his boyfriend rail you, which has formed its own kind of bond between the two of you.

"What is your relationship with the guys?" she asks.

Hwasa hands her a glass, and she releases her hold on you and takes it, muttering a soft, "Thank you."

You turn to face Ryujin. Although you still hesitate to become too close to her, you do feel comfortable in her presence, all things considered. If Yoongi is willing to trust her again, then perhaps you should be, too.

"Yoongi, Namjoon, and I are a thing." After a pause, you add, "And…sort of Jeongguk."

Ryujin's mouth falls open and she gasps. "I need to know more!"

You feel your cheeks become hot, and you pick up your glass of champagne, which Hwasa has filled. But rather than explain, you ask something that has been on your mind for a while.

"Before, when you and Yoongi were together, was Namjoon…" Unsure how to finish the sentence, you trail off. Luckily, Ryujin knows just what you mean.

She nods. "Yes. Romantically, those two have always been the closest. Namjoon and I were never super physical. We were just very, very comfortable around one another because of Yoongi."

Interesting. You suppose this makes sense, remembering a conversation between you and Jimin a while back when he told you about how marrying Ryujin was a means to an end more than anything else.

"Yoongi and I were meant to bring two families together. And, don't get me wrong, we were physically and emotionally attracted to one another. But we also had more fulfilling relationships on the side. For Yoongi, it was Namjoon."

"And for you?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

Ryujin smiles wide, but then it falls to a frown. She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. Nobody you know."

You nod and accept her answer. You suppose that perhaps the two of you are not that close, yet. In tandem, you and Ryujin raise your glasses to drink. But then she yells, "Oh!" and you startle enough to nearly spill your champagne onto yourself. "Jeongguk, though! What happened with him?"

You tip your head back and chug the rest of your bubbly. It is truly miserable to drink quickly, and you instantly regret your decision, feeling the carbonation sloshing around in your guts.

"We, uh…" you begin, feeling shy. Why do you feel shy?

"You should see those two," Hwasa interjects, causing your face to heat even more. "They bicker like children but then circle one another like feral animals. I can only imagine their chemistry behind closed doors."

Affronted, your mouth falls wide. "We what? No we do not!"

Hwasa nods, grinning. "Yes, you do! I thought the two of you were fucking for sure when I first started working for Jimin. I was shocked to learn Jeongguk was with Taehyung and you were with Yoongi."

"And Namjoon," Ryujin supplies.

Hwasa's grin widens.

You raise your hands to your face as if to hide. This day has been exhausting, and these two are giggling at your expense like a couple of school girls.

"Oh, stop," Hwasa says as one of your hands is tugged down from your face. You open just the one eye, keeping the other closed tight behind your palm. "Everyone wants a piece of your ass. Don't be shy about it! Embrace it."

With a sigh, you shake your head. "Not everyone," you groan, feeling defensive.

"Everyone with eyes," Ryujin says, waggling her eyebrows while Hwasa makes kissy noises. "I would shoot my shot if you weren't already so taken."

Hwasa nods and says, "Me too!"

Suddenly, it is too warm and too loud in here. "I need a stronger drink!" you declare, making both women laugh.

You take a step back and turn, moving in autopilot toward the door before realizing you have no idea where you are nor where a bar in this building is.

Ryujin takes your right hand and yanks you gently back, sing-songing, "Ah, ah, ah, not by yourself."

"Alright," you concede, interlocking your fingers with hers. As you begin to walk toward the exit, your left hand is engulfed and you glance to find Hwasa is coming along.

You exit the mirrored room and turn right, taking a dark hallway about halfway and then turning right once more, through a thick black curtain that is guarded by two men on the other side. There is a bar directly to the right, and Ryujin tugs you to the counter and orders a bottle of whiskey that you do not catch the name of.

With a nod, the bartender grabs an unopened bottle from a high shelf and then delicately stacks three medium-sized glasses. Hwasa takes the glasses, Ryujin takes the whiskey, and your hands remain held by both of theirs.

Back in the mirrored room, you return to the table off to the right, toward the back. The girls release your hands to pour three drinks, and you fidget by pinching the satin of your skirt between your thumbs and knuckles, suddenly feeling antsy.

"Cheers," Ryujin declares as she slides a drink in front of you. You take it, hold it up, and tap it against their glasses, then pull it to your lips and smell the strong, bittersweet liquid before taking a sip.

The potent, boozy caramel flavor that you have come to expect is accented by a hint of something earthy, possibly wood. You take a bigger drink, hold it on your tongue, allowing your taste buds to open and fully experience the onslaught as they adjust, and then you swallow it down.

"Tomorrow, we return to Busan," Ryujin says for the second time tonight as the whiskey flows down into your chest, filling you with warmth. You look forward to being at a proper home rather than on some random floor in a balmy, empty building.

"I'm looking forward to seeing your home," you say, sounding far more meek than you intend to.

"I'm looking forward to hosting you."

Hwasa leans her elbows on the table and says, "You finally get to have your own room. That is, of course, unless you want to stay with me."

The playful smile on Hwasa's face, paired with her tired and intoxicated bloodshot eyes is almost enough to make you melt. Almost enough to make you follow her into any room she wants to lead you into.

When you shrug and say, "Honestly, I may be too lonely to sleep alone," you are being brutally honest, and not all all flirtatious.

"I can even decorate it like your room in the mansion," Ryujin says. "Is it still yellow?"

Her words halt your movement of lifting your glass back to your lips. "How did you know that?"

Ryujin rolls her eyes and says, "Please, nothing about that man has changed, down to the way he likes to outfit you. It's exactly as it was seven years ago."

Bile swirls around in your tummy, and you set the glass down on the mirrored table with a clank that is louder than you intend. Could that be true? Is Yoongi really outfitting you in the same fashion he was outfitting her all those years ago.

Hwasa clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and swats at Ryujin's arm, muttering, "Mother, don't say things like that to her," under her breath.

You shake your head, determined to not show how strange the information makes you feel. But Ryujin turns, pouts dramatically, and wraps her arms around you.

"Oh, sweetie, I don't mean to suggest he was trying to turn you into a second me. He just seems to have the same tastes and fashion sense, is all. Trust me, he loves you way more than he could ever love me. I can tell."

You have no idea whether Ryujin is being truthful or trying to make you feel better, but you decide that either way, you see no use in dwelling on it. You are going to be living under her roof for the foreseeable future, and becoming upset whenever she says something a little too blunt, snippy, or insensitive is not going to get you anywhere.

With a nod, you say, "I know. Don't worry." But it only makes her squeeze you tighter.

"Just look at his bullshit excuse for taking you home with him," she says. "Collateral, my ass."

What an odd statement. You ask, "What do you mean?" But what you really mean to say is what do you know?

"The man takes you as so-called payment from your ex but then spends millions of dollars on a wardrobe, an armored vehicle, the most lavish birthday party in all of Seoul. Make it fucking make sense!"

Ryujin releases the hug, and as soon as you are free, you slam back your whiskey and pick up the 100-dollar bill, squeezing it tighter into a tube. Ryujin whoops and claps as you lean close and snort from the edge of the cocaine pile into your left nostril and then your right.

"Mommy needs some, too," she says as she takes the bill from your hand and leans forward.

You tip your head back and raise a knuckle to each nostril, sniffing deeply to make sure none of the drug is stuck inside your nose cavity, then you stand up straight, stretching your back by pushing forward your chest, and reach for the bottle of whiskey.

"Partying so hard without me?" a male voice asks from behind you, and you nearly drop the bottle.

The tone, the accent, and the cadence all confirm your fears are true.

"Christian?" you mutter as you spin, and you almost do not believe your eyes.

From the expression he wears and the way his gaze falls to the floor, eyes widening as they lift to your face, you wager he also cannot believe his.

Christian steps forward and you take a step back, elbow hitting the table and causing you to grip tighter to the bottle of whiskey.

"Barom-oppa!" Ryujin shouts as she pounces on Christian, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hey there, dearie," he says, lifting his arms to return the hug, never taking his eyes off you.

Christian looks somewhat normal compared to the last time you saw him, with a white and red floral button-up tucked into black slacks, and a black leather blazer. His hair has some product in it to give it a slightly messy style, falling in front of his eyes, and he wears minimal makeup.

But there is a darkness to him. Smudges around the eyes rather than clean lines, tattoos on his throat and neck. On his left hand, he wears a black leather driving glove, and across his nose is a red scuff, as if he has been punched. Under the rich musk that fills the air around him, you sense the stale smell of cigarette smoke, and he has silver hoops in his ears and one in his left nostril.

A lot has changed about Christian in the months since you have known him.

Ryujin releases their hug and takes a step back, causing Christian to look down at himself and rub his hands down the front of his jacket as if her tiny body could have somehow managed to do anything to the leather. Then he stands up straight and shakes his head to the side just enough for his hair to move out from in front of his eyes, and you realize that his left eye is completely white. Is it…missing?

"Oh my god, your eye!" you shout, lunging forward before you can stop yourself and raising your left hand toward his face while your right hand nearly drops the whiskey bottle once more.

Christian takes your wrist in his gloved hand and holds firmly onto you, and your entire body flushes hot with nerves as you realize the mistake you have made. The way his gaze holds onto you, even with only one dark iris and pupil, is piercing and intense, and you attempt futility to pull your hand away.

"Funny story how I lost that," he says, expression pulling into a strange, sad grin. He leans close, nicotine on his breath as he says, "I'll have to tell you some time."

You pull on your arm, desperate to release it, but his grip is far stronger than you remember. Should you be afraid of this man?

"Christian," you begin, glancing from your hand to his face.

"Perhaps over drinks, some time," he continues. "Just the two of us."

You nod, willing to lie to him if it means letting you go. Panic rises as you continue to take stock of how different he is from the man you used to know.

Ryujin takes the whiskey from your hand, sets it on the table, and then grabs his hand in both of hers as she says, "Alright, that is enough of that. I need you two to play nice."

The room returns to view, and you remember why you are here and who you are with. You realize belatedly that these two not only know each other but that they are friendly with one another.

"Wait," you say, turning to Ryujin, "you told Yoongi—"

"Look, I lied to him," she says, cutting you off.

Your mouth falls open and your pulse whooshes in your ears. "You…but…" Could she possibly know what she has done by bringing the two of you together? "Why?"

Ryujin chuckles and steps close to Christian, placing her dainty, manicured hands over his chest. "Oppa is harmless. You know that! And Yoongi…well, he's paranoid. Trust me, darling. Nothing bad will happen to you."

You are not so sure you are convinced, but you know that freaking out will do nobody any good. Especially when you are so far away from home. You are not eager to show any more weakness to any of these people. Especially the one they call Mister Insanity.

Someone shouts for Christian, using the name Barom, and you turn quickly back to the table. Your glass contains more whiskey, courtesy of one of the women, you assume, and you pick up the glass with shaking hands and slam it down, then reach for the bottle again.

Intoxication roils through you in hot waves, and you squeeze your eyes closed to take a deep breath in and out before shooting more whiskey. A small hand touches your lower back, and you wish you were curled up in a bed all by yourself, far away from these people and this music. You are tired of being touched.

"I know it's weird to see an ex," Ryujin says. "Sorry for surprising you like this. He told me he wouldn't be around tonight."

"How did he lose his eye?" you ask, focused on the wrong thing as you turn to face Ryujin. You tremble so hard that your teeth clatter.

Her smile falls to a frown and she shakes her head. "That isn't my story to tell."

You nod, accepting her answer, and turn to Hwasa, who watches you with a concerned expression. You mouth the word, "Bathroom?" and she nods and rounds the table, taking you by the arm.

"Down the hall to the left," Ryujin says.

As you walk through the room, you squint, attempting to ignore all the movement in the mirrors in your periphery. It's too much. Everything is too much.

The darkness of the hallway is a blessing and a curse, relieving you from the chaos of the private room while introducing challenges of its own; it is almost too dark and somewhat claustrophobic.

You stumble and Hwasa's hold on you tightens. She picks up the pace and leads you straight into a single-stall bathroom, then turns on a light that is thankfully relatively dim. The moment she closes and locks the door, you stumble forward, fall to your knees on the rough tile before the toilet, and vomit the contents of your stomach.

Your mind races with myriad thoughts, but one is the loudest of them all: What the fuck is Christian doing here?

Oh, oh, I broke down all my doors Oh, do you see it now? Nothing was fixed at all

I never asked to be like this

🎵 visit the playlist

hello, hello!!! we meet again!!! i hope you have all been having great middle of the year months! things have been ok for me but i have been reading a lot more than i have been writing. how did you feel about this one??? it is a little slower, as it is setting the stage for the final chapters. any guess how things are going to go? how do we feel about the new (and returned) characters??? it felt really nice to writing Jimin into the scene again. 💜 i'll be honest, describing Ryujin & the Mamamoo girls laying on the rugs and blankets made me think of Quanxi and her harem of fiends from Chainsaw Man.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs. also, character asks are always active if you have some burning questions or comments (just don't expect me to outright spoil anything hehehe.)

i love you, stay hydrated!!! if you are somewhere with a heatwave, stay cool!!! 😘😘😘 until we meet again!!!

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#youremychaos #my chell 🐚🥺💜#reader reviews #fic: collateral

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aventurineswife · 15 hours ago

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I want Obey Me! brothers with a reader who is like Aventurine please

“Life’s a gamble, and I’m not afraid to play”

Tags: Obey Me! Brothers x Aventurine based Reader, Gambling, Complex Emotions, Dangerous Allure, Survivor’s Guilt, Emotional Walls, Vulnerability, Romantic Tension, Calculated Risk.

Warnings: Manipulation, Emotional Trauma, Mature Themes, Tension & Angst, Possibly Unhealthy Relationships.

Lucifer never let his guard down, but there was something about you, something that made him question his usually strict demeanor. You strolled into the room with the kind of confidence that could make anyone stop in their tracks. A blend of elegance, danger, and calculated charm, you had his full attention.

He watched as you approached, your eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah, Lucifer," you greeted smoothly, your voice a melody of deliberate calmness. "I do hope I’m not interrupting anything important."

His lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “You never interrupt, MC. You simply… reframe the situation.”

You flashed a grin, the kind that could disarm any of his carefully laid plans. “I’m flattered, truly. But perhaps there’s more to this game than you realize.”

Lucifer studied you, every flicker of your gaze, every slight movement. He saw through your mask of charm—the hidden tension in your posture, the way your left hand, uncharacteristically, remained hidden behind your back. “Still playing with risks, I see. You never change.”

“And why would I?” You shrugged nonchalantly, turning your eyes toward the window, observing the moonlight dancing across the room. “What’s life without a gamble, Lucifer? A dull, predictable affair. I find excitement in the unknown.”

He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “And what would you risk this time?”

Your smile remained, enigmatic, your eyes darkening with hidden depths. "Everything."

He chuckled softly, though his gaze was sharp. "Then it seems you and I are more alike than I care to admit, MC."

There was no answer, just a brief flicker of shared understanding between you two. The game was always on, whether you were playing with words or with your lives.

Mammon couldn’t help but stare at you, his gaze lingering on your every movement. Your aura—unpredictable, yet effortlessly charming—drew him in like a moth to a flame. You had that same glint in your eye that screamed danger, the kind of danger he couldn’t resist.

“Oi, MC,” he called, his voice a little more flustered than usual. “What’s the deal with all this... fancy clothes and big-shot talk, huh? Ya some kinda god of games or something?”

You gave a soft chuckle, flipping a lock of your sandy blond hair out of your face as you glanced back at him. "I like to think of myself as... an architect of fate. The stakes are high, Mammon, but I never back down from a challenge."

Mammon frowned, scratching the back of his head. “Yer freakin’ weird, y’know that? Always talkin’ like life’s a game. Ya can’t just gamble with everything!”

“Why not?” You asked, your voice smooth and enticing, yet with a flicker of something deeper. “Everything is a gamble, Mammon. Even now, we’re gambling with our time. With our choices. The difference between us is that I don’t mind losing, as long as the thrill remains.”

His eyes narrowed, unsure whether you were trying to impress him or scare him. “So what’s yer game, huh?”

Your lips curled into a smile, the edges of your grin both inviting and dangerous. “The game is simple, Mammon. Don’t fear the stakes; fear the regret of never taking the risk.”

He swallowed hard. "Guess you’ve got a point there... but maybe not all of us wanna play with fire."

You tilted your head, your eyes catching the light just right. “You’d be surprised, Mammon. Sometimes it’s the fire that keeps us alive.”

Levi was never one to deal with complicated personalities, but when you entered the room, he couldn’t help but stare. You weren’t just confident—you were unnervingly composed, and that sharp, strategic mind of yours? It sent shivers down his spine.

“Hey, uh, MC, right?” Levi muttered, his voice shaky. “You’re like... totally different from what I expected. I mean, your whole vibe is like... I dunno, like you’re always on a high-stakes mission or something.”

You gave a low laugh, the sound light but with a hint of a challenge. “High stakes? I would say it’s just life. Nothing more thrilling than walking a tightrope, don’t you think?”

Levi looked at you, wide-eyed. “A tightrope!? No way! What if you fall?”

“I never fall, Leviathan.” You tilted your head, eyes glinting dangerously as you continued, “Falling is for those who are afraid to rise.”

You seemed to glide through the conversation, your movements as fluid as a dancer. But there was a subtle tension in your posture, a hand always hidden or tucked away behind your back, a secret you kept locked in your mind. It fascinated him.

“I... I guess I get it?” Levi muttered, his fingers twitching nervously. “But... don’t you get scared? I mean, gambling with everything sounds... kinda crazy.”

Your smile was sly, calculating. “Fear isn’t the problem, Levi. The problem is living without it.”

Satan always prided himself on his intellect, but you, had a way of getting under his skin, making him feel like a mere pawn in your grand game. He observed you closely, noting how your eyes flickered with silent challenges as if daring anyone to take a step into your world.

“You seem so... sure of yourself,” Satan remarked, his voice sharp as he leaned against the wall, watching you with intense scrutiny. “It’s almost as though you see everything as a puzzle to be solved.”

“You could say that.” Your grin widened, your eyes locking with his. “Everything is a puzzle, Satan. And I... am very good at solving them.”

Satan raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “But you don’t mind playing dirty?”

You shrugged, the casual motion making your gold rings gleam. “Dirty? Life is messy. You either get in the dirt and make your play or you watch from the sidelines.”

He frowned, not sure if he was impressed or irritated by your words. “You sound like someone who’s never faced consequences.”

“Oh, I’ve faced them.” The playful tone in your voice slipped for a moment, a shadow of something deeper passing over your face. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same confident smile. “But consequences are just another form of the game. You play with the pieces, you take the risks. That’s the fun of it.”

Satan eyed you, a mix of curiosity and caution. “You certainly have a unique outlook. But I suppose that’s what makes you dangerous.”

You chuckled softly, your gaze never leaving his. “And yet, here you are, intrigued.”

Asmodeus was no stranger to captivating people, but you? You were a whole different level of dangerous allure. The way you walked into a room—your smile, your confidence, your playful, almost teasing nature—made him immediately want to know more.

“Oh darling, you’re a puzzle wrapped in an enigma!” Asmo exclaimed, eyes sparkling. “I can already tell you’re the type to keep everyone guessing.”

You leaned in, brushing a lock of your hair out of your face with a flourish, before meeting his gaze. “I’d say you’re half right, Asmo. It’s not about keeping others guessing, it’s about knowing when to let them in.”

He was momentarily taken aback. “So you do let people in?”

You raised an eyebrow, your smile lingering with a mysterious edge. “Sometimes. But it’s never without a price.”

Asmo couldn’t help but laugh, his interest piqued. “You certainly know how to make things... exciting.”

“There’s nothing dull about a gamble, Asmo,” you said, your voice almost teasing, yet with an underlying seriousness. “You of all demons should know that.”

Beel, despite his usual calm demeanor, couldn’t ignore the unsettling aura you carried with you. You weren’t like the others. The way you spoke, the way you carried yourself—everything screamed danger, but in a way that made him want to stay close.

“You don’t look like someone who’s afraid of anything,” Beel commented, his voice steady but curious. “Aren’t you scared of losing?”

“Fear of loss is a weakness, Beel.” Your voice was smooth, yet there was a quiet depth to it. “It’s only through loss that you truly understand what you’re willing to risk.”

Beel chewed on the words for a moment, his gaze softening slightly. “I don’t know about that... I’ve lost a lot.”

You gave a small, knowing smile. “We all lose, eventually. But we’re still here, aren’t we? That’s the real gamble.”

Beel blinked, slowly understanding. “You make it sound like there’s no escape from it.”

“Exactly,” you said, your voice more certain now. “There’s no escape, only choices. And sometimes... the best choice is to keep playing.”

Belphie, the quiet one, was strangely fascinated by you. While most people were intimidated by your demeanor, he saw something else—a deep, unspoken vulnerability behind your games, your calculated charm, your hidden fears. He couldn’t help but be intrigued.

“Hmm... you don’t seem like the kind of person who sleeps well,” he remarked, his lazy voice cutting through the silence.

You tilted your head. “And what gives you that impression?”

He yawned. “I’ve met a lot of people who act like everything’s fine, but you... you’re different. Always playing your cards close to your chest, hiding behind that smile of yours.”

You paused, eyes flicking briefly to your hand, which was tucked behind your back. “I sleep just fine, Belphegor. But some things... are better left unsaid.”

His gaze lingered on you, as if waiting for you to reveal more, but he knew better than to push. Sometimes, it was the quiet moments that spoke the loudest.

“Well, if you say so.” He shrugged, rolling back into the couch. “I’m just saying, the game you’re playing? It’s got a hell of a lot more stakes than you let on.”

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redbo-and-simbo · 3 days ago

Text

(So..he probably would've left her around the workshop, right?)

(Probably.)

(I haven't been by there in a while. I've mostly been with Seawatt or following the android. Maybe he's got some new gadget I could mess around with.)

(Or steal.)

. . .

(sculk sensor goes off)

(machinery starts whirring)

Wait- What?

ACK-!

(A wind charge?? From where??)

(vent grate is opened with a triggered lever)

WOOAH-!

(weight falls onto a pair of arms)

Got you.

(sounds of struggle)

Let go of me!

Would you quit squirming? I'm getting so sick of you running away.

(weight slams against a tabletop)

(pained hiss)

(a metal clasp clicks)

Wh- Hey! What are you doing? Get away!

(a sneaker slams into a visor and it clatters to the floor)

Shit-! Ow- I knew I should've done the legs first.

(another clasp clicks)

Whatever. Would you stop struggling? It's only going to make things harder for both of us.

Hey, don't you-

Stay still. Please.

(another)

I'm not going to hurt you.

You're literally strapping me to some weird table!

Touché.

(the final click of metal)

You just have to believe me. I don't want any harm to come to you.

(sounds of struggle continue)

..But you're only going to hurt yourself if you keep trying to escape again. You're dumber than you're supposed to be if you think you can break those clasps.

And stop looking at me like that. You're not in danger. I just know that you're stubborn, and you know how to worm your way out of problems. I knew I wouldn't be able to speak to you without you running off.

It's not favorable, but I'd advise you calm down, or else I'll just have to administer a drug to make you.

How can I be calm right now, man? I don't trust you.

Just take it easy..

(head suddenly slams into the table)

Get your hands away from me.

You're not in any danger, it's alright.

(breathing picks up)

(Does he really have to put his hands in my hair? Seriously?)

(Crap, right. He's an Evbo, too. He knows all my weaknesses.)

(I hate all this, but..)

(breathing slows and becomes more steady)

(His nails feel so nice..)

Theeere we go. Good.

Let's get that mask off of you.

(click)

(deep breath)

(gas mask is set aside)

Feels better?

...

Right. I should've guessed you wouldn't be so eager to speak.

Well, I still have questions. So as I observe you, I'd like for you to answer them. Sound good?

..I don't really have a choice, do I?

No, I assure you you do. There's no consequence to not answering.

(Get your hands of my face, dude. Ugh- My eyes are closed but I can still feel him staring at me.)

I suppose my first question is simple: you were sent to me by the Creator, yes?

(He'd kill me if I was just some rogue Evbo..)

Y..Yeah. I was.

What are you? Are you him? Or are you another one of his creations?

(I've gotta play into his insane ideas.)

No. I'm just- Something of a prophet. Is the um..best way I can put it.

So I was right..

What does he want from me? What do I need to do for him to accept me as his only marionette?

I can't say.

You can't say?

I'm..just supposed to tell him when the time is right.

(sigh)

I suppose it's beyond my understanding. I'm not sure why he picked you of all Evbos. You're no different than the rest.

(rustle of cloth being pushed up)

(sharp breath)

As far as visible physical differences—chapped lips, longer hair, decreased muscle mass—they're all just results of external factors. Wearing that mask, time, and, I'd assume, hiding in the vents so often you don't eat properly, respectively.

That hand feels so weird.

Hm?

(I didn't mean to say that out loud..)

The textureless one.

I figured.

..This undershirt's not yours. I suppose my theory about you finding Seawatt is correct?

...

Right. Then I suppose my project was worth pursuing after all.

Do me a favor and stay still and calm for me. I need to run some diagnostic tests.

What kind of tests?

I need to examine your physiology, and your brainwaves.

(two latches click open)

You're not even going to put up a fight?

My legs are still trapped. I can't really do much.

But you could still struggle, attack me, make a commotion until someone stops by to help you out. Yet you're doing none of that.

I'd almost say you enjoy having my hands on you.

...

(chuckle)

Your silence is telling, "Simbo."

(Ugh. Hate this guy.)

(rustling of cloth)

(a hoodie and shirt are dropped on the floor)

(clasps click again)

(visor is picked up from the floor)

I just have to hook up some stuff, alright? And don't worry, I wouldn't hurt someone sent by the Creator. That's too precious a resource to lose.

(..I know this is just a facade, but..I kind of like feeling important..)

. . .

(machine whirring)

(incoherent, analytical mumbling)

(writing)

...How's Widget, by the way?

Oh. That's right. You named her, didn't you?

The Viewers were saying you wanted to see her?

Yeah. And then I got stuck here.

(chuckle)

Right. I apologize for all this. It won't have to be like this next time. If you don't run off, anyway.

..I'll take your word for it.

Still skeptical, I see. I can't blame you. Regardless, I suppose you could pay her a visit before you head back to the vents.

She's in my room. Feel free to rest there, if you'd like.

Wh- Oh- Really?

Of course. You're welcome to at any time.

Right. Gotcha.

. . .

Alright, that's all the data I need to collect.

(clasps click one by one)

(shifting)

(clothes are grabbed off the floor)

..Thanks.

(clothes rustling as they're pulled back on)

No problem.

I'm gonna dismantle the machine I set up in the vents to get you down here. My room's the door over there.

Right. Uh.. Cool.

. . .

(door creaks open)

(sneakers step across a wooden floor)

(bed creaks as weight sinks onto the edge)

Hey there, kitty.

Mrrp!

#simulation evbo #simbo #redbo #redbo and simbo blog #pvp civilization #parkour civilization #parkciv #pvpciv #ask blog #rp blog #evbocest

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yezhi1k · 1 day ago

Text

Flowers & Cherries chp.3 (Jinx x Reader)

(Had to re-upload, sorry, it got corrupted on my end, not sure if it showed up for anyone else)

Notes: SMUT ALERT!!! Yes, we finally got here. Sorry for taking so long, work and uni are currently making my life a little hectic. Apologies in advance for any typos, I am sure there are plenty, but I am very very very bad at proofreading. Also, pretty please read the CWs carefully! (also also, as usual, all my stuff is on AO3, under MisanthropicMoose).

Summary: After your whole gang is wiped out, you wake up at Jinx's place unharmed. You are angry at her, and she decided to make it up to you in a very special way.

CW: nsfw, dubious consent, edging, overstimulation, sex toys, descriptions of syringes/injections, very brief mentions of addiction/murder/suicide. Minors DNI!!!

A warm, heavy darkness enveloped you. It was almost humid; waves of it cascaded down your arms and legs, pressurized your head. You wondered whether you’ve died. While you were still alive, you never gave much thought to the afterlife. You liked to keep things simple: you live, then you die, and then nothing. Whether you’re good, whether you’re bad, whether you save starving orphans or set churches on fire. Once you’re dead, you’re dead. It was easier that way, you didn’t feel like you had to keep track of your sins. When your parents were still alive, they took you to a small, dingy church further topside sometimes, whenever your mother’s nervousness set in. You didn’t care much for it then. None of the very few kids there did. Did you care for it now? If you had the opportunity, would you atone for anything? There was plenty to atone for, of course. But would it make a difference?

You brought your attention back to the darkness. It pressed onto you from every direction, like a cocoon. Your thoughts drifted to reincarnation. Many years ago, you found yourself undercover at a brothel. You were looking for someone who frequented it. Who was it? Didn’t matter now.

You didn’t want to look suspicious, so you hired a girl. You couldn’t remember much of her now, except that she was tall and smelled of caramel.

“So,” you remembered her voice. Velvety, almost baritone, “What are you looking for tonight?”

You remembered the tips of your ears tingling slightly at the question. You knew you couldn’t sleep with her, you were on the job and had to stay focused. But even if you could… You remembered being attracted to her, very much so. Her skin looked silky smooth and reflected, in an almost iridescent way, the light of the candles. You remembered your eyes lingering on her long fingers, wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. Her big eyes, glistening at you from underneath fluffy eyelashes. You remembered shifting on the plush sofa, changing the cross of your legs. You remembered wanting her, in a way you knew people wanted one another. And you also remembered a weird, invisible, all-powerful force holding you in place, not letting you act on those desires. It wasn’t a sense of responsibility or duty, you knew that much. Was it guilt? Was it that, out of all the immoral and low shit you have done up to that point, that was something you felt like you had to atone for?

You didn’t have answers for any of those questions then. So, you said you just wanted to talk. She didn’t seem surprised. You were sure that that wasn’t the weirdest request she has ever gotten. Probably not even the weirdest thing she had to do that night. Easy money, if you will.

You let her do most of the talking. Partially because you were still on the lookout for your client, partially because you didn’t know what to talk about. She sunk into the sofa, swirling and delicately sipping her wine. She told you about her life: she was from a middle-class family, one of those that lived closer to the surface, but still technically in the undercity. She attended an upside boarding school for gifted girls, on a scholarship. Her first kiss was with a classmate, in a broom closet, she told you, leaning in closer and lowering her voice slightly, as if she was revealing a terrible secret. Much later, in her final year of school, she tried a boy. Didn’t like it very much, she confessed, scrunching her nose playfully. You let out an understanding scoff. You have never slept with a man, but having to seduce drunk bastards on a semi-regular basis was unpleasant enough.

She was a good student, excelling particularly in botany. She loved plants, flowers, trees, all of the things that were so scarce in the undercity. Secretly, she dreamt of bringing the lush greenery to the fissures, somehow figuring out a way to make it flourish in the toxic air. It would greatly improve air quality, she said. People would be healthier, and happier, surrounded by plants.

But then, a tragedy, too common in the undercity, struck. Her father became addicted to shimmer. It was a rapid descent. To that day, she did not know how he even came into contact with it, or what compelled him to take it. But he did. And he lost all semblance of humanity. It’s like he was replaced, she said somberly. Her father died, and in his place was a monster. She begged her mother to leave him, to run away, to retreat deeper into the undercity, if that’s what it took. But she stuck by him. She loved him. And during one of his shimmer-induced episodes, he killed her. And then, in a moment of clarity, during which he understood what he had done, he jumped off the bridge between the upper and under cities. Her mother was buried at a local cemetery, and his body was never found.

She left school the day she found out. Everything seemed pointless then. Flowers wouldn’t save the undercity, she realized.

But she had to live. And after several unsuccessful attempts at finding a job, she found herself on the steps of the brothel. At the time, she thought it would be a quick, temporary gig. Just to gather some money to get her life on track. But then she never left. Surprisingly, in this place, looked down on by the rest of the world, she finally felt accepted. At peace, even. Upside, she constantly had to pretend to be better off than she was. She had to act as though she went on vacations during school breaks, as opposed to retreating to the undercity, that her birthdays were spent at opulent restaurants and not in dingy bars, where the air was thick with smoke and gaseous remnants of shimmer. But here, surrounded by other people down on their luck, she felt as though she could breathe freely. Topside air, she said, despite all their plants and flowers, hurt her lungs.

The night went on, the guy you were looking for was nowhere to be seen. You gave her a brief rundown of your life, entirely made up, of course. Then your conversation turned theological.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” she asked.

You furrowed your brow.

“I… am not sure what that means.”

She giggled and put her petal-soft hand on your shoulder, stroking it lightly.

“Well, some people believe that when you die, you are reborn, as someone or something different. Do you believe that?”

You thought about it for a moment. She continued rubbing gentle circles on your shoulder, and waves of warmth rushed through your body.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered, “I like to think that once we die, that’s it. Then there is nothing.”

“That’s a depressing way to think.”

“Works for me,” you shrugged, “I hope that the things I’ve done won’t catch up to me.”

She tilted her head to the side, a lock of hair falling onto her forehead.

“You don’t seem like the type of person to do bad things.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. In a sudden spur of confidence, you reached out and brushed the hair out of her face.

“I do. I promise.”

Were you being reborn now? The cocoon of darkness enveloping you, was it a new womb? Were you about to see the light of the outside world for the first time again?

Your pondering was interrupted by something cold and wet brushing your forehead. A chill ripped through you, starting from your head and moving down to your toes at lightning speed. And then your face was brushed again. And again. And again.

Suddenly, everything went white. Your eyes, now open, rotated in their sockets wildly, trying to find anything at all to focus on. You were blinking furiously, trying to shed the milky film from the surface of your eyeballs. You tried to move, but something was holding your arms and legs down. All you could do was blink and shake your head.

“Hey, hey, shh. It’s okay, I’m here, don’t thrash.” You heard a familiar voice. Jinx. It was Jinx.

Your surroundings came into view slowly. The first thing you saw was the blinding light of a lamp above you. You squinted your eyes instinctively and looked away. With every passing second, other things appeared before you. Walls, painted purple, a desk leaning against one of those walls. You could make out tiny nuts and bolts and other parts scattered across its surface. A wooden door.

You turned your head to the side and came face to face with Jinx. Her eyes were big, almost concerned, but mostly just curious. Being this close, you were able to make out the faintest whisper of freckles on her face. The microscopic cracks on her lips.

She held a moist rag in her hand. When you stopped thrashing around, she smiled down at you and brought the rag to your face. The same sensation as before. That’s what it was.

Your mind raced. You were now able to make out that you were laying on something soft and springy. A bed? A bed! It was a bed! Not your bed though, your one wasn’t quite this big. Then who’s? Jinx’s?

“Jinx?” your voice came out strained and raspy. She raised an eyebrow at you inquisitively.

“Where am I?”

“At my place.”

You scrunched your forehead. An all too familiar, sharp pain was resurfacing.

“Why am I at your place?”

Jinx gently tilted your chin so your eyes would meet hers again.

“Because I blew your gang up, and you got hurt.”

A strained groan ripped out of your throat. Memories of the latest events refilled your mind. You were at the courtyard, and then something in the bushes caught your attention, and then… You started drawing a blank, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Why?” was all you could utter. You weren’t sure how you felt. You were angry, yes. Incredibly angry. Furious, even. But not because Smeech and his goons were gone. It was something else, something less personal. It was the same feeling as the one you got when a neighbor’s toddler toppled over the pile of rocks you spent all morning building as a child. Scorching pain rose from the back of your head to your forehead.

You suddenly felt a warm breath on your cheek. You cracked your eyes open and saw that Jinx’s face was mere inches away from yours. Her eyes looked even bigger now, sadder.

“Please don’t be angry at me,” she whispered. For a moment, both of you were silent. You tried to collect your thoughts.

“Jinx,” you said, as sternly as your dry tongue could manage, “What happened?”

Jinx huffed and left your field of vision for a moment. You tried to sit up, but something was holding your arms and legs in place. You looked up at your hands and saw that they were bound to the bedpost with something resembling a thick ribbon. The same was true for your ankles.

“Jinx?” you called out. Suddenly, a weight came down on you. Before you could process anything, Jinx’s petite figure was sitting on your stomach, thighs on either side of your body. Your breath caught in your chest; she was so close now. Sweet-smelling heat radiated off her body. Her hands were encasing your head, her long blue bangs hanging down on you, tickling your nose.

“Silco gave the order, obviously,” she started. Her chest brushed against yours, and you suddenly felt the hardness of her nipples under her shirt, “I begged him to keep you alive, and he agreed. Tried to get you on our team. But you had to be stubborn,” she whispered the last sentence, dipping her head down to your ear. You instinctively tried to squeeze your thighs together, but the bindings on your ankles kept you in place. You did your best to steady your breathing.

“Why did he decide to kill them? What did they do?”

Jinx lifted her head back up and looked you in the eyes. You could have sworn you noticed a glint of magenta in her blue eyes. But that couldn’t have been true.

“They were stealing shimmer.”

The words took a few seconds to register in your mind. Smeech and his goons were… stealing? From Silco? That was beyond ridiculous, even for someone as dumb as Smeech.

“That’s impossible,” you shook your head, “I didn’t know anything about it. They wouldn’t do something like that.”

“And yet, they did. They didn’t tell you because they would have to give you a bigger cut.”

You blinked up at her. No way. No fucking way.

“They started almost as soon as we hired them. It was small at first, Silco even thought for a bit that his books weren’t adding up because he’s getting old. But then they got bolder. Some even started meddling with the Firelights. Your lot would let them steal freely, and in return they got a portion of the stock,” Jinx’s eyes narrowed, “We didn’t want a big fuss, so we decided to let y’all do your thing, and figure out who exactly was participating so they could be dealt with… privately. But it turned out almost everyone was in on it. The only dummies left out were you, and that one kid you took in several months ago.”

She suddenly grinned widely at you.

“He agreed to switch immediately. Smart kid. But you were just begging to skip right on into the grave.”

Your head was killing now, and you shut your eyes again.

“Does it hurt?” you felt Jinx’s lips against your ear. All you could do was nod. This wasn’t real. None of this could be real.

She lifted off you, and you heard her footsteps get further away. They then got closer again. You cracked your eyelids open.

She was standing over you with a syringe of purple liquid in hand, looking over you curiously. Your body thrashed. It was shimmer again. Jinx cupped your cheek in the palm of her hand, grazing your cheek lightly with the long nail of her thumb.

“Shh… It’s okay. It’s for the pain.”

Before you could answer, you felt a cold needle press against the side of your neck. A small, pathetic yelp escaped your throat as it broke the skin, and you felt the liquid enter your vein. It tingled, sent a shiver down your spine. A sigh slipped past your lips as the pain started melting away. It was as though a fire was put out on the inside of your head. Your eyelids fluttered down slightly.

But then, a new sensation started taking over. It was small at first, a little warmth at the pit of your stomach. You didn’t even notice it at first. But the warmth grew; it spread from the pit of your stomach down between your legs. You felt something resembling a dull ache, not painful per say, but as though every nerve was firing off at your core. Your thighs tried in vain to squeeze together again, your breath exhilarated. You felt a bead of sweat start forming near your brow.

“Jinx… this stuff feels weird,” your voice came out in a breathy whisper, unfamiliar even to you, “Doesn’t feel the same.”

The blue-haired girl leant over you, studying your squirming form. Her palm found the top of your head, and she stroked you gently.

“That’s because it’s not the same,” she cooed, tilting your chin to meet her gaze again, “Silco’s stuff is nice. Expensive. He keeps it locked away most of the time. I could break into his cabinet, of course, but I’ve got my hands on this stuff. Almost the same, but it has… a side effect. So, it’s considered a failed strand. I wouldn’t say so though.”

You tried your best to keep your cool as strange feelings roared through your body.

“What’s the side effect?”

Jinx laughed, then climbed on top of you again, painfully slowly. Her pelvis came down on yours, and you couldn’t feel but let out a small moan. You prayed she didn’t notice.

Jinx was sitting on top you now, arms crossed, looking down at you with her head tilted. Your eyes drifted from her face down to the delicate curve of her neck, down her chest and toned waist, before landing on the blue cloud tattoo on her hip. Her hips had the slightest bit of fat on them, and they looked so supple. Grabbable. Bitable, even. What the fuck are you thinking about?

“I think you know,” saying that, Jinx bucked her hips slightly, generating the smallest bit of friction between your bodies. Your head fell back onto the pillow, and you had to bite your lip to stifle whatever sound was about to come out. The fire from your head migrated to your body now.

You desperately tried to stay in control of the situation.

“Alright, very funny. Untie me now,” you hissed through gritted teeth, trying to seem composed. By all accounts, you were not doing very well.

Jinx lifted an eyebrow at you.

“Are you angry?” she asked. You couldn’t help but let a mean laugh rip out of you.

“Yeah? Obviously? You think you get to blow up my entire gang, erase years of my hard work, and that I won’t be angry at you?”

You saw Jinx’s expression fall ever so slightly, before restoring back to the smug look she had on before. She reached out her hand and stroked the side of your neck. Her nails scraped your skin softly. You tried your hardest not to react as she traced a sensitive spot near the base of your jaw.

“I figured you’d be angry,” she muttered, bringing her mouth to the shell of your ear. You yelped as she nipped the very corner with her teeth, “I will make it up to you, though.”

You turned your head and looked up at her.

“And how are you planning on doing that, exactly?” you tried to sound angry, but to your horror your voice came out soft, whiny, needy. Jinx’s eyes had a dangerous glint to them.

“Well,” she started, grinding down on your crotch slowly, watching your face keenly for any shadow of a reaction, “I see the way you look at me. The way you looked at me from the very beginning,” her mouth found your ear again, “you want to fuck me, don’t deny it. I see the way you stare at my tits when you think I’m not looking.”

You tried to interrupt her to defend yourself, but she pressed her finger to your lips.

“I like you too,” you felt her fingers get tangled in your hair and pull slightly. Your chin was tilted upwards now, neck fully exposed, “I was going to fuck you myself, at first. But I figured, you’re older, you’re so serious all the time. You would probably want to make the first move. So, I waited,” her knee suddenly moved in between your legs, pressing up to you, pushing your thighs apart, “I waited, and I waited, and I waited, but you wouldn’t do a thing. Just kept eye-fucking me, and that’s it. You know how frustrating that is, hm?”

Jinx’s knee bobbed lightly, sending jolts of electricity through your core. You clamped your teeth shut, trying not to embarrass yourself. Jinx sat up and looked down at you again. Her chest was heaving a little, and a faint blush spread through her cheeks.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” she hummed, still teasing you with her knee. You felt a wetness start forming, and you feared she would make a mess of her pant leg, “Anything you want. What do you like, hm? Do you like to be rough? You like to pull hair? Want to call me names? Or are you more of a receiver?”

Your brain felt like it was melting. You didn’t know what to say, your lack of experience more evident than ever. Jinx’s face suddenly came down to your neck, and you felt her hot, wet tongue slide from the base of your neck up to the corner of your jaw. You couldn’t hold back anymore; a high pitched, lewd sound filled the air. You felt Jinx snicker against your neck.

“So eager,” she said, looking deeply into your eyes, “So, tell me. What do you want?”

There was no lying your way out of this one. You squeezed your eyes shut out of pure humiliation.

“I… I don’t know.”

Jinx’s nails, still tangled in your hair, scratched at your skull gently. Her voice softened, as though she was talking to a startled animal.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Don’t be embarrassed, I’m sure whatever you are into isn’t that weird.”

You felt tears of frustration and shame form in the corners of your eyes. The shimmer coursing through your veins seemed to heighten more than just your physical sensitivity.

“I don’t know what I’m into! I’ve never done… this before, I don’t know.”

A silence filled the room. You cracked one of your eyes open and peeked and Jinx. You expected her to laugh at you. Maybe look at you in disgust, or with pity.

But, as your eyes met hers, you saw something entirely different, and your stomach churned. Her jaw tightened, and there was no mistaking it now: the hue of her eyes shifted from ocean-blue to magenta. The grip on your hair tightened, and you let out a pained cry. She looked over you with a newfound curiosity. There was something borderline predatory in her eyes.

“No way,” she said finally, loosening her grip. Her thumb came down onto your cheek and she stroked it, head tilted, studying you.

You stayed silent. You weren’t sure what was going to happen. Jinx planted her hands either side of your head.

“You haven’t been deflowered? Haven’t had your cherry popped?” her voice had a mocking tinge to it. You couldn’t keep looking her in the eyes, and you turned your head to look at the wall. Jinx grabbed your cheeks and turned your face back to her roughly.

“Tell me,” her thumb was grazing your bottom lip now, “Did I get that right?”

All you could do was nod. A devious grin spread across Jinx’s face, and she suddenly pushed her thumb into your mouth. You were too caught off guard to fight her, and her thumb planted onto your tongue. She forced your mouth open and watched you for a moment, smearing saliva all around your mouth and on your bottom lip. You knew you looked pathetic, tied up, Jinx’s thumb in your mouth, and all you could do was keep staring up at her.

“How did you even manage that, huh? You’re so cute, I was sure someone has gotten to you by now,” Jinx whispered. You decided you were going to make a last-ditch attempt to escape. The embarrassment was too much.

“Jinx, untie me, please,” your words were muffled with your mouth obstructed.

A cackle, an almost maniacal laugh, came out from somewhere deep within Jinx, and she shoved her thumb deeper down your throat, almost making you gag.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding. No way I’m doing that now,” thumb still in your mouth, she planted soft kisses up your neck and nipped your earlobe, “I’ve never gotten to break in a virgin before, no way I’m letting you go.”

Her lips found the sensitive spot on you neck and planted onto it tightly. You felt her kiss and lick at the spot, coaxing whines and mewls out you didn’t know you were capable producing.

“After all,” she muttered in between kisses, “you wouldn’t want the entire Zaun to find out that Smeech’s right hand, the living nightmare of dozens of gangsters, is a little pathetic virgin,” she suddenly bit down on the soft flesh.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. There was nothing you could do, really. Your limbs were still immobilized, and Jinx was seated firmly on top of you, pressing your pelvis and torso into the bed. And on top of it all, you felt so incredibly warm. Scorching. Your blood became infused with burning humiliation and desire. With one hand still in your hair, Jinx took her fingers out of your mouth and glided them down your neck and chest, leaving a trail of purple shimmering saliva. She grabbed a handful of your breast and squeezed lightly. You didn’t typically wear a bra, being happy with just an undershirt, and you felt her sharp nail graze against your nipple through the fabric. A spark of pleasure ran up your nerves as you tried to stifle another moan. You weren’t sure why you felt so embarrassed; deep down, this is what you wanted since the moment you met Jinx. So, now that she was feeling you up and you were entirely at her mercy, why did you feel such deep seeded shame?

Jinx was playing with your nipple through your shirt now, pinching and tugging lightly, occasionally running the sharp nail of her index finger over the hardening bud. The pressure between your legs built up mercilessly, and you desperately wanted to feel more, for her to do more. You bucked your hips instinctively, trying to generate more friction between your groin and Jinx’s knee. She snickered and tugged harder at your hair, forcing you to look her in the eyes again.

“Are you that desperate already? I’ve barely touched you, and you are already humping my knee,” she lowered her hand from your breast, fiddling with the hem of your shirt now, “I mean, I knew virgins are easy, but you are being outright slutty.”

Without a warning, she latched onto the hem of your shirt and pulled in up over your breasts. Your nipples fully hardened in the cold air. You saw Jinx’s eyes travel down, and she looked over your body with curiosity. You felt as though your face couldn’t get any warmer, and yet with every passing second more blood seemed to rush to your cheeks.

“How pretty,” she muttered, running the pad of her thumb over your nipple. You couldn’t hold in your moan, and it came out in a hoarse squeal. Jinx continued to play with your chest, occasionally moving from one breast to the other. Your thighs squeezed tighter around her as she rolled one of your nipples between her fingers.

She looked you in the eyes as her mouth lowered towards your chest. She planted a soft kiss onto your collar bone, then started slowly moving down. Her lips suddenly latched onto the flesh of one of your breasts, forming a seal. She sucked harshly, coaxing soft yelps out of you as she sucked in more air. When Jinx pulled away, a scarlet mouth-shaped mark was left on your breast, and she admired her work for a second before taking your hard nipple in her mouth. It felt warm and wet as she swirled her tongue around the bud, coating it in a thick layer of saliva. You couldn’t help but throw back your head, not holding back your voice now. It reverberated through the room, bouncing off the walls, and you wondered whether anyone could overhear you. As if reading your thoughts, Jinx nipped your nipple with her teeth, eliciting a louder scream. She then moved over to your other breast, toying with your abandoned nipple with the bad of your thumb as she sucked on the other one. You writhed against her, and she shifted more of her weight onto your torso to keep you in place.

With her lips still wrapped around one of your buds, Jinx glided her hand down to your crotch, palming you through your trousers. The newfound pressure was intoxicating, and you bucked into her hand, almost sobbing from how much you wanted her to touch you. Her fingers circled over your entrance, and you could see now that your wetness soaked all the way through the fabric.

“So fucking wet for me,” Jinx cooed, picking up the pace a little. Her mouth found the lobe of you ear and she took it between her teeth, nibbling softly as her palm continued its attack on your crotch. Tears welled in your eyes.

“Jinx, please…” your voice came out small, higher pitched than normal. She tilted her head, observing your expressions with a mischievous glint in her magenta eyes.

“Please what?” she teased, dragging her nail across where your clit would be under the layers of fabric. You whined and tried to buck into her hand again, but her fingers sunk into the flesh of your hip and she pushed you down forcefully. Her other hand found your hair again and yanked your head back, leaving you panting.

“Please, what?” her voice was stern now. Your lip quivered as you found her eyes with yours.

“Please… touch me more,” you managed in a strained whisper. Jinx’s eyes softened, her grip on your hip getting lighter as she rubbed gentle circles on your hip bone now.

“Well,” she muttered, hooking her index finger under your belt, her eyes never leaving yours, “Since you asked so nicely…”

You felt her work at your belt, sliding it out of its loops and letting it fall off the bed onto the floor with a loud clank. Jinx then pulled at the zipper of your trousers and pushed them down over your hips, leaving them pooled around your knees. You were splayed out under her now, ankles and wrists bound to the bedposts, purple drool dribbling down the side of your mouth, tits exposed and covered in hickeys and saliva, with only a pair of cotton underwear shielding your soaked core from the air of the bedroom. Jinx seemed to enjoy the view, letting go of you and sitting up for a moment, eyes tracing every curve of your defenseless figure.

“What a little slut you are,” she said, softly grazing your clit through your panties, making you shudder in pleasure, “Imagine if your folk ever saw you like this, hm? I bet they wanted to fuck you the whole time you were with them,” she slapped your entrance softly, “And yet, I’m the one that gets to have a taste of you first. Isn’t that funny?”

The pads of her fingers were circling against your barely clothed, dripping pussy now. She started out agonizingly slow, but with every passing second, Jinx picked up her speed, letting louder and lewder sounds spill out of you. You were writhing against her hand wildly, chasing your high; you felt a knot start forming in the pit of your stomach, as if something inside you was going to burst. You’ve never felt this way before, but instinctually you knew that that burst would feel delicious. As you got closer, Jinx grabbed your cheeks with your free hand and forced you to look at her. She was taking in your expression, drinking up your desperation and want. Her thumb made it into your mouth again, smearing your spit all over your bottom lip.

“You wanna cum already?” she asked, the speed of her hand relentless against your crotch. You couldn’t produce any coherent words, resorting to simply nodding whilst letting out an unintelligible groan. Jinx’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and she leaned in closer to your face. You felt the sweet hotness of her breath against your mouth, and you tried to lean forward to kiss her, but she yanked your hair, forcing your head to fall back onto the pillow. As you inched closer to your release you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation. You were so close, so painfully close, just a couple more seconds and you would–

Jinx’s fingers left your aching pussy in the last second. You let out a frustrated whine, bucking helplessly into the air, trying to generate any kind of friction, anything to bring you over the edge. You squirmed in frustration, the ribbon against your wrists and ankles digging deeper into your skin.

Your pleading eyes found Jinx’s. She was still holding you by the hair, studying your face, her other hand resting on your lower stomach now. She had a pleased smirk on her face, by all accounts she seemed to enjoy torturing you. Her facial expression quickly shifted into a mockingly sympathetic one.

“Ow, poor baby… What’s wrong?” her fingers traced your abdomen lazily as an aching want raged on between your legs, “Did you really think I was going to let you cum that easily?”

Your head fell back into the pillow in defeat, Below, you felt Jinx hook one of her long nails under the band of your sopped underwear and pull them down slowly, peeling the fabric away from your core and slipping them down to your knees in the same manner as your trousers. You were fully exposed now, and you could feel streams of your wetness cascade down your thighs onto the mattress. Jinx shifted down, planting kisses down your stomach until her mouth was hovering just over your entrance. Her eyes never left yours as she lowered her tongue slowly onto your clit. It was hot and wet, and you couldn’t help but moan as your hips jerked up. Jinx gripped both of your thighs and pulled them apart further, spreading you out in front of her. Slowly, she started lapping away at your clit, sending jolts of pure pleasure up your thighs. As heat started rising from within you again, she picked up the pace, her tongue gliding across your pussy and in between your folds, giving special attention to your throbbing clit. You could see her lips and chin become coated in your juices. Your wetness was also had a purple sheen to it, a common after-effect of taking shimmer. The room was filled with the sounds of your ragged moans.

Jinx’s tongue was dancing wildly over your clit now, and you felt your release rapidly approach again. It felt more intense this time, building upon your unresolved orgasm from before. With every lap Jinx took at your pussy your moans got louder, and you bucked into her mouth. Your mind was liquefying by the second.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami. A wave of warmth spread from your groin throughout your body, a pleasant ache spread through your core, rolling through it again and again as screams of pleasure ripped through you. Jinx held down your hips and licked you through your release, every lick sending additional sparks through your body. You chanted her name like a prayer, wishing you could burry your hands in her electric blue hair.

When the fire in your core died down, Jinx pulled away from your pussy. Purple liquid was smeared over her mouth and chin, and she wiped some away with the back of her hand before lunging forward and crushing her mouth against yours. You tasted yourself on her tongue, the shimmer making your juices taste ever so slightly fruity. Her tongue pushed past your lips with ease, and all you could is moan into her mouth as she explored your mouth. Your tongue glided against hers, spit mixing with your wetness in a cacophony of flavors. You were breathless as she pulled away, a string of saliva hanging between your lips. She wiped her mouth and grinned at you.

“How was that?” her voice was cocky. She seemed incredibly proud of herself. You gazed at her through half-lidded eyes.

“So fucking good, Jinx,” you muttered, throwing your head back onto the pillow, trying to catch your breath. A pleasant warmth spread through you. You heard Jinx hop off the bed and move away into the far corner of the room. You closed your eyes, feeling the remnants of your orgasm swarm through your body.

You heard Jinx rummage around her cupboards. Opening your eyes, you saw her approach the bed with a small box. You lifted your head in curiosity, trying to figure out what was in there. She set the box down on the bed, a mischievous grin spreading on her face. You suddenly got scared.

“What’s that?” you asked carefully. You tried to figure it out, but your mind was still swarming from the pleasure, a sweet fog enveloping you.

Jinx glanced over at you and giggled.

“You’ll see.”

You tried to lean forward more as she lifted the lid off the box. In there were laid devices you were unfamiliar with. A couple of them were of a cylindrical shape, some with prominent ridges, others completely smooth. You looked at Jinx in confusion.

She snickered a picked a small, bullet-shaped device out of the box. It was completely smooth, except for a small button at the base. You watched in astonishment as Jinx pressed the button, and the device started buzzing in her hand. She climbed on top of you again, mysterious object in hand.

Without saying a word, she forced your mouth open and shoved the device inside; it vibrated against your teeth. Jinx swirled the object around in your mouth, coating it in your spit. When it was sufficiently lubricated, she pulled it out. Before you could ask what she was doing, she lowered the tip of the device onto your nipple. An intense pleasure shot through you, and you arched your back as the pleasant sensation rolled through your body. The moist, vibrating bullet felt amazing against your skin.

“You like that?” you heard Jinx ask. She was watching your reactions carefully.

“These are all prototypes,” she continues, swirling the toy around each nipple, “You’d be surprised how many people in the Undercity are after a good sex toy.”

The next thing you knew, the device was pressed up to your clit. Your whole body jolted, the sensation was too strong, the pleasure too overpowering. You tried to get away from the vibrator, but Jinx held you firmly in place as she continued her assault on your senses. The pleasure morphed into something resembling a dull pain. You sobbed.

“Jinx, please, wait, it’s too much,” you begged. All you heard was Jinx’s dark chuckle as she pressed the vibrator more firmly against you.

“You can take it,” was all she said. She slid the device up and down your entrance, circling your clit, and your vision went dark with pleasure. Your mouth hung open, your hips bucked and twitched in a directionless manner. Another wave of release washed over you quickly, so intense that it spread through your core in a sharp pain. A wail escaped you as you tried desperately to pull away from the vibrator that was still pressed against you. Jinx was giggling villainously now, evidently enjoying your struggle.

“Good girl, such a good girl… Shh, its okay,” she muttered over you as you cried, desperately thrashing, trying to move away from the toy. After a few more seconds, she finally took it off you. Sparks of pain and pleasure continued shooting through your core and abdomen as you tried to catch your breath. Your clit was red and swollen now, and the mattress underneath you was slick from your juices.

You watched Jinx as she tossed the vibrator onto the mattress and reached back into the box again. The cogs in your brain started turning as you realized what she was up to.

“Please, Jinx, I can’t take any more,” you whined, tears rolling down your face, core burning from overstimulation. Jinx didn’t answer. Instead, she reached backwards and pulled at the knots around your ankles, releasing them. She delicately massaged the red lines left on your flesh, before grabbing you by the hip and turning you over onto your stomach. You were still bound to the bedpost by your wrists, and the bindings around them tightened. You felt Jinx snake a hand underneath your stomach and pull your hips up, pushing your face down into the pillow by the hair. Your ass was now raised in the air, the cool air hitting your pussy, still soaked and throbbing. You couldn’t see what Jinx was doing, but you heard her rummage around in her box, presumably looking for a new toy. As she took her pick, her finger grazed the slit of your entrance. You heard her pick something out of the pile and spit on it. Your insides clenched in horrified anticipation; you were overstimulated beyond belief.

A choked cry escaped your throat as you felt something press up to you, teasing your entrance. It felt bulbous and wet from Jinx’s spit. You turned your head to the side and tried to find Jinx. You saw her, sitting next to you, holding up your hips in the air with one hand and pressing a phallic, ribbed object up to your dripping pussy. It was ribbed, with a large head. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to brace yourself.

“You think you can take it for me, hm?” you heard Jinx whisper in your ear, knowing damn well that it didn’t matter what you answered.

You felt the head of the dildo move between the lips, pushing into you. You whimpered and felt Jinx plant a gentle kiss onto your temple.

“Shh, you are doing so well for me. Don’t be scared.”

The toy slowly stretched you as Jinx pushed it further. With every new inch that entered you, you let out a pained moan, the ribbing on the base stretching you even further. The pillow was wet from tears now. Finally, you felt the base of the toy hit your ass as all of it was now planted inside of you, filling every inch. Jinx stopped moving it, letting you adjust to the size of the toy, your walls desperately trying to accommodate it. She planted soft kisses on your shoulder as you got used to the feeling.

After a few minutes, you felt Jinx start to slowly pull the dildo out of you. As each ridge moved through your walls, a half-pleasurable, half-painful sensation shot through you. You bit your lip as you felt the toy slide back in. Jinx was gently thrusting it in and out of you now, taking care not to go too quickly. The pain morphed into pleasure, and as small moans started spilling out of you, she picked up the pace. Her toy was hitting deep inside you now, the ridges massaging you from the inside. The speed only got faster, and you felt a string of drool fall from your mouth onto the pillow, your eyes rolled back. Your stomach felt tight, it was way too much, every thrust coaxed an animalistic scream out of you. Suddenly you heard a familiar click, and the dildo started vibrating. The combination of vibration and thrusts made you bite down on the pillow as hard as you could, your thighs spasmed and struggled to keep your hips up in the air.

“Does it feel that good, hm? You can’t even keep yourself up?” Jinx’s breath brushed your ear as she pounded away mercilessly at you. Your eyes rolled back into your skull. Another release was on its way, and you could already tell it would be more intense than you could ever imagine. Jinx’s finger snaked underneath you and circled your clit vigorously. Your screams couldn’t get any louder.

“Come on, cum for me. Cum for me, you fucking slut,” she hissed in your ear, “You like to be fucked so much, huh? You like when I fuck you? If anyone else tries to touch you, you will only think of me; my tongue, my fingers, my toys, me,” she took her hand away from your clit for a second to pull your hair, lifting your head slightly. Her mouth pressed against the shell of your ear.

“Tell me. Tell me you are mine. Tell me you are my little whore.”

You yelped as the grip on your hair got tighter.

“I’m yours, Jinx, I’m only yours. I’m your whore,” you whined, trying to choke down your sobs.

Satisfied, Jinx let go of your hair and started circling your clit again. You screamed, and a wave of pain and pleasure washed over you as she sent you over the edge. Your walls clenched around the toy, and you pressed your thighs together tightly as your hips shook uncontrollably. Your legs gave out, and you collapsed onto the bed, still twitching as Jinx pulled out of you.

As you laid on your stomach, breathless, small sequels still passing your lips, Jinx turned you onto your back again and climbed on top of you. She brought the head of your toy to your mouth and you, delirious, wrapped your lips around it, taking it deeply into your throat, cleaning off your juices. Jinx’s eyes were barely visible from underneath her eyelashes, but you could see a dangerous magenta glow emanate from them as she watched you lick the mess off the dildo. She pulled it out of your mouth with a loud pop and tossed it to the side. She quickly untied your wrists, planting kisses onto the raw skin, and plopped onto the mattress next to you. She pulled the covers over the both of you, and her arms snaked around your waist as she pressed her small body up to you from behind. She felt delicate and warm, it was hard to believe that mere moments ago she was ferociously fucking you, humiliating you, calling you names. Your eyes started fluttering shut as you felt her press small, quick kisses onto the nape of your neck. You tried to turn around to face her, but she held you in place.

“But, what about you?” you asked. You knew damn well you were in no position to return the favor in that moment, but that didn’t stop the guilt from bubbling up. You felt her chest rumble against your back as she giggled and brushed a lock of hair out of your face.

“Don’t worry about it for now. We will have plenty of time for that later.”

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