#i love the part when they can’t keep their hands off each other

[frenchkisstheabyss]

|☾| 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕔𝕠 |☽|

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!seungcheol x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/smut/angst

♡ Summary: When your creepy coworker finally crosses the line your boyfriend swoops in to save the day, offering you safety and comfort in more ways than one.

♡ Word Count: 2.6kish

♡ Warnings: creepy coworker, someone pinches reader's ass, subsequently gets their ass kicked, angry cheol, lots of kissing, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, car sex, creampie, pet names (baby).

♡ A/N: This is a lil comfort fit requested to me by an anon. I hope that I did your request justice my darling 💜

“Cheol!” you scream, high heels scraping the concrete as you shuffle across the parking lot in pursuit of your boyfriend. “Choi Seungcheol, I know you hear me!” 

When you called your boyfriend it’d been for comfort. You needed a shoulder to cry on, someone to console you, but you didn’t know he’d react like this. Part of you didn’t know that he could. Seungcheol’s your sweetheart, your teddy bear. He’s the loving gaze that you wake up to each morning and the gentle arms you fall asleep in at night. Your man would never hurt a fly. At least you thought so. The way he is now—jaw clenched, irises burning with rage—you aren’t as sure about that anymore. 

“Vernon, get her in the car!” he shouts back to his best friend and an arm clasps around your wrist, dragging you back towards the car. 

You turn to Vernon, pleading with him to do something. Anything. But it goes in one ear and out the other. You look back to Seungcheol in time to catch the moment he disappears through the doors of your job, out of your sight and completely out of your control. Defeated, you slip into the passenger’s seat without a fight, pouting as the door slams closed. You glance up at the rearview mirror and into the backseat where another of Seungcheol’s best friends sits with guilt all over his face. 

“Sorry” Wonwoo mouths, apologizing for his lack of effort to stop Seungcheol in the first place. Not that he can blame him for the way he’s acting. Wonwoo would react the same way if his girlfriend called him crying because some asshole at work decided it was a good idea to touch her. He’d break his fingers. Every single one. 

Your night had started out so well. The bar wasn’t as packed as it usually is. Mostly regulars and a few harmless college kids whose fake IDs were enough to get them in. Tips were steady, your favorite bartender was working, and your boss even agreed to cut you early to make it to your friend Hoshi’s birthday party. But if working at the bar has taught you anything it’s that things can change at the drop of a hat and it did the second your worst enemy clocked in. 

To him you’re far from enemies, somewhere in his delusional brain you share a mutual crush, but in the real world a sense of nauseating dread overcomes you in his presence. You’ve told Seungcheol about him before. How he makes it a point to be in close quarters with you. Always making excuses to squeeze in beside you when you’re getting ice or putting in orders. How he insists on calling you pet names like “cutie” or “sexy” even though you’ve told him a million times how uncomfortable it makes you. Each time Seungcheol has offered to come handle the situation and each time you’ve insisted that you had it under control but tonight was a different story. 

You’d been taking drink orders for a table, your full attention dedicated to making sure your indecisive patrons were double sure they knew what they wanted. All night he’d been making comments about how pretty you look dressed up for the party. “I bet your boyfriend can’t keep his hands off you” he quipped.

Apparently neither could he because as soon as you weren’t paying attention he thought it was the perfect time to pinch your ass. It happened so quickly. If not for the smile on his face when you turned around you might’ve thought it was a mistake but no. It was very intentional. 

All you wanted to do was turn around and stab him with that pen in your hand but instead you ran to the bathroom, calling the first person you could think of. Your boyfriend. Seungcheol took his time listening to you, promising you everything would be okay and that this would never happen again. Fifteen minutes later he was texting you from the parking lot telling you to come out. If your shift wasn’t already over it was now. 

“It’ll be fine” Vernon reassures you, now seated beside Wonwoo, “He’s got this.” 

Staring out the window at the eerie stillness of the night, you wonder what exactly it is that he’s got. Your anxiety grows with the passing minutes. What’s he doing in there? Why isn’t he back yet? You get your answer when the door to the bar swings open and a body comes flying out, colliding with the ground like a slab of meat. Seungcheol steps out behind him, advancing on the man quicker than he can get up. It isn’t until he grips the back of the man’s head, dragging him towards the car, that you recognize it as your coworker. Seungcheol looks fine, same as when he walked in, but your coworker looks wrecked, his shirt torn and his nose bloodied. 

You watch in horror as Seungcheol brings him right up to the window, dangling him before you like a broken doll. Vernon and Wonwoo avert their eyes elsewhere, pretending not to see a thing. 

“Tell her you’re sorry” Seungcheol commands, tightening his hold and searing the man’s scalp in the process. 

Your coworker sniffs back involuntary tears, blood trickling down his lips. “I’m…I’m sorry, okay?” 

“And you’ll never touch her again?”

“And…and I’ll n-never….”

“Touch her…”

“Touch her again. Okay? Alright?” 

Seungcheol looks at you, his anger softening, “Okay?” 

You nod frantically, your heart racing, “Yes, okay.” 

Seungcheol leans into the man's ear, dealing a final blow to his stomach. “If I hear you even looked at her wrong I’m gonna come back and break your fucking legs.” Turning him loose, Seungcheol watches as the man scurries back into the bar before climbing into the driver’s seat. 

“Everyone good?” he asks, starting the car and flipping on some music. 

Vernon throws him some wicked side eye. Everyone’s good except that guy. “Yeah, man. We’re good.”

Wonwoo nods in agreement, pulling out his phone to be involved in anything but this. “A thousand percent.” 

Seungcheol takes your hand, petting the back of it with his thumb. He brings it to his lips, pressing soft kisses to your knuckles. You want to say something but you can’t. You can only stare in awe at the man before you. Whatever monster anger had turned him into has fallen back asleep, leaving only the boyfriend you know behind, but you can’t shake what just happened. Accepting your silence, Seungcheol starts the car, keeping your hand in his as you head towards your destination. 

Your phone buzzes in your lap. A string of text messages from the bartender coming through. 

✨💖 Dawn ✨💖 What the fuck was that? ✨💖 Dawn ✨💖 Did your boyfriend just kick his ass? ✨💖 Dawn ✨💖 Kinda hot. Ngl. 

Seungcheol sneaks a look at your phone but you catch him, flipping it over to conceal the conversation. What the fuck was that? You don’t even know. Did your boyfriend just kick his ass? Without a doubt. Kinda hot. Not gonna lie. You’re ashamed at how much that strikes a chord. You’re not one of those girls who encourages violence. In fact, you never want to see Seungcheol like that again.

But was it hot? Was that level of protectiveness attractive? Did his angry face make you swoon? Did his arm muscles look especially delicious dragging a man across a parking lot? You squeeze your thighs together to quiet the feeling awakening between them. You’ve gone insane. Haven’t you?

You try to focus on something else. Humming along to songs on the radio. Watching the neon signs of local shops fly by in a blur of color as you speed down the road. Marveling at the glow of the moon and the stars dancing around it. But none of it seems to work and by the time you’re pulling up to Hoshi’s apartment the sprinkle of moisture in your panties is reaching borderline flood status. 

“You guys head inside. We’ll be up in a minute” Seungcheol whispers back to his friends and they climb out of the car without a word, heading up to the party. 

Seungcheol switches the car off, leaving the two of you alone in silence. He watches you for a moment but you only stare straight ahead. Too awkward to look him in the eye. He thinks you must be mad at him, that maybe he went too far, and the idea that he hurt you even a little bit makes him sick. 

“Come here” he says, shifting his seat back to make room for you. 

The way he taps his lap to call you over makes you fold in an instant and you find yourself climbing onto him, your knees tucked at his sides as he reaches up to cradle your face. He rubs your cheeks, looking up at you through a curtain of chocolate brown hair, and warmth radiates through your body. 

“You mad at me?” he asks, as close to pouting as you’ve ever seen him. 

“Why would I be mad at you? He deserved it” you say, your own anger at the man’s actions boiling to the surface, “I was just surprised to see you like that.”

“I don’t like being that way but when it comes to you…” he sighs, taking you in like he would some rare treasure, “I don’t know. I just lost it but I’d never be that way with you. I swear I—”

Pushing his hands away, you press your lips to his, refusing to hear anything more. “Baby, I know you’d never.” You lay your hands on his shoulders, lightly massaging them, and you can almost feel the tension melt away. 

His arms come around your waist, his fingertips invading the space between your top and the softness of your figure. “Good. I just want you to feel safe with me.” He returns your kiss with another. Something short and sweet. “I’ll always protect you. Always take care of you.”

He pulls you closer, deepening the kiss and stirring up those feelings brewing deep inside of you. His tongue performs a beautiful dance with yours, tangling in a mixture of love and lust, building the heat between you. Seungcheol’s hands slide down your body, slipping beneath your skirt to knead the succulent flesh of your ass. 

“Cheol” you giggle, his lips still on yours even as you speak, “Behave.”

“Mmm, I don’t think I know what that means” he teases, squeezing harder. When he does it grinds you down onto him, something stiff pressing back up against you. 

You release the softest moan, rocking your hips, desperate for more friction. “We should go inside” you say more for yourself than for him. 

Burying his face in your neck, he plants intoxicatingly slow kisses along your skin, your pulse racing beneath his tongue. You arch your back in response, giving him the perfect angle to sneak a hand between your thighs, stroking your increasingly needy pussy through your panties. His cock steels at the realization of how wet you are, the fabric so drenched that he can feel you clenching. 

“You’re right, we should” he mumbles, looping a finger around your panties, his knuckle dragging along your slit, “But you have to get up first, don’t you?”

Your eyes fall closed as you bask in the tingly sensation his actions send rippling up your walls. You hold on tighter to his shoulders, your pillowy tits swelling against his chest. The absence of a bra makes it easy to tell how hard your nipples have gotten and he wishes to god that had enough room to take one onto his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until your eyes roll back. 

“Get up? I can…mmph” you whine as his finger curls into you. One after the other until three of his dexterous fingers are stretching you wide, lazily pumping in and out of your tight hole.

Seungcheol slaps your ass making you jiggle around his fingers. Kissing his way up your chin, he finds your lips again, lapping up every moan you pour out. “Go ahead, baby, get up” he taunts, fingers moving faster, delving so deep into your warmth that he swears he can feel every part of you. 

You bite down on your lip, your moans growing louder the harder you try to keep quiet. At the back of your mind you know you aren’t truly alone. There’s a party going on inside. What if someone else decides to show up and sees you like this? What if one of the guys left something in the car and comes back for it?

A million possibilities flow through your brain but more than that, more than anything else in the world, it's how good this feels. How well Seungcheol knows how to fuck you with his fingers. How hot he looks doing it. He gets off on pleasing you—the arousal soaking his boxers is more than enough evidence of that—and he can never hide how much he loves watching you. His beautiful girl. Dripping and moaning all because of him. All for him. 

“Cheol…” you whisper, your fingers finding his hair, “Want you…inside…”

You can barely speak, already too drunk off his fingers to perfectly articulate what it is that you want, but for Seungcheol it’s enough. You never have to ask him twice. He gives you a few more pumps, harder and rougher than the others, before his drenched fingers pop free, juices dripping down your thighs.

In no mood to be patient, you sit back, hurrying to remove any barriers between you and what you want the most. His cock springs free, the head already wet enough to shine in the glow of the streetlights. It’s pretty enough to make your mouth water. So thick and well defined that you can’t resist running your fingers down it to admire the perfection of it. 

Seungcheol coaxes you into a kiss, his hand around the base of his cock as he guides you up and onto it. He eases you down onto it a little at a time, not wanting to rush the glorious feeling of that first big stretch. When he finally bottoms out you’re left shivering, chills skating up your spine at the fullness. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing, baby” he says, throwing his head back against the head rest.

His fingertips dig into your thighs as you lean into him, rotating your hips to ride his cock at every angle the limited space will allow you to. The car windows begin to fog up from the heat of your bodies, tucking you away in your own little world, and you let yourself get lost in it, forgetting about anything else other than the feeling of Seungcheol throbbing against your walls. 

Resting his palm against your cheek, Seungcheol smooths the pad of his thumb across your lips, delicately petting them. “I love you” he whispers, the emotions welling up inside him threatening to overflow. 

You truly are precious to him. When he heard you crying on the phone earlier he lost it. The thought of anyone hurting you made him see red. All he could think was to protect you no matter what that meant. Looking at you now he can’t bring himself to regret it. It’s not just the way you’re riding him, your pussy hugging him with all of its warmth. It’s the way your beauty shines even in the shadows, his love for you growing with every breath you take. 

Placing your hand on his, you bring his palm to your lips and kiss it. “Love you too, Cheol. Love you so much.”

Your profession lights a fire in him that has his lips crashing into yours, his hips raising to thrust into you, an arm locked around your waist to keep you in position. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, consuming you until there’s nothing else. 

“Cheol, aah, don’t stop” you plead, “So close.” 

Seungcheol hammers into your sweet spot, sending you racing towards your high. Just as your walls begin to tremble he grabs your ass, lifting you up to leave only the tip of his cock pulsing in your core. “Cum for me, baby” he coos, slamming you back down and sending crashing over the edge.

Your juices cascade down his cock, nails digging into his shoulder as your walls cling to him. He cradles you in his arms, slowing his movements, letting you milk him of his own release. He coats your walls so deeply that you know you’ll be spending all night thinking of having him inside of you even when he isn’t and just imagining it is enough to get you hot all over again. 

Keeping you close, he litters your face with kisses, whispering the sweetest praises as your body relaxes into his. You’ve never felt this loved by anyone. Never so safe and cared for. You have every intention to stay in this car as long as you can, finding heaven in the comfort of his arms, and nothing in this world could make him push you away.

[malrieldremm]

friends

Pairing: Ridoc Gamlyn X reader

TW: pure smut, smut with feelings.

World Count: 2740

A/N: first smut ever lol sorry if this is shitty. Haven’t read onyx storm yet but I’m FERAL for this man!!

-

you love all your friends…but Ridoc was special to say the least.

With him, it was different.

The way his eyes would always find yours in a room full of person, the way his touch, no matter how cold, always made you heart melt.

You just got each other.

You loved how he was never serious.

Which might be the reason you were laughing your butt off when he suggested that you two use each other to let off steam when you can’t sneak off to find anyone.

Of course you had no idea of the feelings he had for you, and there was no way Ridoc was going to admit them. You layed back on your back into the mattress trying to breathe through your sore muscles from laughing. He rolled his eyes and leaned over, holding himself up on his elbow.

“I’m serious. I think it’d be a good idea.” He said quietly this time. Which was…odd for him.

Very odd.

You propped yourself up as the look on your fefe changed completely, now dead serious.

Ridoc felt his heart skip a beat under the serious look on your face. He took a deep breath and nodded. Yes. Really. He could do this. It was just physical. A way to blow off steam. Right. He gently placed a strand of your hair behind your ear, his thumb trailing along your cheek before he spoke. His cold hands sent shiver down your spine, as you looked up at him, unsure if the situation.

“Yeah. Why not?”

“I-“ you stopped for a second.

The feeelings you had for him were undeniable.. perhaps, you could just take pleasure out of this, leaving the heart.. out.

You didn’t really know if tuoi could do it, considering the speed at which your heart was beating.

You looked at his face intently, trying to memorize everything you could.

“well.. How good of an idea would it be?”

Ridoc couldn’t help but to smile at the smirk on your face. He couldn’t read you at that moment. Did you want this? Did he want this? He was worried about being too rough with you- but maybe he was overthinking it.

His hand came up to rest on your hip, gently tugging you, gesturing for you to lay down. Ridoc moved as well, getting on all fours above you.

“Pretty damn good I’d say.”

“Well, how about you show me how much?” You said, a small smile forming on your face.

The smirk grew on his face as his eyes roamed up and down your body. The way you were looking at him- Ridoc felt almost weak. Gods, he wanted you so badly, he had wanted you for so long, but he was scared to push too far. He gently grabbed your chin, tilting your head to the side as he moved to straddle you. His head leaned down to your ear as he spoke.

“As you wish. Princess.” His breath was hot your my skin, as he leaned in to kiss you.

He tried to focus on keeping this physical, but when you moved your hands to his hair, his brain stopped working.

He sighed into your kiss and cupped your face with both of his hands, kissing you back with the same intensity. Ridoc pulled away for a moment, panting gently before he leaned his head into the crook of your neck, a shaky exhale leaving his lips.

“…Gods.. you’re beautiful” he said against your lips.

You froze for a second, heart thundering in your chest. The words hit you harder than his touch ever could. It wasn’t like Ridoc to be this raw, this unguarded. It scared you, thrilled you, confused you all at once.

Your fingers, still tangled in his hair, tightened just slightly as you tried to process the shift between playful and… something deeper. Something you both might not come back from.

“Ridoc…” you whispered, voice soft and unsure.

He didn’t move immediately, his breath still fanning across your skin as if he couldn’t bear to part from you yet. When he did finally lift his head, his usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found. Instead, those eyes—those eyes that always found you, even when no one else could—were searching yours, looking for something he wasn’t sure he could ask for.

“I mean it,” he said, voice lower, rougher. “You’re—more than you know.”

Your chest ached at the admission, and every instinct screamed at you to pull him closer and never let go. But there was still the unspoken rule, the idea that this was supposed to be casual. A game. And yet, as you stared into Ridoc’s eyes, you knew neither of you were playing anymore.

“Ridoc,” you tried again, swallowing the lump in your throat, “are you sure you can just… keep this simple?”

He let out a humorless chuckle, thumb tracing slow circles on your hip. “Doesn’t feel simple right now.”

You smiled faintly at that, feeling your walls crumble with every second he held you like this. “No,” you admitted, voice barely audible, “it doesn’t.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The weight of unspoken feelings wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. Finally, Ridoc sighed and leaned down again, resting his forehead against yours.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, almost pleading.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you whispered back, “Don’t you dare.”

His lips were on yours again in a heartbeat, but this time, it wasn’t rushed or heated. It was soft. Reverent. The kiss of someone who cared deeply but didn’t quite know how to say it. And in that moment, with his hands holding your face like you were fragile and precious, you realized the truth—you didn’t want simple. Not with him. Never with him.

Ridoc pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “No turning back, you know.”

Your heart raced as you whispered, “Good.”

His grin returned, smaller, but somehow more genuine. And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t about blowing off steam anymore. It was about finally surrendering to something you both had been too afraid to admit.

Ridoc’s gaze darkened the second you gave him that answer. The playful glint you were used to was gone, replaced with something far more intense, something hungry. His grip on your waist tightened, and without warning, he pressed you deeper into the mattress, his body pinning you there.

“Good,” he murmured, voice low and dripping with heat. “Because I’m done pretending.”

Before you could even catch your breath, his lips were on yours again—rougher this time, demanding. The kiss was nothing like the ones before. His teeth caught your lower lip as he pulled slightly, making you gasp beneath him, and that sound only seemed to set him off further.

Ridoc wasted no time, one hand sliding under your shirt, fingertips icy against your heated skin as they traced up your ribs. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he growled into your mouth, before trailing his lips along your jaw and down your neck.

Your head fell back as his teeth grazed your pulse point, and he smirked against your skin. “Sensitive,” he teased, his breath hot and ragged.

You barely managed to respond, too focused on how his cold fingers found the edge of your waistband, playing with it, testing the boundary. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes burning into you.

“Last chance,” he whispered, voice thick with restraint. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

But instead of answering with words, you grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back down, kissing him harder this time, pouring every bit of pent-up tension into it.

Ridoc groaned into your mouth, the sound deep and guttural as he pressed his hips into yours, leaving no room for guessing just how much he wanted this. How much he wanted you.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, losing the last bit of control he’d been clinging to.

His hand slipped lower, tugging at your waistband with more purpose now, while the other slid into your hair, pulling just enough to make you arch into him. He smirked, satisfied, watching how you responded to every little touch like he was learning you in real-time.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he breathed.

“And you’re still talking too much,” you shot back with a smirk of your own.

Ridoc’s eyes flashed with heat. “Oh, you’re gonna regret saying that.”

And then he kissed you like he meant every word—like you were his, and he wasn’t going to let you forget it.

Ridoc’s patience snapped. In one swift motion, he pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought, his eyes drinking you in like he’d been starving for this. The way his gaze raked over your exposed skin made you feel like you were on fire, and yet, his cold hands left a trail of goosebumps as they roamed your body.

“You’re dangerous,” he growled, voice deep and rough, leaning down to drag his teeth along your collarbone. His tongue followed, soothing the sting, only to bite down again, harder this time, marking you.

Your breath caught as he pushed your hips deeper into the bed, grinding against you with a delicious, deliberate pressure that left you dizzy. You could feel how badly he wanted you, how much restraint it was taking for him to not tear the rest of your clothes off right then and there.

Ridoc pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you, smirking when he saw the flushed, needy look on your face. “You’re already so worked up,” he teased, voice dripping with dark amusement. “And I’ve barely touched you.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but your words died in your throat when his fingers slipped past the band of your pants, teasing the edge of your underwear. He moved achingly slow, tracing circles on your inner thigh, watching your every reaction like it was his personal obsession.

“You want more?” His voice was nothing but a sinful whisper in your ear as he nipped at your earlobe.

“Gods, Ridoc,” you breathed out, nails digging into his back. “Yes.”

That was all he needed.

With a low growl, he yanked your pants and underwear down in one motion, discarding them onto the floor. His hands returned to your thighs, spreading them wide as he settled between them, eyes dark and wild.

“Look at you,” he murmured, running a hand slowly up your leg before resting it possessively on your hip. “So perfect.”

Without breaking eye contact, he dipped his head lower, lips ghosting over your inner thigh before finally pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there. Each one dragged a shiver from you, but it was the anticipation—the way he hovered just shy of where you needed him most—that had your head spinning.

Ridoc smirked against your skin. “Tell me how bad you want me,” he whispered, voice husky.

When you whimpered, grinding your hips closer to his mouth, he chuckled darkly. “No, no. I want to hear you say it.”

You clenched your jaw, but the ache inside you was unbearable now. “I want you,” you hissed. “I need you.”

His satisfied grin was the last thing you saw before he finally closed the distance, mouth claiming you with a hunger that made you cry out, arching off the mattress. His tongue moved with calculated precision, slow but devastating, while his fingers gripped your thighs to keep you exactly where he wanted you—at his mercy.

Every moan and gasp only seemed to spur him on, his pace quickening as he groaned against you, clearly just as affected as you were.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were slick, his eyes dark and full of mischief as he crawled back up your body, settling between your legs.

“You taste like sin,” he murmured, voice ragged. “And I’m not nearly done with you.”

Ridoc barely gave you time to catch your breath before his mouth was on yours again, letting you taste yourself on his lips. The kiss was filthy, heated, and left you trembling beneath him as his hand slid back down, fingers toying with how soaked you’d become.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, voice gravelly, almost dangerous. He tugged at his own shirt, ripping it over his head before tossing it aside. The sight of him above you—muscles tense, jaw clenched, eyes devouring every inch of you—only made the ache inside worse.

His cold skin pressed against your warmth as he settled between your legs again, grinding into you without any mercy this time. The friction made you gasp, and Ridoc drank it in like it was his lifeline.

“Tell me how long you’ve been thinking about this,” he demanded as he rocked his hips, voice sharp but laced with that teasing tone only he could pull off. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted me.”

Your mind spun under the weight of him, but still, you managed to smirk. “Since the first time you couldn’t keep your eyes off me.”

Ridoc’s breath hitched, and something inside him snapped. His hand shot to your throat—not with enough pressure to hurt, but enough to make you gasp softly as his thumb brushed along your jawline. His other hand slid between your bodies, lining himself up against you.

“You have no idea what you just did to me,” he snarled.

And then, without hesitation, he pushed inside you—deep, slow, filling you completely as your back arched and a moan ripped from your throat. The stretch, the intensity of it, stole the air from your lungs, but Ridoc didn’t give you a moment to recover. He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“That’s it,” he whispered darkly. “Feel every inch of me.”

The pace he set was brutal, hips snapping against yours, the sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room as you clung to him. His grip on your throat loosened, hand sliding down to your chest as his teeth found the base of your neck again, biting hard enough to leave another mark.

“Look at you,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect like this, under me.”

You could barely form words, too lost in how deep he was, how rough yet precise every thrust felt. His cold fingers pinched at your skin, teasing, claiming every part of you as his mouth moved lower, tongue and teeth dragging across your chest.

Ridoc’s control was fraying; you could feel it in how erratic his movements became, how ragged his breathing was as he whispered curses against your skin.

“Not gonna last if you keep tightening around me like that,” he growled, pulling back to see your face—flushed, wrecked, desperate for more.

His thumb brushed your lower lip. “You close, princess?”

All you could do was nod, whimpering as you rolled your hips up to meet him, needing more, faster, harder.

“Good,” he hissed, slamming into you with everything he had now. “Because you’re gonna come with me.”

Your nails raked down his back as you felt your body give out beneath him, the wave crashing over you so intensely it left you shaking. Ridoc’s name tore from your lips, and that was all it took—he followed with a deep groan, burying himself inside you as he spilled everything he’d been holding back.

For a few moments, all either of you could do was pant, bodies tangled together, sweat-slick and spent. Ridoc’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm as his fingers absentmindedly traced your sides.

“Yeah,” he finally murmured, voice hoarse. “Definitely not just blowing off steam.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still trying to steady your heartbeat. “No kidding.”

His smirk returned, lazy and satisfied. “Round two later?”

You grinned, pulling him down for another kiss. “Absolutely.”

[bbearthyy]

Hey! I noticed you needed some inspo, so here’s a request!

JJ Maybank x female reader (smut!)

Take this wherever you’d like, but the reader is lounging somewhere reading her book when JJ makes his own plans. He loves her nipples, and plays/sucks/fucks them while she’s reading <3

yeah so i took this and ran

(no title cus i cant think of one rn😭)

a/n: omg yes. i am the biggest advocate for mamas boy jj and i just KNOW that after a bad day he’d come home and go straight to you to suck em. UGH anon i love you

none of my works are proofread!!

cw: boob play? idk what the proper term is, titty fuckin!, bsf! jj, i think that’s it

nobody remembered when it happened exactly, but it was part of the normal now for the pogues. jj would inevitably have at least one breakdown a week, and you were always there, waiting with open arms (and bra.)

nobody really remembers, but maybe it started two summers ago?

~~~

the rumble of jj’s bike filled the otherwise quiet atmosphere, popping the bubble of peace and yet rebuilding another. you lounged in the hammock, one leg hanging off to keep it rocking, as you reread your favorite book for the nth time. your eyes stayed on the page in front of you as your best friend stomped over. finally, his heavy foot steps came to a stop, right beside the hammock.

you took your time to finish the sentence you were reading, before calmly raising your head to look at jj. “hey, honey,” you softly mumbled, spotting the tears on his cheeks and immediately changing the reading tone you’d originally brought forward. “rough day?” the blonde just dropped his head, shaking it silently. “wanna..,” he mumbled, his voice so quiet the rest of the sentence was unintelligible.

“what, j? i can’t hear you sweet boy.” he grumbled, frustrated hands tugging on his hair. “i can’t say,” he said, voice just slightly louder, “it’s embarrassin’.” you were quick to scold him for this. “jackson james maybank, i have known you my whole life. we used to take baths together as kids and we’ve been each others first everything. nothing you say could ever be embarrassing, not with me.”

after taking a deep breath to compose himself, the blonde spoke up. “can i like, lay with you?” appalled by the question you immediately cut him off, “jj we cuddle all the time wha-“ but he wasn’t having it. “not like that,” he spoke up, “i meant like, i wanna, ugh.” his head dropped once more, frustration running in his veins, “can i just show you?”

your eyebrow raised with suspicion, but you nodded. jj slowly laid himself on top of you, snuggling close in the hammock. “i wanna,” he mumbled once more. jj rested his head on the left side of your chest, as his left hand slowly moved up your shirt. you were confused, but laid still nonetheless, letting him explain himself.

eventually jj’s hand snuck its way into your bra, cupping your chest gently. a soft sigh spilled from his lips when he felt the warmth. “wanna do this,” he whispered, “but, but with my mouth.” it took a moment for you to respond, processing his words. “you wanna suck on my chest?” relief visibly flowed through the boy when you understood, his head nodding quickly.

“um, okay,” you mumbled, hesitance evident in your shaky voice. if jj could tell you were nervous he didn’t comment on it, simply sitting up enough that he could lift your shirt past your chest. something dawned on you, your hands covering his, “wait!” jj’s head snapped up, worry coating his features. “j, honey, we’re still outside,” you spoke softly, not wanting to worry the boy in his vulnerable state.

jj whined, wanting nothing to do with the idea of removing himself from you right now to go inside. “i can go under your shirt?” his whiny tone had you giving in immediately, just like he knew it would. you’d do anything for him. so you nodded, and jj excitedly pulled your shirt back down before sliding under it.

~~~

today, you and jj are resting on the couch outside the chateau, your shirt and bra long since removed. jj snuggled closer under the plush blanket, tongue swirling around your nipple before he latched on, sucking softly. his left hand held your other boob, the fingers on his right squeezing your hip every few seconds.

john b walked out of his home, eyes searching before they locked onto yours. the brunette came closer, crouching down beside the couch when he reached you. “he under here?” john b’s voice was quiet as he grabbed the blanket, you nodding in response. slowly, he pulled the blanket down just enough for jj’s head to be revealed. “hey bubba,” john b whispered, “i’m gonna go get supper, you wanna ride along?”

jj hated that idea actually. despised it. he was half asleep and you’d just gotten to the good part in the book you were reading aloud. so in response, jj simply closed his eyes, continuing to suckle. john b sighed at the silent denial, shaking his head with a chuckle before covering you with the blanket once more. “okay, i’ll be back.”

the brunette walked out as cleo and sarah were walking in, both giving you a smile and chirpy “hey!” as they went. eventually, when jj fell asleep, you removed him from yourself, knowing you’d have to show face at home before your parents reported you missing. giving the pogues a hug and a kiss each, you left, leaving a very angry jj behind.

which brought you to now. to be fair, you should’ve told the boy what your plans were instead of just leaving him, but you didn’t think it would warrant such a response. your plush comforter was warm beneath you, your hands shaking in their position above your head.

the only sounds filling the room were jj’s grunts and the slick sound of his dick sliding between your tits. his hands kept your tits pressed together, the only restriction keeping your hands pinned being his threat to ‘spank your ass raw’ if you moved them. “jay,” you whined, desperate to feel some stimulation after him abusing your chest.

“shut up,” jj’s gruff voice huffed, his breath hitching at the end. he was close, whines slipping through his lips solidifying the fact. you stuck your tongue out to help, his tip pressing against it with every thrust. “oh fuck!” the blonde cried out, release spilling across your chest and lips.

after taking a moment to catch your breath your hands finally moved, coming down to rest on jj’s thighs. “feel better, honey?” he just laughed, breathless, before collapsing next to you. “love you so much,” he mumbled, sleep soon taking over.

[bunni-v1]

Literally at the post office but I CANNOT get Lycaon and Hugo off my mind.

MDNI

They’re so very opposite in the way they approach everything, there’s no way it’s not the same in the bedroom. Like c’mon think of the possibilities of taking both of them at the same time. They’re so good, but I can’t get ahead of myself. Let’s establish how they are separately.

Firstly, Lycaon is all things gentle and loving. He is nothing if not a giver when it comes to your pleasure. Slow and steady in pace, he takes his time with you. His touch leaves no part of your body neglected, carefully taking in all you have to offer him. He is purposeful and each movement has intent to make you sigh.

It’s like he’s trying to swallow you up in your own pleasure, wave after wave you are drowning in his unending love for you. Sex is an extension of his admiration for you, he does not want it to be anything less than that. So he takes his time, ensuring you feel nothing but loved. It’s overwhelming, but that’s how he feels about you. Overwhelmed in his adoration, he lets it all out here.

He may be a wolf therian, but he is no more than a lovesick puppy between your legs. Claws and teeth dulled from gnawing on the kindness you’ve given him. He is stony and cold on the outside, but his heart has melted into mush for you. This is the easiest way he knows how to reciprocate, to show you he loves you when he cannot find a way otherwise.

Hugo, on the other hand, is fast and exciting. Passion in all he touches, he leaves trails of fire across your skin with his cool touch. It’s light and teasing, intent on making you squirm and cry beneath it, teasing you until you cannot think about anything other than him.

He wants you to drown in him, have himself etched into you brain, unable to think of anything but him. You’ll suffocate in the overwhelming pressure of his desire to see you come apart. To him, sex is fun and light, a passionate dance between the two of you. Maybe even a stress reliever at times, but it’s nothing serious, it’s just something you two do. Something thrilling only the two of you can share!

Speaking truthfully, behind his bravado and cheerful facade, he wants to consume you. He desires nothing more than to drink you up, watching each curve and twitch you have to offer him. There is no treasure in the world more perfect than you, and he knows how lucky he is to have it in the palm of his hands. So, he keeps it fun, light, easy for you. Anything you desire he gives up, because what is sex if not fun?

When they come together, it’s like fire and ice. They cannot decide who is right in how the pleasure. Lycaon insists you must be treated with care, Hugo complains about his boring style and suggests more fun! It’s quite a conundrum, but why can’t it be both? You can have fun and still feel loved, so surely they can come to an agreement?

Oh, they most certainly do. By some miracle, of course, they’re able to set aside their differences for you. Leaned agains Hugo’s chest with Lycaon between your legs, you may have to reconsider your fate. Lycaon laps at you, drinking you up as if he’d gone without fluid for days. Hugo has you speared on him, smiling all satisfied as he watches you crumble apart between them.

Lycaon inhales deeply, clearly enjoying himself a bit too much, not that you had room to criticize. What with the way you can’t keep your mouth shut, it was smarter not to poke fun at him. A particularly nice roll of his tongue had you fluttering around Hugo’s shaft. He chuckles at the sensation, kissing up your shoulder as if to encourage you.

“They liked that one,” He hums, fingers dancing along your stomach.

Lycaon doesn’t pay him any mind, far too focused on swallowing you up. You’d think he were a man starved with how vigorous he was. Your head pressed back into Hugo’s shoulder, only to be corrected by the man. Firm grasp on your chin keeping your eyes where they belong, focused on Lycaon. It drew a squeak of surprise out of you, and that was the first time Lycaon paused, narrowing a warning glare on Hugo from his place between your legs.

Hugo smiles, “Continue, please.”

“Be gentle,” Lycaon grumbles back, the vibrations of his deep voice sending your head spinning.

He returns with more vigor, lapping at you with more energy now. Seems he was eager to have you finish, thanks to Hugo’s annoyance. If you had half the mind, you might’ve thanked him, but when Lycaon begins to suck on you… well… most thoughts fly out your brain. Replaced only with him, his name falling from your lips over and over.

You wind your fingers through his fur, pulling him closer to you. The friction addicting in your hazy state. Lycaon directs a smirk up at you, watching your expression with unabashed delight. Unfortunately, you only get to enjoy the expression for a few moments before the two do you are caught off guard by an abrupt thrust from Hugo.

Lycaon pulls back fast enough that his teeth don’t catch on anything sensitive, and they snap together with a loud click of annoyance. Hugo does not stop his thrusting though, hands squeezing your hips as he guides you to bounce in time with him. Based on the look Lycaon has, he was most definitely taunting the therian.

Not to be deterred, Lycaon shifts focus. Decidedly kissing up your body, taking his time in worshiping you while Hugo does his best to make you fall apart. He fits perfectly inside, dick rubbing against your walls just right. Just enough to drive you mad, but not quite enough to push you over the edge yet.

Your mind is melting, chest heaving with effort at every new sensation. Lycaon’s heated kisses across your chest and Hugo’s throbbing member inside you working like a team to make you jelly. You nearly choke on air when Lycaon nibbles at the side of your neck. It’s like they want you to die here, suffocated between their unrelenting heat.

Cold fingers find their way down to your heat, playing with you in a lose way. It was just simple teasing, a means to make you fall deeper into pleasure, but it worked too well. Between the soft and sweet kisses and the rapid thrusting, it was just what you needed to cum for them.

A cry of someone’s name, you’re not aware enough to know who’s, rips from your throat. Your body shakes, hands grabbing onto whatever they can. The thrusting does not stop, Hugo fucking you through your orgasm, until you are abruptly pulled away into warm arms. You promptly lose consciousness for a few moments, and when you wake, you are being cleaned off by Lycaon with a warm rag.

He is cross, though not at you. Just annoyed, but he still finds in himself to smile at you sweetly. A clawed hand cups your face, thumbing your cheek sweetly. You lean into the touch, smiling back at him.

“You are alright, my love?” He asks with a deep grumble.

You nod, again smiling to reassure him. Sore, but you are alright. Someone shuffles in the room from the bathroom, and Lycaon sighs as Hugo takes his spot next to you. He cuddles you into his chest, cooing at your flushed face with playful admiration.

“You did very well, darling! Did you enjoy yourself?” He asks, and though his tone is light, you know he means the question truthfully.

You nod, “Of course I did.”

He hums, “Good, good~ Can’t have your needs going unanswered. Though, I’m a little disappointed…”

You frown at that, insecurity crawling up your back at the sudden change in tone, “What’s wrong? Do you not enjoy yourself too?”

He laughs, shaking his head, and you hear Lycaon audibly scoff from across the room where he is still cleaning things up.

“Of course I did! It’s just…” He sighs, dramatically looking away.

“Just what?” You urge.

He waits another moment, smirking to himself, “Well, I did all that work, and you cry out his name instead of mine. It really hurts.”

You blink at him, unable to find a response to his stupid hold up. Luckily, Lycaon seems to find it for you, “Perhaps you didn’t do enough for them.”

“I beg your pardon!” He shouts, jumping upright from his position.

You can only sigh as they start bickering with one another.

[celli-ohs]

Show Must Go On

pairing: secret softie!park jongseong x reader

genre: high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

synopsis: When you told the waitress to give your compliments to the chef, you didn't expect the chef to come out and thank you personally, and you really didn't expect the chef to be your classmate Park Jongseong. Realizing how bad this could be, he has you keep it a secret. That shouldn't be too hard for you to do he thinks, but you're full of surprises- and slip-ups.

before you read: character profiles | sunghoon series

warnings: language, extreme fluff

word count: 3k

taglist (open): @ancnymcnzjy @melancholy-z @lamin143 @soobinbunnie5 @benny1989fredd @bbsantc @jimmiwuwaiting @blindmortal @seongiewon @yuyita-rosier @kkathy101 @justandloyal2961 @jjongstar111

note: part 2 of my and scene! series, loosely based off en-drama.

Entry 003: 03/06/24

When you said you’d keep your promise, Jongseong didn’t expect you to be so bad at it, especially after you acted so heroically weeks before.

“Why do your friends keep coming to my family restaurant?! Not only that, every day more students come in after school, what ever happened to keeping your mouth shut?!!” Jongseong complains as you two are currently paired for badminton in today's gym class.

“I didn’t mean to!” You frown, hitting the birdie across the tiny net. “I brought my leftovers for lunch last week and Kazuha saw so I gave her a bite and she told everyone how amazing your food was!” 

Jongseong lets out a long sigh as he misses and you get a point, he grabs the birdie from the ground while massaging his temples. He doesn’t know if he should just take the compliment or duct tape your mouth shut.

“Fine, just don’t do it again! Just yesterday Sunghoon and his girlfriend had a date there.” He reveals. Luckily Sunghoon is super in love with his girlfriend, he can’t take his eyes off her so he didn’t even realize it was Jongseong’s mom who took their order.

“If Heeseung or Jaeyun came to visit, I can’t imagine what would happen.” He mutters, serving the shuttlecock to your side of the court. Heeseung especially had a way of inhaling food like a vacuum. His hunger never settled and with Jaeyun to support him, the restaurant might actually be in danger.

You suddenly giggle, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re overreacting,” You playfully roll your eyes, rallying with him. 

“Plus, it’s not my fault your food’s too good!” 

This time Jongseong feels his heart clench, and he trips over his own two feet in an attempt to swing at the birdie. He lands flat on his stomach, his face burning with both pain and embarrassment.

“Jongseong!” You rush to his side, kneeling down as your face contorts into a look of concern. “I’m fine.” He lies, sitting up. 

You let out a breath as if you were relieved, extending a hand to help him stand. Jongseong feels the heat from his face extend to his ears and back of his neck as he takes your hand, gripping it firmly as you pull him onto his two feet

“Are you always this clumsy?” You laugh, shaking your head as you walk back to your side of the court. 

“I’m not! It was an accident.” He argues, arms crossed now. He hears you laugh, it’s music to his ears. If he had a choice, he’d listen to you laugh forever, for the rest of his life-

Suddenly a pair of hands grab him firmly by the cheeks, and he’s jerked to the right, where he’s suddenly faced with you. Your brows furrow together as you observe him, your faces mere centimeters away from each other. 

“What’re you-!” He chokes, trying to pry you off of him. But you don’t let go, instead you scream.

“Blood! You’re bleeding! Jongseong your nose is bleeding!” Your hands are still firmly clasped against his skin as you freak out. 

Jongseong pulls out of your grip, hands cupping over his nose. His entire face is burning 100° from your touch. 

“Teacher! Jongseong’s got a bloody nose!” You shout as you wave down the gym teacher. Dazed, Jongseong doesn’t register what’s going on until you grab his hand.

“Come on, we’re going to the Nurse’s office.” You decide, dragging Jongseong across the gym to the exit, in front of your entire class to see. 

Jongseong swears he’s fainted and fallen onto the wooden floor of the gym, and is currently hallucinating this entire situation. To not only be able to grab your hand, but to have you tenderly hold him?! He was on cloud nine.

He lets you pull him through the twisted hallways of EN-High, arriving at the Nurse’s office in no time. 

You swing the door open in a hurry, brushing hair out of your face. 

“Ms. Nah! Ms. Nah?! Dang I think she’s making her rounds.” You click your tongue as Jongseong makes his quick escape to the sink, rinsing his bloody face with clean water. 

“Let me see,” You tug the hem of his shirt, and Jongseong has to physically fight the urge to spin around and pull you into a hug with that one gesture.

“It’s not bleeding anymore.” He coughs, finding it hard to keep eye contact as he slowly turns back to you.

“Let me see please.” You repeat yourself. He sits down at an empty cot, allowing you to make your own observations. You situate yourself between his long legs, focused on his face as you gently cup his cheeks for a second time.

You don’t seem phased at all as you sternly look over his injury. But Jongseong on the other hand feels as if he might die if you get any closer to him. Your face was already dangerously close, all he had to do was lean in and your two lips would connect-

“Doesn’t look broken, good.” You step back and let go of him, and while he’s glad to be able to breathe again, he feels secretly disappointed he’s lost his chance.

You nudge him to move over and once he does, you plop down beside him on the cot, even laying down to rest. You let out a big long sigh as Jongseong copies you, his gaze already falling onto your perfect side profile. 

Your eyes are closed, and your lips are turned up slightly into a soft smile. Your hair surrounds you like a veil, and your lashes flutter slightly as you take in a deep breath. As the sunlight shines through the window, donning you in golden hues, he’s reminded of how grateful he is to even be in your presence. 

You were the living, breathing, goddess that is the Sun, and he was the quiet and lonesome Moon who longed for you faraway.

Fated to be together, forever apart.

In Jongseong’s mind, you were a fantasy brought to life, someone who changed his life for the better, giving it new meaning and wonder. You two have only known each other for less than a month, yet he craves your attention more and more.

After you’d pushed him into the kitchen that one day, you routinely visited him and his family’s restaurant, claiming you were here to get some studying done whilst you scouted out any potential students from school who might recognize him.

Even after a long meeting with the rest of the student council, you always wore a bright and happy smile when you two made eye contact. You loved to wave him down and point to your favorite booth just to let him know you were there. 

And Jongseong loved to stop by your table as soon as he could to drop off some treats, whether it be a slice of cake, a bowl of soup, whatever he delivered you would take graciously. “It’s on the house,” He’d tell you shyly, just for you to giggle and tip him anyways. 

Jongseong savored seeing you like this, your warm and bubbly self. This side of you that no one but him knew, and he liked it that way. This secret between you two was a blessing in disguise, he thinks.

As if you could read his mind, you suddenly open your eyes and turn to face him, catching him in the act.

He holds his breath as he swallows thickly, Jongseong feels vulnerable as you observe him. He’s never had someone look at him so intently and not have any idea what they were thinking.

Then suddenly you lean in close, your soft hand reaching out to him.

It’s as if the world slows down, your movements sluggish as Jongseong tries his best to calm his heart. 

Holy shit, this seriously can’t be happening right now.

For some reason he’s scared. Of what? He has no idea, but he squeezes his eyes shut anyways, and hopes for the best. 

He feels your gentle fingers graze his cheek, and Jongseong clenches his jaw. You were so much bolder than he was-

“An eyelash fell off,” You suddenly interrupted his line of thought. Jongseong blinks his eyes open in confusion. “Huh?”

You sit up, tucking your hair behind your ear. Your gaze is focused on your right hand, your index and thumb pinched together as you hold something. 

“Look, one of your eyelashes fell off, it’s so long,” You show him. Jongseong sits up as well and truth be told, you’re holding a tiny little eyelash hair. 

“Oh,” He coughs. You chuckle and hold it up to his lips. “Make a wish, blow it.” You instruct. 

He makes a face. He wasn’t a kid, you know? These kinds of things didn’t actually work, they were a waste of time and were silly. How could he possibly do something so childish in front of you?

But your earnest eyes deceive him. There was no way he could ever tell you no. Not if you looked at him like that. 

So without arguing he closes his eyes one last time, and quickly puffs out a small shot of air, sending the little eyelash flying out somewhere in the room. You giggle and clap your hands together, smiling at him like he’s won a grand prize. 

“What’d you wish for?” You ask curiously as you two are walking back to the gym to rejoin your class.

That we fall in love.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. You scoff at him and playfully nudge his arm. “Come on, I won’t tell, I’m good at keeping my promises, you know that!” You tease.

Jongseong only stuffs his hands into his pockets, taking long strides to get ahead of you. He turns back to you with a playful smirk.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t come true,”

“Son! Guess who’s here!” His mother sings as she struts into the kitchen, she’s got a teasing look in her eyes as she passes by him. 

Recently whenever his mom got like this, it usually meant one thing: You just arrived and were waiting for him. 

Trying to remain calm, Jongseong ignores his pink cheeks and sticks his head out the kitchen window, happily finding you sitting at your booth as radiant as ever. You’ve got a workbook open as well as your notes, and you’re busy explaining something while Jungwon carefully writes down-

Wait- What the- Jungwon?!

What was he doing here?? Why was he with you?! This wasn’t making any sense!

Before he can think straight, Jongseong finds himself marching over to the booth, arms crossed as he approaches. 

“Oh, hey Jong-”

“Jungwon, what’re you doing here?” He interrupts you, all of his attention is on his best friend, who looks very amused. 

“Just going over some council stuff with Y/n,” The younger boy shrugs, smirking at Jongseong. He was doing this on purpose.

“Really? Or did you come for some curry?” Jongseong glares behind his smile. Jungwon chuckles. “Now what kind of friend do you think I am?”

Jongseong rolls your eyes, of course Jungwon came for the food. He’s been curryless for a couple of weeks now, he was probably having withdrawals.

Your giggles suddenly remind him that he and Jungwon were not alone, and that he very much embarrassed himself in front of you. He instantly stands up straighter, clearing his throat as he looks off to the side in order to hide his face.

“W-What would you guys like to order?” He coughs, pulling out a notepad and pen. “You know my usual,” Jungwon shoots him some finger guns, while he scribbles down his order. “Surprise me this time,” You hum, resting your chin on your palms as Jongseong smiles. 

“Coming right up,” He nods, before making a brisk exit back to the kitchen.

He lets his dad make Jungwon’s curry in order to make yours: dongchimi guksu. He’s noticed you have a preference for noodles and soup, and what better way to fight the summer heat than a bowl of cold noodle soup with kimchi?

He starts by cooking the noodles, and while they boil he chops the water kimchi and cucumbers thinly for garnish later. Luckily, his mother and him had pre-made the broth that morning, so it was perfectly chilled in the fridge. He scoops out a serving of soup, adding kimchi broth for some spice. 

After rinsing out the noodles, he places them delicately inside the serving bowl, adds the broth, and with the most care in the world, he gently lays the garnishes on top. He finishes with a half sliced hard boiled egg on top.

“Looks beautiful,” His mom spooks him, looking over his shoulder. “Just doing my job,” He says, but of course she knows better. 

“What about mine? I worked hard too,” His dad jokes, presenting his plate of curry to his wife. “I don’t think Jungwon will care too much for the presentation if it’s just going into his stomach.” She chuckles.

“Is it ready to serve? I can take it,” Jongseong speedily grabs the plate and sets it on his serving tray. “Don’t drop it.” His dad winks as he exits the kitchen. 

Jongseong scoffs, and makes a swift beeline to your booth. There he finds you (and Jungwon) waiting for him eagerly. 

“Wow! This looks amazing!” You gasp as he sets your bowl down, spinning it to the perfect angle for you. “I have to take a photo,” You pop out your phone, and immediately snap a couple of pictures of the divine meal in front of you. 

Jongseong admires you, he loved how excited you got about his dishes especially. It warmed his heart seeing you enjoy a meal he made, you were so precious and genuine. If he could, he’d cook you every meal for the rest of your life-

“Ahem. My food.” Jungwon frowns, eyeing his slightly cold curry still sitting on Jongseong’s tray. 

“Oh, sorry, here.” He places it in front of his best friend haphazardly. Jungwon rolls his eyes and grabs his utensils. As he digs in, you also finally decide to eat as well. 

You grab a pair of chopsticks, and carefully mix in all the ingredients, your mouth is salivating as you do so. 

“This weather is perfect for dongchimi guksu, thanks so much!” You grin up at him. Jongseong swears he could have fallen to his knees from that alone. 

You create the perfect bite: noodles, kimchi, and cucumbers all in one. You happily slurp away, chewing with the most adorable smile Jongseong has ever witnessed in his 17 years of age.

“This is so good! Every time!” You clasp your hands together as you shoot heart eyes to your bowl, making him laugh. “Glad you like it,” He grins. “I’ll let you guys eat, I’ll be back in a bit.” He bids before leaving. 

You and Jungwon are both silent, giving him a pair of thumbs up as your mouths are too full.

Jungwon is long gone, and the sun is setting outside, yet you’re still here. 

The restaurant is surprisingly slow, but it was also a Monday, so it made sense. Jongseong was technically finished with his shift, but he found himself making you a special dessert.

A secret menu item, a Japanese style parfait. He’d decorated it with ice cream, sponge cake, fresh fruits, granola, and even syrup and cookies. Despite it being a simple dessert, he’d made it with his whole heart and soul. 

With a brave face, he braces himself outside the kitchen, trying to act casual as he approaches your booth. 

You’re busy doing your homework, you don’t even notice him until he sits down beside you. 

“Oh, hey,” You smile, scooting over to make room, while simultaneously clearing up the table for him. 

“Hi.” He swallows thickly. “I made you this.” He presents the parfait, setting it down.

You gasp, a hand covering your face in shock. “Do you like it?” He asks meekly, scared of your reaction. 

“Do I like it? Jongseong I love it!” You squeal. “This is so pretty! I love parfaits!” You coo, automatically getting your phone out. As you take some photos, Jongseong sits with rosy cheeks, his smile never leaving. 

“Try it,” He urges, and you instantly scoop some into your mouth. With a satisfied hum you lean back into your seat. “This is the best parfait I’ve had in my entire life.” You sigh. 

“How many have you had?” He laughs. “Just this one, but it’s the best.” You admit, making him shake his head.

“You should have some too, here,” You scoop some with your spoon and face him, opening your mouth slightly as if to instruct him to copy. 

Were you being serious right now? You wanted to feed him?! With the same spoon?!

“Just kidd-” Before you can swipe the spoon away, Jongseong leans in and catches it, taking a bite of the parfait. 

“It’s pretty good,” He nods. “We should add it to the menu.” On the outside he’s nonchalant, he acts as if he could care less. But internally, he’s freaking out. 

Not only did he steal your bite, he shared your spoon, you guys indirectly kissed. This was a dream come true.

Trying his best to seem normal, he glances your way. And what he sees surprises him.

Your cheeks are completely red. Your eyes are wide open, mouth slightly ajar as you stare not at the spoon, but his lips.

You quickly snap out of it, though still disturbed, you just nod your head and scoop back into the parfait preparing for another bite.

But just as you’re about to eat, you pause. You’ve noticed it too. 

You close your eyes and confidently take the bite, before suddenly setting the spoon down. “I have to use the restroom.” You say a bit awkwardly. “Okay,” Jongseong nods.

You excuse yourself and flee down the hallway. Jongseong watches you disappear before sighing and relaxing against the seat. 

His eyes naturally fall back to the spoon resting on your napkin, and he immediately feels his face, ears, and practically his whole body, heat up. Deciding he needs to get back to work, he stands up to take refuge in the kitchen.

His lips tingle as he smiles to himself, your lipgloss tastes like strawberries.

Entry 002: 23/05/24 | Entry 004: 21/06/24

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[omgidklolwtf]

Study Session🍎

You absolutely knew studying with Caleb would be a terrible idea and you were correct. You find yourself rereading the same sentence for the 10th time and you still can’t focus on what it says. Not when Caleb glances up at you with a flirty little smirk every 60 seconds. You’re in the library, sitting across from each other at a long study table. He’s idly twirling a pen between his fingers, flipping through a mechanical manual for something that he has already taken apart and put back together with no instructions.

“Caleb!” You scold him is a hushed tone. “Stop it!”

He has mastered the puppy eyes. “What did I do?” He says, glancing up at you with an innocent expression.

“You know what! I can’t focus with you staring at me like that!”

“Why don’t you get some fresh air? You’ve been at it for awhile. Maybe you need a break.”

He wasn’t wrong. You have been studying for your hunters examination for several hours a week. As your first day off in a while approaches, you are feeling pretty burnt out. You lean back in your chair, rolling your shoulders and stretching your neck side to side. “You’re right. I need a breather. I’m gonna stretch my legs for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

You push yourself back from the table and head up the stairs of the library to get a bottle of water from the vending machine. It’s already 9 PM so much of the space has been cleared of people. You decide to take advantage of the quiet and pace the rows of bookshelves, loving the smell of the library books.

You are mindlessly strolling when all of a sudden you feel a firm tug on your elbow, and before you know it, you are being whipped around and pressed up against the bookshelf. “Caught you,” Caleb says with a gleam in his purple eyes as he catches your mouth with his. Forcing your mouth open with his tongue as he tugs you against him by your waist.

“Caleb what are you doing?! Someone is going to hear us!” You shove against his chest, somewhat wobbly from the delicious sneak attack.

“Not if you’re quiet babygirl.”

Caleb begins kissing and licking your neck. You nervously scan right to left to make sure no one is around. “Caleb someone could come any minute.” You weakly try to squirm out of his grip, trying to make a show of resisting when in truth you’ve needed this all day. Needed him all day.

He uses his gravity evol to hold you in place so his hands are free to explore and pleasure your body. “Oh no no no no,” he says against your neck. Trailing kisses down to your collarbone. “I’m not going to let you go that easily.”

You can’t help but bite your lip at his gravely tone. Your nipples harden from his touch. You lean your head back against the bookshelf, watching Caleb as he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them before gliding them down your body and into your jeans. Parting you with his fingers and sticking his middle finger deep inside you. He curls it against your gspot while he uses his palm to rub your clit.

You hiss as you suck your breath in sharply through your teeth. You try to hold back your moan, cautious to keep as quiet as possible. Caleb squeezes your breasts with his free hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth across your hard nipple before pinching. The pain causing a yelp to escape your throat.

“You’re so wet for me already.” He presses you into the bookshelf, grinning at the look of pleasure he is currently evoking from you. He increases his speed and pressure, rubbing your pussy so good that you begin to rock your hips back and forth, riding his hand.

“Mmm,” he moans against your mouth. “Be a good girl and fuck my fingers.”

When Caleb talks like that it drives you insane. Electricity shooting through your body. For a moment you forget where you are. Your breathing becomes ragged and you moan Caleb’s name. “Mmm, oh God Caleb. Yes please make me cum.”

Caleb slips another finger inside you, pumping into you, rubbing your clit and sucking on your neck. Your orgasm about to explode out of you. “Mmm, baby yes oh my god.”

Your body starts to twitch, your pussy walls clenching Caleb’s fingers like a vice. You release your orgasm then, crying out in pleasure.

Caleb covers your mouth with his hand, locking eyes with you as you bite his hand in an effort to hold back the noise of your undoing. He is so turned on by the sight of your full body shakes from the strength of your orgasm. He chuckles soft, “yes, that’s my girl.”

Caleb removes his hand slowly from your pussy and brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting your cum and cleaning his fingers. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, allowing you a taste before lowering his head and sweeping his tongue into your mouth. You are still panting from pleasure but you swirl your tongue against his, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pulling him in tight for a thank you kiss for how amazing he makes you feel.

“That felt so good. I’m hungry now.”

Caleb chuckles, moving a strand of hair off your forehead. “Enough studying for tonight. Let’s go home. I’ll play with your hair while you have a bedtime snack on the couch.”

You smile up at Caleb, it’s like he read your mind. You love laying down with your head in his lap, sharing apple slices and unwinding together.

“Sounds perfect.”

[vodika-vibes]

In This Life

Summary: When you and Hardcase manage to catch a glimpse into an alternate timeline (due to a mix of Jedi and Sith artifacts) you learn that you’re not together. In fact, Hardcase doesn’t even know you. For some reason, this doesn’t bother him half as much as it bothers you.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Hardcase x Jedi! GN!Reader

Word Count: 1092

Warnings: None

A/N: So this story is set in a timeline just to the left of the canon timeline, where most everything is the same, but Anakin isn't the General of the 501st. In fact, he's not part of the Jedi Order at all, or if he is, he's part of the ExploraCorps. Please note! If you put yourself on my taglist, and you're not being tagged for some reason, check your visibility!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

“Baby,” Hardcase groans, more asleep than awake, as he rolls over and drapes all of his weight across your body, stopping you from rolling over in bed for the tenth time in ten minutes, “Go to sleep.”

“Sorry, ‘case.” You reply, sheepishly, “I’m not trying to keep you awake.”

He presses a light kiss against your shoulder, and you’re filled with a surge of affection towards the man laying on you. Gently you trail your fingers down his back, and he releases a content sigh.

“Why can’t you sleep?” He asks, some of the grogginess fading as he blinks up at you.

You avert your gaze, “No reason, really.”

His eyes narrow, then he sets his hands on the bed next to your head, and he lifts himself so he’s holding himself off of you, “You’re thinking about the mirror still, aren’t you?”

“...no.” You lie, poorly.

“Baby.”

You purse your lips, and then glance at him, “It really doesn’t bother you that we’re not together in that world?” You ask him, almost hesitantly.

“I dunno. Not really.” He shrugs, “I mean, think about it. If we were together in every reality, then this,” He gestures between himself and you, “seems like it’s, I dunno, ordained or something.”

You tilt your head curiously, not sure you’re following his thought process.

“I like the idea that I chose you, and you chose me.” He adds with a tiny smile, “Not that we’re destined lovers or that some higher power had a hand in pushing us together. But that we picked each other.”

“Oh.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, “You don’t feel the same, I take it?”

You hesitate, and then look away, “It’s dumb.”

“Your feelings are never dumb, cyare.” Hardcase lowers himself so he’s laying on you again, though he’s careful to shift his weight so that he’s not crushing you, “Talk to me. What are you thinking?”

“I just…” You twist your lips, “I liked the idea that I would always pick you and that you would always pick me. Not that we were destined to be together, but that you would always fall in love with me and I would always fall in love with you.”

Hardcase lazily trails his lips across the bridge of your nose, “This is really bothering you, huh?”

“Yeah, well.” You shrug, “I already get enough shit from people for dating you, so that thought helped.”

He pulls back, “What.”

“What what?”

“People are giving you shit about dating me? Who? Why? I want names.”

You blink at him, bemused, “I’ve been accused of taking advantage of you. Multiple times. By multiple people.”

“...I asked you out.”

“I know.”

“I had to beg you to go on a date with me.”

“I remember.”

“You turned me down half a dozen times.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Have you told them this?” Hardcase asks.

“They don’t care. Or they think I’m lying. Or they believe me and they still don’t think it matters because you’re ‘only ten’. Their words, not mine.”

He stares at you, jaw dropped, “Do I look like a ten year old?” Hardcase asks, deeply offended.

“I don’t think so.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he huffs and catches your lips with his own, “I’ve changed my mind.”

“About?”

“We’re now destined lovers. A higher power took one look at us and decided that I was made for you and you were made for me.”

You muffle your laugh, “Case—“

“Will that make them shut up, do you think?”

“I mean, the ones who genuinely believe you’re a child probably won’t care about that either.” You offer with a wry smile.

“Child.” Hardcase repeats, “They think I’m a child. I...legitimately don’t know what to do with that information.” He squints at you, “Do they see Commander Cody as a child too? Alpha-17? The Nulls?”

“Yeah, probably.” You squint at him, “Someone actually named himself The Nulls?”

“What? Oh, no. The Nulls are the oldest of us. There’s 6 of them. I can’t tell you their names because they don’t have much to do with the rest of us.” He pauses, “Though, maybe I’ll reach out and let them know that there’s a portion of the population who think we’re children. That’ll be fun to watch.”

Gently you press your fingers to Hardcase’s cheek, drawing his attention back to you. He falls silent as you lightly trace his tattoos. Starting with the ones on his face, and then trailing your fingers to the ones on his neck, and then across his chest.

He watches you, his lips slightly parted, “What were we talking about?”

You smile at him reassuringly, “We were talking about how people give me a hard time about dating you, and then got side-tracked.”

“Oh, right.” He leans in and kisses you, slowly and deeply. “How’s this then? Right here, right now. In this life. I pick you. I will always pick you. I don’t care what other people say.”

“What happens when the war ends, though? And you have your pick from other people?”

“What other people? You’re who I want. Always. Since the first time Rex introduced you to us as our General.”

“That early?”

“I tripped over Jesse and he’s never let me live it down.” Hardcase admits.

You blink at him, “You didn’t,”

“I did. I was so dazzled by you, that I tripped right into him and knocked him to the ground.” Hardcase kisses you again, and again, “I feel bad for the Hardcase of the other reality, in truth.”

“Yeah?” You ask against his lips.

“My life is so much better with you in it. How sad the other Hardcase’s life must have been.” His lips trail to your throat, and you yelp when he bites down hard enough to leave a noticeable bite mark, “Besides, the other Hardcase’s General? Not half as attractive as you.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” His hand slides down your body, skimming over your sleep clothes, “But if you don’t believe me, I’m happy to remind you. In fact, I think I should anyway. Just to reassure you, of course.”

You laugh as he tosses the blanket off your bed, “Hardcase, it’s 2 in the morning.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And we deploy in 5 hours.”

“Five whole hours to remind you how stunning you are? That’s very generous.” He counters with a grin.

And, well, you’ve never been able to say no to Hardcase, not when he looks at you like that. Rex is definitely going to yell at you. Again.

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[confusionism]

“Feels like a good time to call it,” he agrees, because he knows a little something about getting carried away and ‘flying too close to the sun.’ That and it’d probably only draw more attention, pushing things further and breaking another record— because that’s just how much Aiden believes in Anna. That she’d play so hard that she’d clear out the entire prize rack and get them both banned from Whack-a-Mole.

Call it silly if you must, but it’s not wholly out-of-place in the context of the circumstances, he gives Eliza a pat on the head and asks, “What you think, E?” The second addition to their growing ‘family,’ and he’s already got a couple ideas where to set her. He won’t ask Timmy; comfy in the kind of shell that Aiden sometimes wishes he had, that turtle is set to go.

Moments later, in a way, Aiden channels his inner turtle. He sticks close to Anna’s side, slipping their hands together as they walk and giving her palm a squeeze. It’s not coach’s intuition. Really. It doesn’t take the keenest of senses to make out the kid from earlier, both in bouncing stature and boisterous volume. Considering the nature of where they are — far from the buzz of the city and surrounded by folks of all ages looking to enjoy the early spring evening — he doesn’t think that the matter is anything serious.

But Aiden wouldn’t be himself if he weren’t a little bit encouraged by the chants.

“I never tried this game before,” and yet he looks like a professional, taking the rod into his hands and winding up the tiny handle. “Been fishing once or twice,” under the pretense that it would be the most relaxing activities, perfect for the off-season, “but I never really got into it?” Maybe it was too quiet, too peaceful for a mind always running at top speeds. Still, he listens carefully to the instructions and zones in.

The objective of the game is easy: catch the ducks. Each duck is magnetic, but the bottom has colors corresponding to a certain prize. Most of them are blank, giving the grand reward of nothing, and then the rest improves from there. One part competition, one part luck. Based on the frustration of the other players, who either can't snag a thing or keep losing their ducks mid-reel, it just might be more of the latter.

Aiden thinks he’s a pretty lucky guy. Countless opportunities in life, in work— and he’s definitely the luckiest when it comes to his love romantic life, no explanation needed. The brat is already getting scolded for tossing his line too far, for snagging the hook against the side of the tent, but it’s nothing that an apologetic smile (and a couple extra pounds) from his father can’t fix. And Aiden? Well… He’s far more patient in comparison. He gives the yellow floaters a long glance before finally aiming for one duck that seems to travel slower than its brethren. It locks onto the end of his line easily, and after reeling it in, slowly and surely, he turns it over.

“What does red mean?”

"That's our baby right there." A moment, just one, of maternal instinct. Because just as well, Anna's dark eyes turn back to the brightly lit stage. Mallet in hand and a surging kiss on Aiden's kiss for goodluck. She feels like the star player on his team, dominant and strong. All the things Leo claimed to be and put out into the world. All the things Anna felt she wasn't, all things she can safely be with Aiden by her side. Success only comes because he's dialed in, equal parts supportive and yet impossible to fail. So Anna doesn't, and there's lights and whistles and a very loud kid screaming bloody murder.

"Eliza the Elephant!" Quick to name, as she accepts the giant grey elephant with a pink bow wrapped around its neck. Makes sense - something miniature like Timmy, now something huge like Eliza. They'll have to make room in the den. She's balancing Timmy in her arms, head tilted to accept Aiden's attention. Sure, there's claps and hollers for her victory. But Anna would trade it all in for the way Aiden beams at her.

"Anna." She says, when the teenager gets up on her step stool to arrange the "top scorer" and looks to her for a name. Which, incidentally, catches her attention long enough to narrow in on the woman beneath the cap. With a sheepish shrug, she nudges Aiden. "We should end on a high, don't you think?" Before she gets distracted by the candied apples or the ring toss, and loses top position. Besides, the kid seems relentless.

"What about duck fishing?" It seems exactly like Aiden's speed. A competition on precision, patience, and slight movements. Now that the rage is worked out of her, Anna can finally take the whole area in. The calm it can provide, when she isn't spending it on the whack-a-mole game. "I feel like you'd be a pro." She finally gets a good arm around Eliza, her free hand reaching for his. Stopping in front of the fishing game, a curious eye behind her.

"I think that kid's following us." Because clearly, saying 'no' to a rematch wasn't going to be enough. His dad following helplessly behind him, toting his cotton candy and tokens. "Rematch, rematch!" He chants at Aiden and Anna, already accepting the fishing rod.

[fibvlaa]

There now, steady love..

[uisceb]

Okay I want to talk about this moment between Morrible and Glinda for a sec because it adds such a wonderfully sinister layer to a scene that is otherwise a triumphant defining moment for Elphaba, and it sets up the dynamics for Part 2 so perfectly.

At this point, we are in the thick of “Defying Gravity.” Everyone’s attention is on Elphaba - and rightfully so, she’s up there declaring war on the Wizard, displaying incredible feats of magic, of course everyone’s attention is on her.

…Everyone, except Morrible.

Morrible has realized that Plan A was a bust, but rather than panicking, she’s already worked over Plans B through Z in her head and has realized that Glinda, not Elphaba, is actually the key figure here. Glinda is actually the best thing that could have happened to them.

Mind you, Morrible hates Glinda. She thinks Glinda is vapid and attention-seeking and completely without talent. It would be extremely easy for her to brand Glinda as an accomplice to Elphaba, have the guards drag her off, imprison her, never have to deal with her again, nice and neat.

Instead, while everyone else is focused on Elphaba, Morrible only has eyes for Glinda. She zeroes in on her, releases her, and comforts her, because she understands what no one else understands, which is that yes, that’s great that the Wizard now has an enemy to unify his people against, but they also need a symbol of hope, something that is the exact antithesis to Elphaba, something to keep everyone at extremes. 

The Wizard himself can’t really be a symbol of hope, because the key to his success is that he remains shrouded in mystery, and yes people think he’s wonderful, but there’s a level of uncertainty and intimidation to him. He is Oz the Great and Terrible, and everyone’s preeeeeetty sure he’s a good guy, but if you have someone like Elphaba out there - who Morrible knows from experience is very smart, very articulate, and has her own sort of magnetism - there’s a potential that she could turn at least enough people against the Wizard to make things very inconvenient.

So what they need, now that they have an enemy, is to have an equally magnetic figurehead representing the Wizard who embodies all these one-dimensional ideas of goodness, someone for the public to adore and fawn over so the association between Wizard and Goodness is crystal clear.

And by bringing Glinda along, Elphaba has unknowingly served that figurehead up on a platter.

Glinda is everything Elphaba isn’t, from personality, to appearance - Morrible has already set Elphaba up by calling her green skin an “outward manifestorium of her twisted nature,” which paves the way for Glinda, who is the perfect conventional beauty, to be an “outward manifestorium” of pure goodness. 

Morrible realizes they need these two lightning rods of Absolute Evil and Absolute Good in order to manipulate people - fear alone isn’t enough; the only way to effectively radicalize the populace is to make sure there is no gray area whatsoever, no room for question: you're either good, or you’re evil. And the Wizard alone isn’t a strong enough representation of “goodness” when by virtue of existing, he has to remain in the shadows. Glinda on the other hand? With her looks and her charm and her openness and her ability to expertly win over a crowd? Perfect for the role.

Now the tricky part for Morrible is taking into consideration that Glinda and Elphaba love each other. But we also know from earlier scenes that Morrible is a master at manipulating emotions. Right from the start when Elphaba is having trouble with her magic, Morrible casually brings up the “Animals should be seen and not heard” disturbance from class, spoon-feeding her just enough to get Elphaba upset, triggering her magic, after which Morrible makes sure to give her assurance and praise to keep Elphaba optimistic about her power.

She’s also aware that Glinda does have quite a bit of influence over Elphaba, because when Elphaba flees, Morrible immediately tasks her with winning her over, rather than simply relying on the guards or even going after Elphaba herself. She knows if anyone has a chance at roping Elphaba back in, it's Glinda.

Obviously, Glinda isn’t successful in getting her back, but while this puts a dent in Morrible’s plans to get control of Elphaba, it does give her an extra weak spot to exploit in Glinda.

So now, at the height of “Defying Gravity” when Elphaba has officially taken her stand against them, Morrible sees Glinda, and Glinda is at her most vulnerable, her most emotionally fragile. Not only is she heartbroken and in shock, she’s also just witnessed in real time exactly how easy it is to turn an entire nation against someone. She’s scared, she’s powerless. She’s just lost the love of her life her only friend, she has no one to turn to - Morrible has definitely picked up on the fact that even though Glinda has countless people who fawn over her, none of them can be considered a true friend except for Elphaba, which means Glinda is completely isolated. Glinda also has a very limited understanding of the bigger picture of what the Wizard is trying to accomplish, and because she’s never been a victim of the system the way Elphaba has, she is still desperately clinging to the idea that everything will be okay as long as she plays by the rules of the people in power.

She has been perfectly primed for Morrible to begin manipulating, not through violence or intimidation, but by offering her comfort when no one else would - when not even Glinda’s only friend would - when no one else is even paying attention to Glinda, because they have the very real and present threat of Elphaba quite literally hanging over them. In this moment, Morrible chooses Glinda, which Glinda has been striving for since the beginning. Elphaba has chosen her principles, the Wizard has chosen his enemy, but Morrible has chosen Glinda, and in this moment of being so alone and so afraid and so betrayed, that makes all the difference.

We also get kind of a parallel shot too - Elphaba really sealed her fate the second her hand closed around the broom. But here, Glinda seals her fate when she gives in and reciprocates Morrible’s hold on her.

THIS is the moment that sets us up for Part 2, with Elphaba and Glinda as our lightning rods for Absolute Evil and Absolute Good, but more to the point, it makes it clear that they’ve BOTH been used, they’ve BOTH played right into these respective roles Morrible and the Wizard need in order to be successful - even if it wasn’t how Morrible originally planned for things to go.

I just love it, because “Defying Gravity” is Elphaba’s song - it’s triumphant, and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s everything a defining moment should be for a character. But by injecting this little moment between Morrible and Glinda into the scene, we also get an underlying current of dread because we know we’re about to see the consequences of Elphaba’s defiance versus Glinda’s compliance and how both serve to benefit the Wizard/Morrible’s propaganda.

TL;DR - when I said "I want to talk about this scene between Morrible and Glinda for a sec" I clearly meant "I'm gonna write a whole essay. Like a nerd."

[lalunanymph]

✧.* IN BLOOM

✧.* summary summer rains bring about the faint scent of asiatic apple blossoms wafting through the house from an open window in the kitchen. time stands still, fragments of moments leading you right to this very second. you take his hand and a deep breath. “anywhere you go, that’s where I want to be, caleb.” 

it’s all the permission he needs. 

✧.* warnings first time, mutual virginity loss, slightttt psuedo-cest if you squint, soft and smutty, size kink, spanking, oral sex, mating press, dirty talk, breeding, slight aftercare at the end, pillowtalk

✧.* dawn says something different from the dark content i usually write and tried my best to balance fluff and the feelings of losing your v-card for the first time (cue rose from titanic's voice: "it's been 84 yearsssss…")

It’s the middle of the night somewhere in Skyhaven. 

The street lights reflect puddles of rain left from a thunderstorm, and the air smells faintly of petrichor, reassuring weary strays and rain-soaked passersby alike that the worst is already over. 

While the world dries off from another raging tempest, inside Caleb’s home, you’re in his arms, warm and tipsy from the intimacy of shallow breaths gracing your parted lips. 

Smack. Huff. A caress. 

Slick and hot, the soft sounds of his kisses make you flush deeper, and you tighten your fingers in his hair. 

Caleb moans, unrestrained, as he feels you shift on his lap. Like a drug, he can’t get enough of you. The smell of wildflowers in your hair, how you taste like the strawberry balm he bought for you days ago when you complained of chapped lips. Slick fruitiness glides over his parched mouth, making his kisses glide effortlessly. 

He tangles his tongue with yours, sending a jolt of desire running up your spine. 

“Mhmph,” you moan against his mouth. “Oh… Caleb .” 

His name, sticky sweet with cadences of love, slips past your bruised lips, and he swears his heart chokes on a stutter.

Cool fingers push a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and he hums, those purple eyes vortexes of yearning. The maelstrom of emotion in them makes your chest squeeze, and you lean into his touch, breath coming out in a soft huff.

The unspoken tenuous line looms before the two of you, and you wonder if tonight is the night you’ll dare cross it. 

Flames from the digital fireplace flicker, synchronous with the temperature on the thermostat bumping up a notch, the one Caleb got installed because you grumbled that Skyhaven was colder than you remembered. Beads of sweat drip down his temples, but he doesn’t pay them any mind. 

You gently run the back of your hand against the muggy skin, wiping his perspiration away. 

This close, your breaths mingle and blend into one, the tips of your nose rubbing against each other. 

Inevitably, Caleb would pull back, sigh, and tell you to go to sleep while he takes a ridiculously long cold shower. You’d be left alone in your room, an ache blooming between your thighs, and frustration keeping you up all night.

That bastard. 

At your core, you understand your ex-older brother figure didn’t mean to edge you to the precipice of oblivion. His protective tendencies, while great in keeping danger away from you, are a hindrance to taking the next, natural step forward together.

As you feather another kiss to his jaw, you feel him pull back. 

Caleb’s cheeks are ruddy, not from the heat of the room, but from the one building between the two of you. 

He licks his lips, inadvertently drawing your attention to the puffy flesh which is still sticky from your errant smears of lip oil. With a huge sigh, he drags himself back from your orbit, as if he can’t bear to be within crashing distance of your surface. 

“Pipsqueak, it’s late,” Caleb whispers, the tenderness of his words brushing against your earlobe. 

You shiver when his teeth graze the sensitive flesh. 

“You need to sleep—”

Stubbornly, or perhaps, foolishly, you tighten your grip around his neck and drag him closer to you till his forehead bumps yours.

Your lips seek him with a newfound determination, and he almost stumbles back into the stuffed cushion, a moan of desperation slipping past his carefully crafted self-control. 

“Pip—”

“No,” you mumble heatedly, and drag your tongue across his lower lip, begging him for access into his mouth. 

Caleb reluctantly parts his lips and you tangle your tongue with his, tasting the sweetness of the apple soda he just drank half an hour ago. 

“Mhm,” he moans, and gives in to your momentary distraction, knotting his fingers into your already disheveled hair.

Something hard pokes your lower belly, and you whine into the heat of his kisses, running your tongue over the hard palate of his teeth. 

Caleb tightens his grip on your hips, and relents into the force of your yearning, feeling the contours of your body melting against the hard planes of his own muscular build. You shiver when he dips his fingers past the hemline of the tank top you’re wearing, your breasts pressed up to his chiseled pecs. He’s bare except for a low-slung pair of sweatpants, temptation right in the palm of your hand.

Your nipples pebble from the friction of his body slowly rubbing against yours, and the need he’s been stoking throbs warmly between your thighs, an aching thirst demanding to be quenched.

“ Caleb… ” 

The whispered moan feathers across his cheeks, grazing him with the warm softness that is entirely you.

In his arms, you’re sin waiting to be devoured—those doe-innocent eyes and warm, wet mouth that get him harder than steel. 

He whimpers when your lower body drags against his bulge, and winces when you giggle and gently nip his lower lip.

“Pipsqueak—”

Hoarse and ragged, the sound of your childhood nickname brings you up short.

“Caleb, why do you always insist on calling me that when I’m trying to… you know…” you trail off, equally as shy as him. 

It’s clear he doesn’t expect you to directly address the elephant in the room. But, after almost losing him once to the explosion and another time to his spiraling secrets, you desperately want to hold on to the man who had taught you what love was.

Caleb’s thumbs stroke the fleshy part of your hips, drawing tender circles on your skin. Those purple eyes flash like a doleful puppy’s and you resist the urge to pinch his cheek. He looks like he’s in pain—as if one touch from you could break him. 

“Are you sure?” 

His voice is hoarse. Uncertain.

“Once we do this, it’s…” he trails off. Years of knowing his ins and outs make you privy to the true meaning of his hesitation: 

Are you sure you want to cross this line with me? 

Your fingers tremble when they caress his jaw. Summer rains bring about the faint scent of Asiatic apple blossoms wafting through the house from an open window in the kitchen. 

Time stands still, fragments of moments leading you upright to this very second. 

You take his hand and a deep breath. Caleb sees your crystal clear eyes, free from the shadows of the doubt creeping into his mind. He tastes the first stirrings of hope, right in the center of his rib cage where his heart pounds valiantly, and tightens his grip on your hand.

You look at him like he’s something precious —gold and gems in the palm of your hand. Tenderly, you press a kiss to his forehead, tasting the salt of his skin, and murmur: 

“Anywhere you go, that’s where I want to be, Caleb. ” 

It’s all the permission he needs. 

Caleb snaps you up into his arms effortlessly, using his unbeatable strength to carry you back to his bedroom, his lips never leaving yours.

The heat of the moment is only broken when he sets you down on the bed, his lips detaching from yours for a moment to trail down your neck, nipping and sucking his marks all over the pristine canvas of your skin. You gasp, arching into his touch, when he nuzzles his face into the crook of your shoulder; biting down on the stretch of skin just begging to be marked by him.

He slides the strap of your tank top to the side, stamping more heated kisses down onto your shoulder, the jut of your arm. Every loving graze is punctuated by his devotion, those violet eyes brewing with the storm of his affection about to snap and break. 

Caleb… you whine, and he answers with a low grunt, his entire weight bearing down on you.

As kids, he’s always had the unfair advantage of his build and age to win at wrestling. Gran would often find the two of you entangled on the rug, you flushed and seething and him glowing with triumph when he’s won—yet again. 

But, the press of his body on yours is different this time. 

It carries a more intimate intention, all of which is far from the innocence of playfully fighting each other for the last hawthorn-flavored candy in the fridge, or the privilege of choosing what Saturday morning cartoons to watch. 

He sweeps your hair back, letting it drape over your other shoulder as he moves his lips to the delicate stretch of skin still untouched by the heat of his mouth. Caleb’s teeth graze your pulse point, and you jerk, as if electrocuted. 

“Nghm,” you moan, and he huffs a chuckle, his warm breath making goosebumps erupt across your arms. “ Fuc—”

“Uh-uh,” he chastises, the heat of his mouth swelling over your pulse point, gently sucking on your skin. Leaving another errant mark. “Don’t swear—good princesses never swear.”

Teeth sink into your lower lip. You feel dizzy and elated at the same time like you’re standing on the highest point of the earth, looking down at the swirling colors below.

“Ngh—C-Caleb. ” 

Oh, you sound so weak. Already driven to your knees, metaphorically, for this man who had as much power over you as you did over him. 

“Yeah, princess?” 

He moves his lips down to your sternum, hot puffs making your nipples perk up from her dormant slumber. They tent underneath the ratty, old t-shirt you’re wearing, the one that used to belong to him, demanding to be sucked and teased.

Caleb is careful to not push your boundaries, but you don’t want any of that.

Grabbing his head, you press it none-too-gently in between the valley of your tits, wordlessly signaling what you need.

His dog tag shines in the low light of his bedroom, the apple charm a glint of red that complements the fog of lust taking over you. Everywhere you look, you feel, is nothing but Caleb.

He presses you flat into the bed, the sheets bunching up under you and in your tight fists. 

“Don’t touch… not yet. Can you follow my orders, baby?” 

There’s no choice for you, but to nod. 

Slowly, like molasses dripping from the lip of a bottle, he wraps his mouth around your turgid, right nipple. The dampness of his saliva seeps past the thin fabric, and you cry out when he bites down on your bud, the brief flash of pain lighting up your nerves from head to toe.

 Slick need saturates the seat of your old sleep pants. You whimper when the head of his cock drives between the cleft of your pussy, digging against your clit. 

Sparks of pleasure ricochet from the tips of your fingers up to your hairline and you groan, mouth falling lax.

He takes his time, swirling his tongue over your tender peak, broad strokes of his tongue spreading more spit and heat, wetting the front of your shirt. It’s methodical, how every stroke of attention stacks up to a building heat throbbing at your core.

A supernova of desire, bulging and waiting to explode.

(And, he hasn’t even fucked you yet).

Caleb moves his attention to your other peak, and you cry out when he nibbles on it, your hands breaking formation from the bed where he’s ordered them to be stationed, and tangling disobediently in his dark hair.

But, he doesn’t chastise you. 

Caleb continues to purl swathes of his tongue over your tender nipple, flickering his darkened gaze up to the line of your jaw as the pleasure unfurls across your heated face.

You choke on another cry when he pries your thighs further apart, settling his bigger build between them. 

“Look at you.” Heated derision drips from his venomous lips, and you lap them up, tilting his head up to taste his lips. You’re not sure how you ended up in this position when it was you who wanted this. The last bit of control you have dissipates, and your body falls open for him like the spine of a well-read book. 

It scares you how much Caleb knows about your body. The small scar above your knee when you crashed your bike into the wide trunk of an oak tree. The grooves of your neck now bear his kisses and marks.

Despite staying true to his word about never getting a girlfriend, Caleb is mysteriously nimble and sure for a virgin. 

“Did you have another girl before me?”

You don’t mean to sound accusatory, but the words fly from your puffy lips and you can’t take them back.

Not when he glances up at you as if you had insulted thirteen generations of his family.

“Uh—no,” he mutters defensively, caustically pushing back his sweat-soaked bangs from his flushed face. “ Excuseeee me, princess. What’s with that tone? You know you’re the only woman I’d ever touch.”

You purse your lips and level him another glare, though it’s tempered by a glowing warmth in your chest. 

“R-really?” 

You hate how whiny you sound, like a psychotic girlfriend. But, Caleb does have a penchant for bringing out the crazy in you when you least expect it.

He brings your knuckles to his lips, feathering a soft kiss on them. “Yeah. Why do you think I took so many cold showers growing up? This little pipsqueak is far too tempting for me.” He punctuates his point with another kiss on the nape of your neck. 

His Adam's apple bobs from the admission, and your eyes widen. 

“Huh. I seeee .” 

You drag your words like him, playfully pinching his cheek. “That’s… kinda sweet.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” his gruffness reminds you of a ruffled puppy, and you laugh, tugging his silver chain with two fingers. 

The scene flickers. The man on top of you cracks, and a fragment of the boy you grew up with glimmers; the past merges with the present, and the essence of who Caleb is grins mischievously right in front of you. 

Like so many times before, he tackles you onto the bed, hands flying underneath your shirt to tickle your sides.

“No! Caleb! I yield! I yield—! ” 

Your infectious laughter bounces across the monochromatic walls of his room and fills his lungs with bubbles of joy. 

“Yeah, you better,” he threatens jokingly. While you’re still giggling, he grabs the hem of your shirt and gives it an experimental tug. When you don’t resist, Caleb pushes the envelope of your consent and lifts the shirt past the smooth terrain of your tummy, inching it up slowly… so slow… 

His fingers are trembling, and you take over, helping him with the last stretch, leaning up to tug your shirt completely off your body. 

Your chest squeezes with a mix of dread and anticipation when he eyes your bare breasts, a myriad of emotions flitting across those deep-set purple eyes.

Need, desire, shame, anger—tenderness.

His eyes speak the truth, even when he remains silent, and no matter how much he changes into the stoic Colonel you now have to coincide with your gentle older brother figure, those irises will always betray his true emotions for you. 

Now, they’re gooey with a feeling neither of you can name, as he peppers more kisses around the plush fat of your breast. Taking his time, he teases you with puffs of hot breath and grazes of his teeth.

Working you up to a crescendo of need before he gives you what you want. 

And god, do you want it.

Your body is arching tighter than a bow ready to strike, so keyed up from his few touches and the previous makeout session. 

“Caleb—”

“Yeah, gotcha.” 

He samples the flavor of your skin, closer now to your nipple. Your thoughts flat lines into a white-hot buzzing hum when he finally— finally —wraps his lips around your tender bud. 

Fuuucckkk. Your keening sigh sends a chill straight to his bones. 

Suckling tenderly, he pulls the taut flesh into the enticing vacuum of his mouth and releases it, forming a small ‘O’ with his puffy lips and moving on to your next breast. 

The twinge of unending sucking and nibbling rubs your tender flesh raw. 

Caleb… Caleb… 

You’re panting like you’re racing a marathon. He leaves a bunch of hickies down the pillowy fat of your tits, making his mark loud and clear on your body for the world to see.

A possessive hint curls on the edges of his smile and he braces himself on his forearms, juicy biceps glistening in the interplay of shadow and light in this muggy room. 

Peeling your glassy eyes at him, you huff, grumbling.

“Tease.”

He laughs heartily at your adorable accusation.

“Never said I wasn’t a right bastard, love,” he coos, cocky and sure. You want to wipe the smirk off his infuriatingly handsome face.

Leaning up, your spit-soaked nipples rub the hard planes of his broad chest, and you tangle your hand in his hair, drawing him down into the plush sin of your eager kisses.

“S-low down,” he huffs, smothered by your smacking little puckers. 

You giggle, a vixen on the loose, needing to rein her mate in. “Nuh-uh. Not until you finally fuck me senseless.”

Caleb cocks a brow. “S’that an invitation, darlin’?” 

Stuttering, you realize your mistake a second too late when he prowls over you, pressing you into the mattress, fluid like a panther locking sights on its prey.

“ Wait— ”

Caleb wastes no time hooking his thumbs under the frayed band of your shorts, tugging it down in staccato drags to mess with you. 

“ Caleb—! ” 

You whine, more turned on than annoyed by his teasing. It’s not until the sight of your mound appears, clinging to the edge of the band like the horizon of a new world beckoning to be explored does he stops, gaping at the sight with reddening ears.

It’s your turn to mess with him. “Cat got your tongue… gege?” 

He stares at the sliver of skin like a blind man feeling the sun on his face for the first time. 

“Shit,” he breathes. “You’re beautiful .” 

Tentatively, he drags the last remaining piece of clothing off your body, his breath lodging in the back of his throat. 

God… he groans. Pretty, little princess… gonna taste you so good.

Two worlds crash, sky to earth, and Caleb’s mouth meets the terrain of your pelvis. Traveling downward, he connects a path from hip to mound, and you feel his tongue sampling this uncharted territory. 

His broad back almost blocks out the light above and god—you’re already panting when the sharp jut of his shoulder blades creates an attractive silhouette sliding down the last few inches of your body, finding his haven in the juncture of your thighs. 

Caleb spreads' em’ nice and wide, making sure to run the tip of his tongue over the cushiony bounce of his lower lip. Shit, you murmur under your breath, before he dips his head and enjoys his meal. 

The tapered edge of his tongue touches your clit, and you lose the last semblance of control. 

You know Caleb’s always been a foodie, and the way he practically feasts on your pussy is no different.

Slick juices smear across his pretty mauve lips, and he slurps you up obscenely. The gloss of his spit lubes you up hotly from the inside, filling you with a pressing slick. 

Oh—mhmph… you groan, panting heavily. 

How was he so goddamn good with his tongue?

“Nghmm,” he moans, looking up at you with drunken purple eyes, lost in the sweetness of this sin he can’t stop devouring. “You taste heavenly.” 

Caleb presses into your pussy, treating her like an old lover he wants to French kiss till dawn. 

The high bridge of his nose bumps against your tender clitty, and he takes this chance to smear his lips all over your folds, rubbing your bundle of nerves raw. 

Your back lifts off from the bed and you can’t make sense of where you start and he ends.

“H-ahhh,” you moan, and twine your fingers in his hair, tugging.

“Easy,” he groans, lifting his wet, plump lips from where your core is inhaling him in. “Y’gonna make me bald in no time, princess…”

A senseless dribble of drool trickles past your lips, and you feel the thick toughness of his finger swiping it up, popping it into his mouth. Caleb grins, spreading your legs wider, and lifts your lower body off the bed. The sight of a dark spot seeping the front of his pants makes your breathing stutter, and you can’t keep your eyes away from such a lewd show. 

“See what’cha do to me, sweetness?” He moans and gingerly takes your hand with his right one to press it right on his crotch.

Holy shit. Your eyes bulge wide. 

He’s fucking huge.

You lick your lips in nerves, unable to tear your eyes away from the undulating mass of his rock-hard abs moving with every ragged breath he takes. 

“Is that…?” 

Caleb smirks, a dark look flitting in his eyes. “All for you?” he finishes. “Yeah, sweetness.” 

As if goading you to take the next step, he tips his head to the side, looking at you from under his thick lashes, his magnetic eyes pinning you to the bed.

“Wanna see it?” 

He guides your hand to rock against the hard bulge, and you swallow when you feel him twitch under your palm.

The reality of your position under him hits you, and you feel as if every breath you take might make you float up to the ceiling. Your mind is racing, a cacophony of thoughts that swirl and blend into one pulsing thrum of more, more, more. 

“Y-yeah.” 

He grunts at your admittance and steers your fingers to the edge of his band. “There you go—tug it down, princess…” 

You do as he says, and gasp when the crown of his cock comes into view. 

Girthy, thick. Veiny. 

A dark, almost violet-inky trail of hair leads down to the rise of his pubic bone, and you stare as the curve of his cock becomes more pronounced. Flaccid at 6 inches, he would rise to greater heights once released into the open air, and you panic, closing your fist around his still-clothed head as you beg him with your eyes to pause.

“Hold on…” you gasp. “Jus’ wait a minute.”

Caleb pauses, his eyes flashing. 

“You… don’t want this?” 

The implicit question hangs heavy in the air. 

You don't want me?

It pains you how quick he is to incriminate himself as undesirable when it's the furthest thing from the truth. 

“No!” you mumble and gently hook your fingers under his chin to get him to look at you. “I just… need a second to recalibrate cause… holy shit… you’re massive—”

He guffaws, shaking his head, boyish face lit up in joy. “S’that all? Aw, princess…” he coos and flicks your nose with his index finger. “Swear, you can be so adorable sometimes…” he teases, and you huff.

You take a deep breath and center yourself, before finding the courage to proceed with tugging down his boxers and sweatpants. 

“Okay…” you murmur, and un-fist the soft material, dragging it down with bated breath. 

There he is, in all his glory. 

He’s warm and alive in your hands, and you give the girthy base a generous pump. His smell hits you—musk, man, briny… 

Is this how a real man feels? You think your obvious lack of experience makes you faint with worry. 

Would Caleb notice? 

Would he hate how you don’t even know what to do with a cock? 

What if he doesn’t want you to touch him—deciding you’re too inexperienced for his tastes…? 

“Shit—” Caleb hisses, taken off guard by your sudden movement. “You’re killing me here, princess…” 

In such simple praise, you find your footing once more against the tidal wave of insecurity. 

Pushing aside your worries, you hum, taking your time to explore his body. 

The divots of his abs, the crinkles of his girth as it sits so pretty on his lower body like a pair of crown jewels. 

You run your thumb over the pulsing globes of his balls, feeling the soft, almost velvety skin dimpling under your touch. 

Caleb grunts, and you flicker your gaze to him. His brows are furrowed, and he looks a second away from busting a vein, his face a light shade of puce.

“Caleb?” You softly call out to him in worry. “Are you—?”

“Yeah,” he gasps, and shakes his head, closing his eyes. “Jus’... didn’t expect you to feel this good…”

Good? 

You feel… good? 

Licking your lips, you focus your concentration on the fleshy plump head of his cock. If he has sensitive balls, Caleb is practically a timebomb of nerves on the tip of his arousal. 

Flushed and sticky with pre, you swipe your thumb through the crease of his slit, gathering the milky white deposit and slowly bringing it to your mouth.

Salty. With a hint of bitterness.

Surprisingly, he tastes amazing—

Large hands yank your away from his cock. 

He doesn’t give you the luxury of time to enjoy him. 

Your world suddenly tilts and Caleb’s growl is loud in your ear. He has you pressed into the sheets, your face in the soft cotton, and his large palms kneading the doughy rise of your bare ass. 

Smack!

You gasp and jerk back, indignation at the tip of your tongue. But, it dissipates when he drivels a finger right into your core, sinking fully into the heat of your pussy. 

Your scream is muffled into the pillowy sheets, and he wastes no time in hooking his meaty digit up, hitting a spongy spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

With his other hand, he continues to spank you, little pert taps that grow in intensity as his frustration builds.

“Look - at - how - wet - you’re - getting,” he snarls, and withdraws his fingers to show you the trails webbing in between them, proof of your not-so-innocent reciprocation. Caleb taps his slick fingers to your lips, and you part them obediently, half-thrills of fear and lust curling up your spine.

The taste of you perforates your tongue. Sweet and musky, you've sampled your arousal before, but never from his hand. Gagging lightly on his digits, your eyes roll back into your head and you feel his fingers tickling your uvula.

Shit, he curses under his breath. You're too cute, Pipsqueak… too precious.

He moans as you gurgle his name. Cwaleb…

Throaty and sweet, you're the perfect symphony and he could listen to you all night. 

Caleb withdraws his sticky fingers from the back of your throat with a damp, little ‘pop’ as his spit-slicked digits tap your cheek.

“Fuck, you're too perfect .”

He sets you back on your back, your pouty, glossy lips twisting in a smirk. Caleb hooks your ankles around his shoulders, and—showing he's about as virginal as a town bicycle—smooths his thumb through the mess of your folds.

His pointer catches on the lip of your gaping, swollen pussy, and he hums when he smears your love juices all around, making sure to get it as messy and creamy as possible.

Inching his thumb past the loosened ring of muscle, he grins. 

The gooey, silky mess coats him to the knuckle. You're already pretty free and easy for him to slip his cock in.

“Just a little more, sweetness,” he coos, twisting his thumb, slipping it out only to replace it with his index finger. His now free thumb smears the cream of your arousal around, catching on the pearly mound of your clit as he deepens the pressure.

Nghh ahhh, Caleb! You cry out. 

Your cheeks are warm, eyes glossy with heat and Caleb can't get enough of the way you're panting and twisting on the sheets, writhing like a prey caught in his trap.

It's too much. Too fucking much.

Desire turns your thoughts hazy. There’s a swollen spot inside of you that he manipulates with ease, pressing down on it— “S’good girl,” he murmurs into your neck. “Taking my fingers so well. You make me so damn proud, darlin’.” 

You’re panting, lapping at the sweat beading on your upper lip.

It’s too hot. 

He feels like a fucking furnace above you.

Bigger than any man you ever imagined to take, Caleb is a beast trapped in the body of the boy you love. His scent drenches you—cedar wood body soap bleeding into your pores, marking you as his. The scent of his aftershave grazes your cheek as he leans in to give you a sloppy, full-tongued kiss. 

Mhmmph—you mewl, clinging onto him like ivy.

Your thighs wrap around his waist instinctively, and everything is primal when you finally give yourself up to him. 

His plump, weepy tip catches on your pulsing opening, and he groans at the briefest contact of slick mingling together. You’re so wet, your pussy juices web with his pre, silvery strands clinging to the lip of that little hole he wants so badly to sink into.

Like the deepest tunnel in space, Caleb wants to venture where no man will ever go. He grasps the head of his cock and guides it right to where the blackhole of all his desires resides, rimming the opening where he swears nirvana throbs out his name.

Caleb… she calls out to him. Claim me. Come in me. 

He answers her signal, forehead smushed with yours, his sweat dripping into your slack mouth.

It’s a strange sensation.

Fingers. Tampons. The occasional vibrator. 

None of it can compare to the sheer volume and intensity of a real cock pushing past the envelope of your flesh. The ridges and bumps feel magnified as if there’s a forcefield of pleasure accompanying such penetration. Like it’s sucking you into a different dimension. 

Your head spins and your gasps sound far away, like someone has plunged you right into a swimming pool. 

The only anchor you have is Caleb’s broad shoulders.

You hold onto him as he rocks his hips forward, pleasure unfurling down your spine like a current. 

Fuck… Caleb… 

There’s nothing else in your mind but him.

The sound of his groans. The pinched furrow of ecstasy on his brow. His swollen lips hovering over yours. 

Even the dim lighting of the room makes you feel cocooned in his embrace, safe from the horrors of the world. 

It’s effortless, really, how he grasps your hips and opens you up to him like you’re a centerpiece dish all bared out and vulnerable. 

Nimble hands arrange you into the meanest mating press as your legs dangle above you uselessly, swaying with every hard roll of his thrusts. 

Caleb fucks like he wants to put you through the mattress. 

There’s nothing romantic about this—a man hellbent on making you his. His cockhead smushes with your cervix in a romantic dance of fleeting French kisses. Marking you for days. God, you whine. God, you’re—

So good.

So good.

Oh, Caleb. 

More. More. 

You don’t even notice the light schmear of blood coating his length. Or, how the pinch of pain is overridden by the messy plap plap plap of your bodies meeting together.

You’ve just given up your virginity to the boy you love—the man who’s been with you through hell and back. 

Caleb grabs your ankles and presses it down onto the pillows above your head, plunging his cock in and out, in and out. It’s sloppy and you’re making a mess everywhere.

Foamy white creams at the base of his cock, dribbling onto the dark sheets of his duvet.

Your body rocks with him, the bed creak creak creaking under the brunt of his thrusts. 

He dwarfs you, a mountain of a man bruising the same golden spot that makes your toes curl in your periphery.

“Fuck,” he drawls, purple eyes gouging on your every reaction. “You— mhm —’re squeezin’ down so good, princess.” He huffs, dew drops of sin splattering from his lips and lapped up by your tongue on his jaw. Caleb groans, his hips stuttering. “Can’t get enough of you,” he starts to babble, face flush and eyes heavy with intoxication. Your pussy is the perfect drug for him. 

He starts to whine, dog tags slicked with sweat and heavy with his body heat thudding against your jaw. You part your lips and bite down on the metal, tasting salt and tang. “You—ngmmm—feel too good… so good—ah, shit, sweetness—” Caleb curses, thick fingers dimpling into the flesh of your hips and tipping you up to be fuller of him. 

C-can’t hold back, darlin’, he almost whimpers. I-I can’t… you gotta come with me. Come on, sweetness, give it to me… give me your cum, baby. That’s it, baby. Ooohhh, yes. Yes. There she is. Atta girl. Goooddd girl. Stay with me, baby. Don’t—lift your hips, fuck. Lemme rub that pretty pearl, darlin’. You look so good cummin’ all over me—

Your screams pierce the night air, echoing with a clap of thunder outside the windows. But, you can’t pay attention to storms, not when the biggest one is wrecking you apart.

Caleb moves like a man possessed, greasin’ his thumb around your pebbled clit, changing the angle so he’s pushing even deeper—

“Caleb!” 

Your back arches off the bed, till only the crown of your head remains on the pillows. Caleb pushes back, drowning you back into the sheets, his whole body pressing down— “Shit, nghmmm! —” he grounds out in a low voice. 

Almost a growl. 

It makes your insides shiver around his cock. He doesn’t jackhammer you like those oiled-up studs do in pornos. 

He takes it intensely, grinding his hips, injecting his rhythm with a few punctuating thrusts. 

“Good —” you choke out. “—fuck me so good— ”

Yeah? He teases, dark bangs falling in his face, covering one of his magnetic violet irises. 

Your body tenses, abs clenching, and he groans.

Tipping you further down the precipice, Caleb ducks his head and engorges his wet, hot mouth around your swollen nipples. He pinches the other one with his free hand, the spare still frigging your clit with the intensity of a madman. 

Your eyes roll back into your head.

You clench—hard.

White hot paint splatters behind your closed eyes, imprinting on your lids and the world fades into hypersound as you scream:

Caaaleeeebbbb!

Oh, shit. 

Your walls massage him better than any fleshlight could. Definitely a thousand times better than his hand. 

He’s a goner right there and then. 

Thick, fat spurts of hot, sticky cum fill you up. Neither he nor you care about what this means, pumping you to the brim until wet, gummy dribbles splotch down onto the bed. Caleb shudders like a great beast, and with one last, heaving push, he breeds you. 

.

.

.

There’s nothing else in the ringing quiet but your ragged breath. 

The world slowly comes back—a flickering flash of thunder. Caleb’s soft groan. 

He pulls himself out, and the effect is a reverse weirdness of when he fucked himself in. 

It leaves you gaping. Empty. You whine and he chuckles tiredly, gathering you into his arms.

All's silent for a few moments until you hear the bed creak and his weight off the mattress. Your blurry eyes open to find his massive, muscular frame in all its naked glory ambling to the bathroom. In a few moments, a warm softness glides between your puffy, well-abused folds, and you moan, twitching away.

“I know, I know,” he soothes. “But, I gotta get you cleaned up. Stay still, sweets.”

He wipes you down until you’re clean again, and tosses the soiled rag to the floor. Your arms open on autopilot for him, and Caleb chuckles, sinking back into the ring of warmth your body gives him. 

Sighing into your hair, he tightens his grip around you. Outside, the eddies of raindrops swirl down the window panes, and another flash of thunderclaps. He slowly presses a kiss to your head, holding you tighter as a new storm rages unceasingly. 

Caleb yanks the blankets up to your waist, and uses himself as a weighted one, pressing you into the soft mattress, much to your bubbling giggles. He smiles, loving the sound, and gently flicks your chin with his index finger.

“I didn’t hurt you, didn’t I?” 

He moves to your side and you turn around, propping your head under your arm to gaze at him, a lovesick expression etched on your face.

Caleb mirrors your movement, also sliding his arm under his head, his other slung casually on your hip.

“Nah,” you admit after a beat of silence. “Didn’t even feel it.”

He pretends to pout. “Y’know, if you say that in a different context, I would get really, really hurt, Pipsqueak.”

You groan, and smack his chest. “Just like you to ruin the mood.”

He catches your hand, pressing your palm to his cheek with a boyish laugh. 

“I’m kiddin'! Kidding, darlin’. C’mere—” 

Yoinking you closer, he smears a kiss onto the nape of your neck. 

As you trace his arm, he hums.

“You… really blew my mind,” he admits sheepishly. 

“Huh. I did?” It’s your turn to tease him now. “Well… I guess so did you.”

You yelp when he pinches your ass playfully. 

“‘Oh, Calebbbb ’.” He mocks your earlier moans. “‘Ahhhh moreee moreee— ’” 

“Hey—!” 

He lets you smack his chest, snickering in glee like a stupid boy. 

“Juussstt kiddin’, sweets.” He kisses you right on your pouty lips. “Knew you’d be perfect. You’re always perfect.”

And, your heart melts.

“Really?” You whisper as a subtle flash of lightning illuminates one side of his grin. Warmth fills you up when he nods.

“Is it sad to say I’ve been dreamin’ about you like this for eons?” 

You shake your head, a smile playing on the corners of your lips. Slightly breathless, you respond: 

“I’ve been… thinking about you that way, too, baby.”

You expect him to make a stupid joke, or to diffuse the tender moment with his snark. 

But, Caleb doesn’t do that. He loves being in this delicate bubble with you—and only you. 

“Good,” he hums. “Because I’m not done with you yet, sweets—not by a lonnggg shot.”

a/n: comments and reblogs are very much appreciated ! thank you for reading ;D

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, claim as your own or feed my content to AI learning tools.

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

—

—

Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[makaylaloves-words]

Jason Todd thought his need for touch had died with him.

Pairing: Jason Todd x afab reader

TW: Mentions of virginity, sexual themes, masturbation, mentions of death, mentions of body issues

1.5k Words (wow i can yap)

Part two

Jason Todd thought his need for touch had died with him. Decayed and rotted with his body after that faithful encounter with the Joker. And when he came back, he was happy to go without it.

Jason got all the touch he needed, he was in physical fights on a daily basis. Putting literal blood, sweat, and tears into it. Why would he need someone to patch him up after patrol or press gentle loving kisses to each his scars, of which he has many. Not that he stayed up at night thinking of those things. He does. But he goes without it. He refuses touch like an abused animal; scurrying away with his tail between his legs.

If someone asked him about his love life, he’d wave them off. Says he’s too busy and has actual important fucking things to do. He is also kinda embarrassed, not that he’ll admit it to anyone. Even himself.

Then he met her. You.

Jason doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Thinks it’s just lust with a fancy title, not that he would know. He’s a 24 year old virgin, leave the poor guy alone, he died at 15. But, he does know that as soon as he saw you, something changed. Something fundamental in his genetic makeup changed. Something in the cosmos shifted. He felt a need like he hasn’t felt since his before his resurrection. Not a sexual desire but a want to be close to someone. To be doted on and cared for. It disgusts him how much he craves it. How much he wants soft kisses and tooth decaying fluff.

It starts slow, agonizingly so. He doesn’t trust easily but he also doesn’t give up information easily so getting close to him is a hard battle. But, you steadily become a part of his life. And he yearns for your presence more than he cares to admit. He keeps coming back, even when he messes up. Maybe because he’s stubborn. Maybe because fate. Maybe because your presence makes his heart feel something it hasn’t felt since his mother died and he causes that high. You’re a trouper through it all. Supporting him when he ghosts you just to reappear with muttered apologies and half begging to hang out again. He’s a huge guy with scars and muscle and before you got to know him, you were sure his body count was higher than his IQ. You were severally wrong about both.

In Jason’s head, he’s got you wrapped around his finger but it’s really the opposite. He worships you and like hell isn’t he gonna show it.

Somehow, against all odds, you end up dating. He has no idea how it happened. You’re a goddess in his eyes and he’s.. well him. A traumatized brute of a man.

The first time you stay over, he’s so nervous he nearly barfs. He’s scared you’re gonna ask for more, for sex or cuddling or something he just can’t do right now, and he’s gonna have to say no. But you don’t. You keep your distance and let him make the first move. You watch a movie together and he puts his hand on your thigh, he’s sweating bullets and is so giddy on the inside.

Soon, every other night is spent at the others house. At time, he’s kinda weird about sleeping but he drifts to you like a moth to a flame. He can’t deny how complete he feels with you in his arms. He craves your affection like a man starved. He goes from not having his first kiss to full on make out sessions and he is a happy camper.

He doesn’t tell you he’s a virgin but you’re not an idiot, you can tell. You can tell by how he stiffens when your hands go a little too low while you kiss. You can tell by how it took him months to even start sleeping without a shirt on and even now he wears sweatpants and keeps himself covered.

You’re okay with it. He’s worth it in your eyes.

He is not insecure per se but he’s aware that he’s not conventional. The first time you see his autopsy scar he looks like a scared puppy and it hurts your heart.

“I think you’re beautiful, Jason” you murmur, running your hand up his abdomen, tracing the red mark. He shivers and something shifts in his gut. Maybe he isn’t ugly, because you wouldn’t lie. And god knows you could have any man you want so he must be decent looking. You’re an angel and god knows he will worship you until he has no life left to give.

Eventually he gets better at the small affection. Craves your touch, actually. He hugs you when he gets home and kisses you before he leaves. He learns to braid your hair and let you help him dye his. He acts as normal as he can manage.

He yearns for your affection, really. He’s come to terms with it, but he doesn’t know how to deal with the desire that has formed in his gut and won’t go away. He died before he could experience anything and you look so. fucking. good. And you smell good and you laugh at his stupid jokes and read the books he likes and oh my god he’s totally in love.

He doesn’t tell you, not at first, not for a long while because love is dangerous and scary and if he messes this up he is sure he’ll never forgive himself. But he shows you, in the little things.

One day you’re sitting on your shared, yes you moved in together, couch watching some random movie. Your legs are slung in his lap and he gently holds your calfs. You laugh along with the movie, pointing out things and just being you and he feels his pants growing tighter. He panics. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable and the pang in his gut every time you shift isn’t a good sign. Except that you’ve been dating a little over a year and you’ve been aching for your big hot boyfriend but you’re obviously not gonna push him to do something he’s not comfortable with.

He awkwardly excuses himself to the bathroom and stares in the mirror for what seems like hours. Who is he to be lusting over you? He doesn’t deserve you and he doesn’t what to look like a perv, even if it’s his own girlfriend.

His dick is so hard it hurts and he squeezes it till near pain, willing it to soften up so he can go back in there. He ends up jacking off thinking about you. He does that more than he cares to admit.

Weeks later, after yet another awkward moment of his scampering off when you get too close. You address it.

“Jason, honey, can i ask you something?”

He swallows, stiffening. “Yeah.”

“Feel free to correct me if i’m talking nonsense but I uh-“ you take a breath, god how do you even say this. “I don’t want to pressure you or anything, i’m just bringing it up. Desiring your partner is normal, Jay. If- if you want that, that’s normal and encouraged.” You swallow. He blinks. Sea foam eyes studying you in that intense way that either makes you squirm in intimidation or because your guts fluttering.

“Have i been that obvious?” he finally says and you smile.

That night he stays up thinking. You said it’s okay to want that but is he okay with what that could mean? sure, everything he was in the shower, or pretty much anytime he was alone at this point, he would think of you, your scent, your laugh, and would come so hard he saw stars. But masturbation and sex were very different things and as much as he craves that depth of physical intimacy, he was scared.

You guys have a conversation, he actually fully opens up and you decide you’ll try. It takes a couple tries. You take the lead. Making it natural, letting make out sessions turn into you on his lap. Grinding and panting before he swallows and tells you to stop. Of course you do. This happens a few times and everytime he feels so bad. Yes, he wants you so bad it hurts but until recently he had lacked to think of your side. You have been dating for a year and a half and hadn’t done anything. He’d be scared you’d leave him over it if he didn’t know you so well.

Jason lies awake at night just staring at you, absentmindedly grinding against your ass before he realizes himself and scoots away to put as much distance between you. You whine from the cold and scoot to him. He kisses the top of your head and makes a decision right there, he’s going to fuck you if it’s the last thing he does.

And he’s praying to any god that’ll listen that he can make it good for you. Heaven knows he worships you more than anything and would rather die than you get no pleasure out of it.

I’m writing a part two but I would also love to do detailed stories on the first kiss or something so please give requests! thanks, babes.

@cyberangel-graphics

[beloveds-embrace]

Part two of the Lavender Marriage au! Considered adding smut to this but I chickened out lmao if the ending is abrupt it’s because of that 🙂‍↕️

The four men are fuming.

Since witnessing the lip-lock battle, they’ve been stewing in barely-contained anger. Every time they see you- on your porch in one of those sweet sundresses, humming to yourself as you water the flower boxes or hand them freshly-baked cookies- they’re consumed by a burning desire to tell you the “truth” about your cheating husband. But the ring on your finger, and your seemingly cheerful demeanor, stop them every time.

Still, they’re restless. It’s wrong to let you live in ignorance like this. But also, it’s not their business even if they want it- even if they want you. The thought of ruining your cozy life, despite your husband’s unfaithfulness, isn’t an easy one to swallow.

It becomes easier to think of admitting it all to you with each passing day, though.

“He’s walking around like he’s done nothing wrong! The bastard. How does she not see it?” Kyle grumbles, gesturing wildly with his tea mug. He grits his teeth, watching your husband saunter inside the house without offering to help you. He just puts down a plate of steak Kyle knows is too fucking cooked. Heathen. Bastard. Ughhh.

“She’s either blind or loyal to a fault,” Johnny agrees, sprawled out on the couch, looking far more despondent than usual. “Breaks ma bloody heart, lads. She’s makin’ us lemonade an’ cookies, an’ he’s aff canoodlin’ wiith some bloke under her roof.”

Simon grunts, his eyes narrowing as he joins Kyle’s side. “What kind of man cheats on her? She’s…” He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence, but everyone knows what he means: She’s perfect.

Meanwhile, John leans back in his chair, puffing thoughtfully on a cigar. He’s been unusually quiet, though it’s clear he’s just as agitated, fist clenching on his lap. Finally, he speaks, his tone commanding.

“We wait until he leaves,” he says, much to the others’ dismay. “We don’t meddle now. If she finds out on her own, we’ll be there for her. Until then, we keep our mouths shut.”

The others grumble, but they nod in agreement. For now.

You, meanwhile, are oblivious to the internal warfare raging next door. Your days are filled with your usual routine of pretending to be the dutiful wife, gossiping with the neighborhood ladies, sweetly cooing about your hardworking husband, and pretending you don’t know they will gosspi about you after you leave. On the way, you also deliver a basket of homemade muffins to your handsome neighbors.

Such good men; they didn’t even yet know they were your little kitchen rats to taste-test everything you make for the annual baking contest. This year, that bitch Beatrice will not win and you swore it.

“Oh, these look incredible,” Johnny says when you hand over the basket. He flashes you a cheeky grin, and you can’t help but smile back, cheeks warm. “Y’know, if yer husband does not appreciate all this, I might just have ta steal ye away, lass.”

You laugh, waving off the comment as a joke, but the other three men go rigid. “Not the time, mate.” Kyle mutters, elbowing Johnny, though you really don’t notice. Their house is coming along so nicely and so fast; the perks of having handy men as its owners, you suppose.

Later that day, while you’re trimming the hedges of your precious little garden , you spot Simon working on their roof. You catch him staring at you- not that you blame him, you are wearing your one of cutest skirt and top- and you give him a small wave. He almost falls off the roof even if he does wave back, so you decide to just focus on the damned hedges and hopefully avoid any more incidents.

They’re so distracted by your lovely self that they almost forget their rage toward your husband. Almost. Because just as Price and Johnny are helping you carry bags of groceries back to your house, your husband- traitorous bastard- walks out of the house all patient and whistling.

“Be back soon, honey! You know how long my business trips take.” your husband calls over his shoulder, giving you a quick wink before he hops into a car and drives off.

Unbelievable.

The tension is palpable. John glares. Johnny looks like he’s seconds from sprinting after the car. Simon mutters, “Unbelievable,” under his breath from where he and Kyle are watching from the window.

“Oh dear,” you sigh, though on the inside you are very happy. You know your husband’s boyfriend has a nice surprise picked for him- you helped get it, after all- and now you have the house all to yourself again. Perfect.

You turn to John, batting your lashes up at him and it is as if all his anger melts away. “Be my guests this evening, John? I’d be terribly lonely, all by myself in this big house.”

John really, truly, fucking hates your husband for doing this to a precious, lovely thing like you. But at least it means they’ll be the ones in your company.

“Alright, doll,” he nods, fond as he watches the grin stretch across your face. “Let me just go tell the muppets, then we’ll come by and help.”

“There’s no need-“

“I insist, sweetheart.”

That evening, as promised, the four of them come by to “keep you company” and help. You’re in your element, flitting around the kitchen in an apron as you serve drinks and chatter away, oblivious to the tension radiating from the group. You are practically glowing; your pretty flowers were complimented and the food looks so good you can’t wait to post it on your instagram.

Simon leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring daggers into the walls- into the portraits of you and your husband. Kyle is poking at one of the cookies you made like it’s done something to offend him, his mind adrift. Johnny’s chopping away at vegetables, muttering under his breath and wishing it was something else under his knife. And John? He’s nursing his whiskey like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. It might as well be. You talk so nicely about your husband and what he’s customized for you in the kitchen, still so unaware of the truth.

John contemplates just telling you right then and there, but then it happens.

The front door swings open, and in strolls your husband, laughing loudly with none other than his boyfriend- the one the group saw kissing. They’re holding hands, both grinning like idiots.

“Sorry we’re back so soon!” your husband calls out, completely unbothered by the fact that your house is now hosting four very large, very angry military men. “I forgot my wallet-”

The rest of his sentence dies in his throat when he notices the four men staring at him, expressions ranging from pure disbelief to murderous rage. His boyfriend freezes too, glancing nervously between you and the men like he’s walked into a firing squad.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Johnny practically shouts, pointing between the two men with the knife. “You’ve got the audacity to bring him here? Here?”

Kyle crushes the cookie when he slams his fist on the table, standing abruptly. “Under her roof? After all she’s done for you? Again?”

Simon doesn’t say a word because he truly doesn’t need to- he’s just staring, fists clenched, practically vibrating with barely-contained fury.

John finally speaks, his voice low and dangerous, pulling your surprised self against his side protectively. “You’ve got some confessing to do.”

Your husband just… blinks, then glances at you. “Wait, you didn’t tell them?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t think it would come up like this.”

“Tell us what?” John demands, his tone sharp. He is still glaring at your husband and the boyfriend

You wave your hand dismissively, like this is the most normal thing in the world with a soft sigh. “Oh, we’re not really married for love, John. It’s just for the benefits- y’know, keeping his parents off his back and mine off mine.”

The room falls silent. Dead silent.

“What?” Simon finally growls, his voice low and dangerous. All this time…

Your husband grins sheepishly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’m gay. This is my boyfriend. He’s great, isn’t he?” He says, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek.

Johnny looks like he’s just been hit with the frying pan the vegetables he’d been chopping was meant to go in. “Yer what?”

Kyle stares at you, wide-eyed. “You knew? This whole time?”

You shrug, popping a cookie into your mouth. Ohh, Beatrice should count her fucking days. “Of course I knew. We planned the whole thing together. It’s not that complicated, really.”

Simon mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.

“Anyways, we do have places to be,” your husband sighs. “I’ll just get my wallet and leave you all be to your date.” When he returns with his wallet a few minutes later, he kisses your forehead. “Bye, love. I snuck some of the cookies too- Beatrice is absolutely not winning this year, trust me.” And then he leaves at last.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You’re married but it’s just… out of necessity, and you’ve just been… pretending to love him?”

“Exactly!” you say brightly, clapping your hands together. “See? Not so hard to understand.”

The four men just stand there, utterly gobsmacked.

“You mean to tell me,” Johnny starts, pointing an accusatory finger at you after placing the knife down. “that we’ve been stewin’ for weeks over a cheatin’ husband that doesn’t even exist?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you reply with a giggle, pouring a drink. Your eyes widen then. “But you cannot tell anyone here, in this shitty town, about this!”

“We won’t, love, promise.” Kyle groans, slumping back into his chair. “I need a bloody drink.” And then he perks up when you slide him the drink you just made. “…fucking lifesaver you are, love. Thank you.”

Simon just shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.” under his breath.

John sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey in one go. “You’re going to be the death of us, doll.”

You grin, completely unfazed. “Oh, come on, boys. It’s not that bad.”

The four of them exchange a look- one of disbelief, exasperation, and maybe just a hint of relief. Because as much as they’re reeling from the truth, one thing’s clear: you’re technically single. And that, at least, is something they can work with.

[rafesweetie]

need a jealous bsf!rafe x reader where he is possessive and doesn’t want other guys touching her even though he touches other girls, so she is basically over it and at a party, she dances on another guy and he gets mad

౨ৎ in which bsf!rafe just can’t help wanting to protect you.

you were done with rafe cameron. you’ve decided it. he was your best friend, sure, but he was controlling, mean, overly protective, and he acted like he owned you or something. so you were completely done with him, forever.

this is the third time you’ve promised yourself that, and news flash — you never dropped him.

it wasn’t your fault, you try to tell yourself every time. he just wouldn’t let you leave him, shutting you up whenever you’d even try and be reasonable with him, yelling louder than you or slamming his palm over your mouth. but a little part of you knows that you like the attention. you like that rafe cares so much about you, even if it does ruin your chances of getting a boyfriend. today is the day that you break the pattern though, and rebel against his constant authority.

parties are where rafe thrives. he’s like a celebrity, it always wonders you how much people love him. during parties, he keeps less of an eye on you, assuming you’re just busy gossiping with your friends. but little does he know, you’ve found a boy — it wasn’t often you’d get the opportunity to chat with a boy that wasn’t rafe, and you were loving every second of it. you felt so free from your friend’s gaze, listening to the boy talk, his deep voice vibrating your brain.

but the issue was, the boy was boring. he didn’t talk about cool things, like dirtbikes or his life or death adventures or money. you hated to say it, but he just wasn’t rafe. your mind kept flashing back to him, how much more you smile and enjoy his company. maybe rafe was right. you just didn’t need boys when you have him.

you’re so close to excusing yourself from the boy, going back to rafe’s arm and giggling with him and talking with your faces really close together. you glance back to where he is, ready to retreat, until you see it. you see her.

you’re not sure who she is, but she bothers you. her hair is so gorgeous and healthy, and you can’t see her face from behind but she must be gorgeous. her arm is on rafe’s bicep — your bicep, the one you always hang onto while you’re walking with rafe. you hate that you’re jealous. rafe’s your friend, not your boyfriend, you have no reason to be. but it’s like you can’t control it, your rage, and before you know it, you’re blinking back any potential tears and touching on this boy — this stranger — like there’s no tomorrow. tyla is blasting through the speakers, and yours and these boy’s hands are all over each other’s bodies. you really hope rafe sees you like this, drunk off the smirnoff pink lemonades and enjoying another mans company.

it really doesn’t take long for him to notice. he’s so predictable. shrugging the girls hand off of him, rushing over to his dear friend to get her away from this lowlife.

usually he’d reason with you. coax you away from the boy nicely and lecture you. but he’d had a few beers and a line of coke and he was in no mood for politeness. a rough hand pushes the boy away by the chest, and rafe isn’t muttering a word to anyone, grabbing your wrist and stomping away with you stumbling behind.

he pushes you into a spare bedroom, the first private place he could find. sitting you on the edge of the bed, he starts pacing in front of you and rubbing his face as if this was hurting his head. it’s like your brain flicks a switch, back to “rafe rafe rafe” as you’re sat there with tears brimming your eyes, fiddling with your manicure as you bat your eyelashes up at him, remembering the girl flirting with him, and now you making him mad, and now he’s got you in a puddle of guilt.

“shit— it’s like, you never do what i say, huh?” he mutters, still pacing. “you know i do everything to protect you, kid. you even know who that fuckin’ guy was? no, m’sure you don’t, cause you don’t think. thought by now my voice would be in your pretty head, there to help you make some smart decisions every once in a while. but nah, nah, you see one other boy and it’s back to square one with you,”

you go to speak, glossy lips parting, but he shuts you up with a quick “no”, and stopping pacing to go kneel in front of you.

“everything i do — for you, okay? for you. my girl,” he often calls you that, it makes you weak every time. he grabs your hands. “stop fiddling, paid for this polish.” you stop instantly. “i know— i know you think that my protectiveness is, uh, stupid, but i need to be like this, or you’re gonna get hurt. i know you, baby. i need to be all over you for you to even have a slight awareness to not do stupid things. so i do take some ownership over you in that sense—“

you cut him off, muttering a, “don’t want you to take ownership.”

he huffs. “yeah, but i do, so…” he shrugs. “you’re mine. my friend, my girl. so i don’t like it when someone else touches my girl, or when you’re the one intiating it. makes me so fuckin’ angry, kid, makes me wanna, like—“ he cuts himself off. “so i need you to knock it off.”

you wanna argue so badly, but your brain turns to mush around him. so you sniffle and nod hesitantly.

“no, i want a ‘yes rafe.’ need your words.”

“i just think that—“ you try.

he cuts you off. “yes rafe. say it with me.”

“..yes, rafe.” you both say.

he squeezes your hands and gets up. “yeah, there you go, good girl. now do you, uh, need a minute, fix your makeup, or d’you wanna go back down there and hang out with me?”

your hand goes to his bicep as you stand up with him, and a ghost of a smile appears on his lips. “wanna go with you,” you say softly, leaning into him a bit.

“yeah, that’s what i thought.”

[lale-txt]

❥ 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 ↳ 𝐰/ 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮, 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮, 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨, 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐚, 𝐎𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚, 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 & 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚

a/n: reader is gn! i started drafting those during one of the first sticky hot summer nights of the year, then forgot about it until this came over me once again like a fever, and now here we are. i love writing drabbles because they force you to really think about the chars, how you perceive them and how to nail their unique personalities in 200 words or less. anyway, this is my first time writing for HQ after the brainworms got me down bad and i had lots of fun! hope you'll enjoy them too ♡

word count: 1.3k

𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 whines when you have the audacity to kick him back towards his end of the couch, catching your ankle and pulling you towards him in return, stubbornly ignoring your protests. Too hot to cuddle, my ass, he pouts, genuinely offended that you’d even consider that; when the only time Atsumu ever feels a sense of calm is when part of you touches him. Your hand playing with the shaved hair in the back of his neck, your leg hooked over his hipbone as you sprawl out in bed together, hell, even your icy cold feet shoved underneath his butt during winter. Something was missing when he couldn’t have your proximity. Yer so needy, Tsumu. So what if he was? He pulls you into his lap, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, hands tightening around your waist. His breath fanning over your skin, hot and cool against it. Atsumu takes, he demands, but with you he is pleading, silent for once. Just a little longer–dreaming, breathing you in, kissing till he feels you smiling against his lips.

𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 wears his hair shorter now, back at its natural dark color, too. You helped him buzz it off during one of those sticky summer nights. Both of you in nothing but your underwear, Osamu sitting on the edge of the bathtub in your cramped bathroom. One hand of yours holding a razor and the other clamped over your mouth because you horribly messed up a setting and now he had a funny little edge in his hair, throwing you both in a laughing fit. It was your first summer together and Osamu couldn’t help but hope that there would be many more like this to come, with your bodies orbiting each other, unable to keep your hands off despite the heat and the sweat, the air heavy and electric and yet so light whenever he hears you laugh. Nothing beats the feeling of lifting you up on the kitchen counter and your eyes lingering on his hands, shaping a midnight snack for the both of you, getting drunk on stolen glances and kisses. There’s many metaphors for food and love and right now, Osamu can taste them all on the tip of your tongue.

𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐎 hasn’t even kicked his shoes off at the entrance yet and is already loosening his tie, before slender fingers work down button for button on his shirt. He hears you laugh about his demeanor from the other end of the hallway. How lucky, he thinks to himself. To have someone waiting for him at home, making even long work days during the most miserable summer heat bearable. His shirt has barely hit the floor and he’s already on you, caging you in with his arms and covering every inch of your skin he can reach in kisses, despite your giggling and feigned huffing over how sticky he is, sending him to shower first (as if you wouldn’t come right after him). Kuroo purrs when your hands tangle in his hair. In the end you always pull him back towards your lips again, swallowing every little quip and taunt like candy, sweet and syrupy in your mouth. It reminds him how he fell in love with you many summers ago, his heart ablaze ever since.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 is glued to the fan at this point. He even switched gaming from his desktop set-up to a handheld console, reluctantly admitting that his old house would heat up even more with his computer running at full blast. His expression really says it all when you approach him, silently pleading for cuddles. Kenma just can’t understand how anyone would seek someone else’s body heat when the sun outside was already doing a pretty good job in trying to end him. Still, he isn’t immune to your charms, never was (one time he mumbled something about your stats being way too high and how everything changed once he received a love buff of yours). When you hold out a popsicle as a means of bribery and blink at him with those damn soft eyes of yours, Kenma pauses his game and holds out his arms. He hums into the kiss you give him before sitting down in his lap, your lips tasting like ice cream and summer love. He rests his chin on your shoulder, face nuzzled against your neck, before he continues his game, letting you feed him the sweet cold treat. Summer might have become a little more bearable with you in his life–though he was already looking forward to many winters under the kotatsu with you. 

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 is squishing your cheeks together, his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth. Collecting evidence, but also wanting to feel your tongue poke out slightly against it, cheeky as ever. Just how could you eat the last ice cream in the freezer without him? He lets out an exaggerated huff, feigned indignation, both of you knowing he can never keep this up for too long–not when it comes to you. Oikawa leans down to kiss you, your face still in a tight grip, tasting the remains of the ice cream on your lips, as if you weren’t sweet enough already. Maybe he can be bribed for another kiss when you offer a midnight walk to the 7/11 down the street, promising to pay for a cool sweet treat to make it up to him. He had already forgotten what he was mad about the moment you leaned into the kiss, but he’ll never say no to a chance to hold your hand, even if it’s sticky with leftover ice cream and the summer heat. To Oikawa, love is stored in the mundane things, even if his love for you is anything but that.

𝐈𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐈 is standing in the kitchen past midnight, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers while he roams the freezer for anything to help him cool down; even a pack of frozen peas would do. He feels a pang of guilt for having peeled away from you, your form pressed so tightly against him in his sleep, it almost gave him a heat stroke–for more reason than one. Everything is sticky and airless and Iwaizumi is sure that if he would have glanced at you even a minute longer, his heart might have just given out on him. All this love he holds for you, burning him up from the inside, like a fever. He lets out a long exhale when he presses an ice bag against the back of his neck, but it’s not that what causes a shiver down his spine; it’s two arms sneaking around his waist from behind, your sleepy voice mumbling out his name, your body melting into his again. The first kiss pressed on the side of your neck is an apology, the second one a promise. The third–to devour you.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀 grumbles something about you being too sticky and sweaty, making a weak attempt to shove you back to your side of the bed, only to pull you back by your hips when you actually do leave some room between you. He can’t help it, you fit so perfectly in the curve of his body, your back pressed against his chest, one of his knees nudged between your legs, all tangled up. It’s the perfect position to plant kisses on the back of your neck, too. Kiyoomi loathes those hot summer nights in the concrete city. He’d rather be somewhere else with you, somewhere to breathe more easily through this heat. Maybe you should move to the countryside, yes. A small house with lots of green surrounding it. Less people and noise, just you and him. Yeah, he would like that. He kisses the back of your neck once more and takes a slow, deep inhale of your sweet scent, before sleep finally crawls upon him again. For now he’ll endure this heat, anything, as long as he can hold you in his arms like this–and have a cold shower with you in the morning, maybe.