#i think they were just putting a heavy lid on everything

[emperordinozenmon]

Dragon Slayer

A proper sequel to Daughter made with help from our super secret collaborator.

Part I

Sakura lounged in her chair like a queen on her throne, her thighs snug around the neck of her current boy toy. The boy in question was utterly pliant in her grasp, his body loose and his breathing slow, caught in that delicious haze between anticipation and surrender. She had him right where she wanted him—on the precipice, waiting for her to decide when to push him over.

She idly played with his hair, threading her fingers through the soft strands before giving a teasing little tug. “Are you comfortable, sweetheart?” she murmured, her voice dripping with honeyed amusement. “Are you relaxed?”

A quiet whimper escaped his lips, his eyelids fluttering shut just as she had instructed.

Sakura leaned in, her breath ghosting over his ear as she continued, “You’ve had such a long week… and you’ve been so good for me.” Her tone was equal parts praise and temptation, a promise wrapped in velvet. She felt the way his body shivered in response, the way his fingers twitched slightly against her thighs, yearning but obedient.

She smiled, dragging her nails lightly down the nape of his neck before tilting his chin up just enough to meet her gaze. “I think you deserve a reward,” she purred, tilting her head as if considering. “But I do love watching you wait. Watching you ache for it.”

Sakura trailed her fingers lazily along her boy toy’s jawline, admiring the way he leaned into her touch like a well-trained pet. His body was loose in her hold, his head resting comfortably against her thighs as she continued to murmur sweet praises, keeping him in that blissful state of anticipation.

“You’ve been so good for me,” she purred, nails gently scratching against his scalp. “I think you deserve something nice tonight.”

His eyes, still heavy-lidded from her earlier command, flickered open slightly, curiosity stirring beneath his dreamy haze. “Yeah?” His voice was soft, a little dazed, but hopeful.

Sakura hummed in amusement, tilting her head. “Mmm. I was thinking… maybe we finally start Final Fantasy XVI when we get home.” She grinned as she felt him stiffen slightly in her embrace, his previous lethargy giving way to excitement.

“Wait are you sure?” He perked up, his hands instinctively resting on her thighs as he looked up at her. “You’ve been putting it off for weeks.”

She chuckled, running a teasing finger along his bottom lip before withdrawing just as he was about to kiss the tip. “I know, but I’ve been enjoying making you wait for it,” she admitted smugly. “Just like everything else.”

He groaned, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his fondness for her antics. “You’re evil.”

Sakura smirked, tightening her thighs just slightly around his neck, enough to make him shiver. “Oh, you love it,” she teased, watching the way his breath hitched. “Besides, don’t you want me to suffer through Clive’s brooding with you?”

He huffed out a laugh, relaxing back into her hold. “Okay, but you have to pay attention to the story this time. No zoning out and making me explain everything.”

Sakura rolled her eyes dramatically. “Fine, fine,” she relented, drumming her fingers against his collarbone. “But if I start getting bored, I fully expect you to entertain me.”

His lips parted slightly, his breath catching at the unspoken challenge in her tone. Sakura grinned, dragging her nails gently down his neck. “Now… where were we?”

As the two cuddled in their little oasis, they didn’t hear the sound of combat boots clenching against the ground as another demigod approached.

Before Sakura could pounce fully on her boy toy, the atmosphere shifted. At the edge of her private sanctum—where soft lamplight danced across luxurious cushions and her whispered promises filled the air—a new presence stepped forward. Alex, daughter of Odin, appeared like an uninvited shadow at the doorway. Clad in dark leather with an air of divine authority, she advanced with measured caution toward Sakura—the legacy of Aphrodite and daughter of Susanoo—aware that the man she sought was as easily startled as he was coveted.

Alex’s tone was both playful and insistent as she called out, “Hey, Bal—” Her voice carried across the quiet room with a mixture of urgency and mischief. “Can I ask for your help? I need the Dragon Slayer’s expertise.”

Hannibal’s eyes snapped open, Sakura’s gaze searing as she glared at the interloper. In that heated moment, every second of intimacy she had so carefully orchestrated was threatened. Her boy toy—Hannibal, the roguish Bardic Hero—was nestled contentedly against her, his body relaxed under her firm, possessive hold. Now, this trespasser was determined to disrupt their quality time, and it drove Sakura mad. Her thoughts raced with barely suppressed irritation: He’s mine tonight, and no one—not even the daughter of Odin—gets to steal him away without consequence.

Inside, Hannibal groaned silently at the interruption before sighing and breaking the silence in his own wry manner, “If I say no, will it get me out of it?” His voice, laced with reluctant amusement, betrayed a mix of exasperation and anticipation for the adventure that was now thrust upon him. Sakura smiled at his display knowing he was hers.

Alex only chuckled, shaking her head as she stepped closer. “Sadly, no. Despite your cozy little arrangement here,” she said, casting a sidelong glance at Sakura’s possessive display, “I need your help. The Huntresses and I discovered a new dragon.” Her words carried an edge of excitement that cut through the charged tension in the room.

At the mention of a dragon, Hannibal’s relaxed posture shifted. With an exasperated yet intrigued groan, he disentangled himself from Sakura’s soft spot—though not without a lingering regret—and allowed himself to be led out of the room. As they wound their way through the encampment, Hannibal’s mind was a swirl of conflicting emotions: a part of him lamented the abrupt pause to his tender rendezvous, while another part recognized the call of duty he had long tried to avoid.

The passage led them past flickering torches and murmuring figures until a harsh scent of sulfur assaulted his nostrils—a sure sign they were nearing trouble. Just as the acrid odor intensified, another formidable figure stepped into view: Artemis. The huntress, ever vigilant and uncompromising, fixed Hannibal with a pointed glare.

“What is he doing here?” Artemis demanded, her tone clipped and eyes narrowing in disapproval as she eyed him like a wayward child.

Hannibal could only offer a sardonic half-smile in return. “Sorry, Artie, I got called in,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcastic resignation. Despite the tension, there was a spark of familiarity in their exchange—a ritual of bickering that had long been their unspoken language.

Before anyone could settle the brief verbal spar, another voice chimed in. “So what’s the problem, Aly?” Hannibal asked, using the playful nickname reserved for Alex when the situation was dire yet absurdly humorous. His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of weary inevitability in his words.

Alex’s adoring and ever-doting girlfriend, Yujin, stepped forward with a gentle smile that couldn’t quite hide her concern. “You tell us,” she said, her tone mingling affection with exasperation as she guided him along the winding path toward their destination—a clearing where fate had left its grim mark.

There, under a sky choked with ash and the eerie glow of distant fires, lay the carcass of a dragon. The mighty beast’s massive form sprawled across the ground, its scales dull and slick with remnants of sulfur. Even in death, the creature’s presence radiated a formidable aura. Hannibal’s eyes swept over the morbid spectacle, and a low, dismayed groan escaped him. “God damn it,” he muttered, his voice echoing off the silent trees before he turned back to the group.

Trying to maintain a calm that belied the dread stirring within him, he asked in a measured tone, “How long has this been dead?” There was an unsettling edge to his voice—as if the question carried a weight of inevitability far beyond the mere passage of time.

Mallory, one of the grizzled hunters whose rugged features told of countless battles, answered with pragmatic brevity, “Oh, two hours.”

Hannibal’s jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, the easy banter vanished, replaced by the stark reality of their situation. “Oh fuck,” he said, the words hanging heavy in the cooling night air, “this is worse. We need to evacuate this area now.” His declaration was calm, almost clinical, yet it sent a shiver through the assembled group.

Artemis furrowed her brows, her confusion evident as she crossed her arms. “Why should we listen to you?” she demanded, her voice sharp with skepticism. To her, Hannibal was little more than an inconvenient rogue, a troublemaker who had the irritating habit of being right at the worst possible times.

Hannibal sighed, running a hand through his already tousled hair. He turned to face her, his usual smirk absent as he fixed her with a look of pure, exasperated sincerity. “That’s a fucking Dire Mortalis—a juvenile one, to be specific. Which means its parent is close by.” He gestured toward the dragon’s carcass with a tense flick of his wrist. “Look, I may not be a demigod or a goddess, but I don’t fuck with elder dragons. Especially those types.” His voice carried an uncharacteristic gravity, an unspoken warning laced with every word.

For a brief moment, Artemis hesitated, her mind working through the weight of his claim. Then, her expression hardened. She nodded, the realization settling in like cold steel in her gut. No matter how much she disliked Hannibal, he wasn’t the type to sound the alarm over nothing. If he was worried, they were all in trouble.

Without wasting another second, Artemis barked out orders, mobilizing the encampment into an immediate evacuation. The entire camp moved like a well-oiled machine, the demigods, legacies, and mages scrambling to pack essential supplies and usher civilians to safety. Hannibal, despite his usual reluctance, helped where he could, though his eyes kept darting to the horizon, waiting—dreading—the inevitable.

An hour. That’s how long it took to clear the encampment. An hour of urgency, of frantic movement, of hushed prayers and restrained panic.

Then it came.

The roar of the Dire Mortalis shattered the night.

It wasn’t just a sound—it was a force, a phenomenon. A volcanic eruption given voice. A shockwave of raw, primal fury that tore through the air and rattled bones. The demigods, hardened warriors who had faced monsters beyond mortal comprehension, winced as the sound threatened to split their skulls. The ground itself trembled beneath them, responding to the presence of something ancient, something beyond reason.

Then the sky darkened.

A massive shadow blotted out the stars, swallowing the moon in its vast, obsidian wingspan. The air thickened, choked with the acrid scent of molten rock and burning ozone.

And then they saw it.

The Dire Mortalis descended.

It was a living cataclysm, a force of destruction incarnate. Its scales, obsidian-black and glowing with veins of molten red, shimmered like the embers of a dying world. Its eyes burned with an intelligence far beyond mere beasts—an old, knowing malice that sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest.

Molten drool spilled from its jagged maw, sizzling as it hit the ground, each drop searing craters into the earth. Every wingbeat was a furnace blast, sending waves of blistering heat rippling through the encampment.

Mallory, known for her unwavering bravery, took one look at the behemoth and let out a breathless, trembling, “Oh good. That’s terrifying.”

No one dared to argue.

As the Dire Mortalis touched down, its massive claws gouging deep trenches into the earth, Hannibal exhaled sharply. His hand hovered over his weapon, though he knew—deep down—that steel alone wouldn’t be enough against a creature like this.

“We are so fucked,” he muttered, eyes locked on the dragon’s burning gaze.

And then it roared again.

As the Dire Mortalis roared once more, the sheer force of its fury cracked the very ground beneath their feet. Hannibal braced himself as the heat from its molten breath seared the air around them, the sky itself seeming to boil under the dragon’s presence. The encampment had long been abandoned, but the assembled group—Alex, Yujin, Mallory, and the remaining Huntresses—stood frozen, momentarily paralyzed by the overwhelming power before them.

Artemis, however, wasted no time.

With a sharp inhale, she thrust her hands forward, her silver-bright eyes flashing with divine power. The air around them pulsed, the temperature shifting from blistering heat to a cool, weightless sensation as a shimmering silver light enveloped the group.

“Hold on,” she commanded, her voice steady despite the chaos.

In the blink of an eye, the world around them twisted. The raging heat of the battlefield, the monstrous presence of the Dire Mortalis, the looming darkness—it all collapsed into a single point before snapping back into place elsewhere.

When Hannibal’s vision cleared, he found himself standing atop a moonlit plateau, surrounded by towering trees and the cool hum of nature untouched by the dragon’s destruction. A safe haven. A realm carved by Artemis’ power, shielded from immediate danger.

The others took a moment to regain their bearings, but Artemis had no such patience.

Before Hannibal could catch his breath, she turned on him, her piercing gaze locking onto him like a predator eyeing wounded prey.

“Talk,” she demanded, arms crossed, her body tense with barely restrained frustration. “Now.”

Hannibal blinked, still adjusting to the shift in reality. “Talk about what exactly?” he asked, feigning ignorance as he dusted off his jacket while Sakura stood between Hannibal and Artemis ready to protect what was hers.

Artemis was not amused. Her brown eyes became silver as she narrowed her gaze on Hannibal

“Don’t start with me boy, Hannibal,” she snapped, stepping closer, her divine presence pressing down on him like the weight of the sky itself. “You knew exactly what that thing was the second you saw it. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t question. You knew what it meant. And you were afraid.” She narrowed her eyes. “So tell me—why does a roguish bard know so much about elder dragons?”

Hannibal sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Bardic hero, if we’re being specific.”

“Hannibal.”

He let out a slow breath, finally meeting her gaze with a look that was equal parts reluctant and resigned. “Because,” he said, his voice lacking its usual teasing lilt, “I’ve fought one before.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. The others listened intently, but no one dared to interrupt.

Artemis tilted her head, scrutinizing him. “Explain.”

Hannibal hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “You ever hear the tale of the order of the wild hunt?”

Artemis frowned, the name ringing familiar, but she remained silent, letting him continue.

“It used to be a small group of Dragon Hunters ,” Hannibal said, his voice quieter now. “A thriving one. Then, one day, a Dire Mortalis—a full-grown one—descended upon it. Not because it was provoked. Not because it was hunted. Just… because.” His jaw clenched. “By the time anyone realized what was happening, the half the people were gone. Reduced to nothing but charred ruins and scorched bones. No survivors. No remains. Just an ashen wasteland where the group’s headquarters used to be.”

He exhaled, his eyes dark with the weight of memory. “That’s what elder dragons do. They don’t just kill. They erase.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Artemis studied him carefully, the tension in her shoulders never fully leaving. “And you saw this happen?”

Hannibal hesitated—just for a second—before nodding. “Yeah.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How?”

Hannibal rolled his shoulders, offering a wry, humorless smirk. “Let’s just say I got really lucky.”

Artemis wasn’t satisfied with his answer, but she also knew pressing further wouldn’t get her what she wanted. Not yet. Instead, she exhaled sharply and turned away, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

“So what you’re saying is,” Alex spoke up, breaking the tense quiet, “if we stay anywhere near that thing, we’re all fucked?”

Hannibal chuckled dryly. “I thought I made that painfully clear.”

Artemis sighed, rubbing her temples. “Great. Just great.” She turned back to Hannibal, her expression unreadable. “This conversation isn’t over. But for now, we focus on what’s next.”

Hannibal nodded, but deep down, he knew this wasn’t just about the Dire Mortalis anymore. Artemis had seen the cracks in his usual facade. And if she was anything, she was relentless.

The group stood in uneasy silence, the air still thick with the aftereffects of the Dire Mortalis’ presence, its roar still echoing in their ears. The demigods, legacies, and hunters began to disperse, some retreating back into their encampment to lick their wounds, others taking stock of the damage and preparing for whatever might come next. The night was far from over, but for now, the danger had passed—at least for the moment.

However, Artemis didn’t move. She lingered, her gaze locked onto Hannibal as he absently watched the others go, his expression unreadable, distant.

She’d seen the flickers in his eyes—the brief, almost imperceptible shifts in his demeanor—when he’d spoken about the Dire Mortalis. The weight in his voice. The haunted look that had passed through him when he mentioned the destruction wrought by elder dragons. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him hide something, but this time… it was different.

She stepped toward him, her steps quiet but deliberate.

“Hannibal,” she said softly, but her tone was firm, the hint of authority she carried as a demigod seeping into her voice.

He turned, meeting her gaze with an expression that was equal parts tired and cautious. “What now, Artie?” he asked, his usual teasing tone nowhere to be found.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she studied him, her sharp gaze taking in the subtle lines of tension across his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched as though trying to grasp at something just beyond reach. It reminded her of the way someone clung to their own sanity in the midst of madness.

“I wasn’t trying to mislead you,” he said, almost as if reading her thoughts. “I just—look, it’s not something I want to talk about. Not with anyone. Not now.”

Artemis stood there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of his words settle between them. But something in her shifted, and the frustration, the suspicion, the edge of anger she had felt earlier began to soften. He wasn’t being evasive or cryptic to hide something malicious. He was just… struggling.

She took a slow breath, and her voice lowered, becoming softer. “Hannibal, I—”

But he interrupted her, shaking his head. “You don’t get it. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like… to carry that kind of weight. To kill an entity like that.” He looked down at the ground, his face contorting with a mix of frustration and something else—something darker, more broken. “The power doesn’t just end. It doesn’t disappear. It changes you.”

Artemis felt a chill settle over her. Her mind immediately flashed back to all the stories she’d heard, all the myths she’d read. The power of elder beings, gods, titans, dragons—things that were beyond mortal comprehension. And the cost of slaying them. The stories were always vague, wrapped in symbolism. But they had always warned of one thing:

That when you when you stare into the abyss the abyss stares back.

“You mean…” Artemis started, her voice tinged with understanding, “…it changes how you see things.”

Hannibal’s eyes flickered, the slightest hint of vulnerability creeping through his usual facade. “Yeah. It changes everything. How you think. How you feel. How you see the world.” He closed his eyes briefly, like he was trying to shut out something that had begun to seep too deep inside. “It doesn’t stop at the physical, Artemis. It gets into your head. Into your psyche.” He chuckled darkly. “The power doesn’t just make you stronger. It makes you… different. And sometimes, you don’t even realize it’s happening. Not until it’s too late.”

Artemis felt a pang of sympathy, a knot forming in her chest. She had thought that Hannibal’s aloofness, his sarcasm, his inability to take things seriously, had just been his way of avoiding commitment or responsibility. But now, seeing the cracks in his armor, she realized how wrong she had been.

He wasn’t being evasive or dismissive. He was fighting a battle inside himself, one that he couldn’t escape. And he was doing it alone.

Her heart softened. She stepped closer to him, her voice quiet but sincere. “I’m sorry, Hannibal. I didn’t understand. I thought you were just playing games, being your usual self.” She shook her head, a rueful smile touching her lips. “But now I see you’re not hiding it to avoid me. You’re hiding it because you don’t want to face it yourself.”

He met her gaze, the usual walls up, but there was a flicker of something more—a glimmer of gratitude, perhaps, or maybe just the faintest hint of relief.

“I don’t want anyone else to go through what I’ve gone through,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I can’t undo it. Once it’s inside you, it’s part of you. And the more you kill, the harder it is to keep your sanity. Your humanity.”

Artemis nodded, understanding the gravity of his words now. “I see.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of the night’s events settling around them. The world was still, but the air felt thick with the unspoken truth between them.

“I didn’t mean to push you,” Artemis said softly, her voice steady. “You’re right. I don’t understand, but I can try. If you ever want to talk about it—anything—I’ll listen.”

Hannibal let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Yeah… maybe one day,” he said quietly, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Artemis gave him a small smile in return, before stepping back slightly, giving him the space he needed. “We’ll get through this together. But, Hannibal… don’t think you’re alone in it, alright?”

He nodded, his usual smirk starting to make an appearance. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not alone. I’ve got you and your overwhelming sense of duty to save the world.”

Artemis rolled her eyes, though there was warmth behind it. “Don’t get too used to it. You’re still on thin ice.”

Hannibal grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Absolutely! Here’s an expanded version that emphasizes Sakura’s Aphrodite side emerging, blending her controlled persona with that deeper, sensual side that craves intimacy:

A few hours later, Sakura found Hannibal again. She knew the camp well enough by now, and though most of the others were busy with their tasks, she had carved out a quiet, secluded corner for the two of them. A place where no one would bother them. The low, flickering firelight cast gentle shadows against the canvas walls of the encampment, the distant murmurs of the others barely reaching them.

Sakura leaned into Hannibal’s shoulder, the weight of the world slipping away as his warmth seeped into her, grounding her. She was always the leader, the figure everyone looked up to, but in this moment, with him, she could let go of that weight. “Thanks for saving us,” she murmured, the words almost soft, though they held an edge of teasing. “I’m sure no one is going to tell you that,” she added with a light smirk.

Hannibal smiled, his posture relaxing just slightly. He was always guarded, but in her presence, that control was a little more… malleable. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice warm but steady. “Though, I didn’t do it for the thanks. Besides, they don’t need to know the Highlander stuff.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed slightly, a playful glint in her gaze. “Can I ask why you didn’t tell them? You always seem to be holding something back,” she asked, her voice lighter now, laced with curiosity.

Hannibal was careful with his words. “It’s simple. They’re not ready to know about that yet.” His tone was measured, but Sakura saw the shadows in his eyes—the hints of things he kept buried beneath that calm, collected exterior.

She nodded slowly, as if weighing his words, then settled back into the moment. The silence between them was comfortable, but after a few minutes, Sakura felt that familiar itch inside her—something deep, something primal. She allowed herself to indulge in it just for a moment. Her voice, soft and sweet, took on a new tone, a more delicate, singsong quality that only he could hear.

“Relax, baby. Everything is going to be fine,” she purred, her words floating through the air like silk. She leaned in close, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, then gently pushing his head down into her lap. The motion was slow, deliberate, and she felt the warmth of his skin against hers, the way he melted beneath her touch.

Her hand moved through his hair, fingers weaving through the soft strands as she began to stroke him. Magic clung to her every movement, to her voice, as if every word she spoke had the power to bend him to her will. “You’ve got everything under control,” she cooed, her voice dripping with a seductive undertone that only he could recognize.

Hannibal’s body tensed for a moment, the calm façade he so often wore slipping as her words wrapped around him. He could feel her energy, the pull of something that went beyond mere physical attraction. It was something deeper, more dangerous, and he couldn’t help but succumb to it, if only for a little while. He had always been able to maintain control, to be the one steering the ship, but in this moment, Sakura’s power over him was undeniable.

“You know,” she continued, her voice dropping lower now, laden with promise, “I’m going to have so much fun with you when we get home.” Her tone was smooth, but there was a dangerous undercurrent to it—something that promised pleasure but demanded total surrender.

Hannibal’s breath caught, a shiver running down his spine as her words sank in. He couldn’t stop the subtle tension in his body, the way his hands instinctively reached for her, even though he was already lost in her grip. He wanted to say something, anything, to retain some semblance of control, but she had a way of making him feel like he was falling without even knowing it. Her touch, her voice—it was all too much. And yet, in the chaos of it all, he wanted it.

Her magic worked on him like a drug, pulling him deeper into her spell. His usual distance, his cool detachment, began to crack, and it was as though a different side of him was stirring—one he only revealed in her presence. That obsessive, insatiable need to possess, to have, to make her his, came rushing forward, but it was tempered by the understanding that with her, he didn’t need to rush. She would always draw him in, pull him closer, until he was lost in her completely.

Sakura’s hand drifted from his hair to his neck, her fingertips tracing the delicate lines of his skin with languid precision. She could feel the change in him—how his usual calmness was giving way to something deeper, something more intense. And it pleased her. She reveled in it. The power she had over him was a heady thing, and in this moment, she allowed herself to savor it fully.

“You’re mine tonight,” she whispered, her words carrying the weight of a promise, a command. And for once, Hannibal didn’t fight it. He let go, if only for a moment, allowing himself to be wrapped up in her allure.

It was dangerous, intoxicating, but in Sakura’s arms, it was exactly where he wanted to be.

Certainly! Here’s a scene that introduces Wonyoung’s interruption and sets the stage for both Sakura and Hannibal to snap out of their indulgence, offering care and guidance to Wonyoung as she struggles with the deadly energy she absorbed from the Dire Mortalis:

Sakura’s fingertips were still tracing the edge of Hannibal’s jaw when the moment was abruptly shattered. The soft, steady rhythm of her breathing and his began to slow, replaced by the sound of footsteps approaching—quick and urgent, breaking through the spell she had woven around them.

A voice—soft but strained—cut through the haze between them.

“Sakura,” Wonyoung’s voice cracked as she stepped into the dimly lit space, her expression unreadable but full of an unfamiliar weight. “I… I killed the Dire Mortalis. It’s… it’s not right.” She shuddered, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though trying to hold something inside. The mark of a hunter slowly appearing on her chest right above her sternum. It glowed an angelic white and blue.

Sakura’s hand stilled on Hannibal’s chest, her body freezing for just a moment, the brief loss of control over her emotions masked with a flicker of concern. Hannibal’s breath, too, caught in his throat as he straightened up from her lap, his senses sharpening. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected an interruption that pulled them out of their private cocoon into something far more dangerous.

Wonyoung’s eyes—wide and unblinking—stared at Sakura, pleading without saying another word. “Something’s wrong… I can feel it, inside me. It’s like the dragon’s fury, its ancient magic—it’s burning me up.”

Sakura, immediately sensing the gravity of the situation, pushed herself to her feet, her relaxed demeanor slipping into something far more protective and maternal. The granddaughter of Aphrodite might have reveled in indulgence moments ago, but now, as Wonyoung’s distress settled into the air, a new edge of urgency overtook her. She didn’t even need to think about it—Wonyoung was like family to her, and she’d been there for the young woman since her first steps into the camp, guiding her as a second mother would. She used layered her words with soothing calming magic as she reached out to Wonyoung.

“Wonyoung,” Sakura called softly, but there was an edge to her voice now—one that carried the weight of leadership and care. Her hands reached for the girl, but before she could close the distance, Wonyoung swayed on her feet, as if the strength had suddenly drained from her. She gripped her head, as though trying to hold herself together, but before she could slip Hannibal was right there to catch her.

“I can’t control it, Sakura. The power—it’s too much,” Wonyoung gasped, her voice tight and desperate.

Hannibal, who had been caught in the haze of his own indulgence, snapped into action with the precision of someone who had dealt with far worse. He was no stranger to absorbing and containing destructive forces—his own struggles with powerful energies were now no secret. The connection between him Wonyoung now more complicated. He could sense the shifting energy inside her, an unstoppable force threatening to tear her apart.

He moved to her side in an instant, his hands gently gripping her arms to steady her. His expression softened in understanding, the cool, detached veneer he usually wore melting away for the briefest of moments as he focused solely on Wonyoung’s agony.

“Wonyoung,” Hannibal’s voice was steady, the calm intensity of it urging her to listen. “I know what this feels like. I can help you, but you need to trust me.” His tone was low, reassuring, but beneath it lay a quiet undercurrent of warning. If they didn’t act fast, the situation would escalate beyond either of their control.

Sakura’s gaze flicked between Hannibal and Wonyoung, the worry on her face flickering for a moment before she pressed her hand gently to Wonyoung’s forehead. Her warmth, both physical and magical, seemed to settle the girl for a moment, even if it was only temporary.

“You’re absorbing Elder dragon magic, Wonyoung,” Sakura explained calmly, her hands steady despite the pressure of the moment. “That energy is ancient, and it’s not just any dragon’s power. It’s the Dire Mortalis. It’s too much for anyone to handle alone.”

Hannibal’s voice echoed hers, calm but filled with quiet urgency. “I’ve been there before. I know what it’s like to have that power inside you, threatening to tear you apart. But you don’t have to do this alone. Trust me, Wonyoung. We’ll help you get it under control.”

Wonyoung shook her head, tears threatening to spill over. “It hurts,” she gasped. “It’s like fire in my veins… like I’m burning from the inside out.”

Sakura’s heart ached for her. It wasn’t just the fear of losing someone she cared about—it was knowing the price of such power. She could feel the weight of her grandmother’s power stirring in her chest, that deep, ancient magic that could burn, could corrupt, but also heal. She could see the struggle in Wonyoung’s eyes and knew exactly what was happening. This was the same fury, the same fire that ran through her veins too—just held back, repressed by the weight of the world she had to carry. She quickly fell into the path of using calming magic to steady her.

“You need to focus,” Sakura said, her voice taking on a firm, almost maternal tone. “You’re not alone in this, Wonyoung. I’m here. Hannibal’s here. We’re going to help you through it.”

She looked to Hannibal, her eyes meeting his in a quiet exchange—one that spoke volumes. They had both been consumed by forces far greater than themselves in the past. They could do this together.

Hannibal nodded, his calm intensity returning. He reached out to Wonyoung, guiding her gently, but firmly, into a seated position. “Close your eyes, Wonyoung,” he instructed her softly. “Breathe in slowly. You have to calm your mind first. Control the energy before it controls you.”

Sakura, kneeling beside her, placed her hand gently on Wonyoung’s shoulder. She let her warmth flow through the contact, a mixture of her own powers and the steady comfort of a maternal touch. “We’ll help you contain it,” she whispered, her voice tender but carrying the weight of her own strength. “But you need to let us guide you.”

For a moment, Wonyoung hesitated, her body trembling, but then she nodded—her trust in them evident despite the panic swirling inside her.

With a synchronized effort, the two of them began to work. Hannibal guided Wonyoung’s breathing, his hands moving in subtle gestures to draw out the destructive force inside her. Sakura poured her own power into the mix, her energy intertwining with his, creating a balanced, calming flow that guided the dragon magic into something more contained.

It wasn’t easy. The ancient magic roiled and fought them, but together, they held steady, like a dam trying to hold back a flood. Slowly, slowly, they started to bring the energy under control, piece by piece.

Wonyoung’s breathing steadied, her trembling subsiding, and as the power within her calmed, she let out a soft, relieved sigh.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Sakura smiled softly, brushing a lock of hair away from Wonyoung’s face. “You’re safe now,” she said gently, though her heart still ached for her. The girl had been through far too much for her age.

Hannibal, his usual smirk returning, gave Wonyoung a look that was both reassuring and approving. “Just don’t go around picking fights with Elder dragons, okay?” he joked lightly, his voice softer than usual.

Wonyoung let out a laugh, weak but grateful. “I’ll try not to.”

As Wonyoung left, her steps faltering with residual strain from the energy she had just endured, Sakura watched her go, her eyes narrowing in concern. But as the young woman’s figure faded into the distance, Sakura’s attention was drawn to something else—a strange glow flickering across the younger girl’s chest.

The hunt symbol—the emblem of Artemis’ mark—was blazing brightly, a vivid reminder of the power Wonyoung had absorbed. It burned with a fierce, radiant energy, standing out starkly against her skin. Sakura’s curiosity flared instantly. She hadn’t seen that symbol glow so intensely before.

"Hey, that’s like yours," Sakura murmured, her gaze flicking to Hannibal, who was standing a few paces away, still absorbing the moment’s weight.

Hannibal turned his head slowly at her words, following her gaze to Wonyoung’s chest. He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable for a moment. But there was a quiet understanding in his eyes as he nodded in acknowledgment.

"Kinda. The mark is slightly different for everyone," Hannibal said, his tone steady, a slight edge of gravity seeping into his words as if the concept of the mark wasn’t something he took lightly. “But it’s essentially a marking that shows you’ve taken on an elder entity. The mark itself changes depending on the person, but one thing’s for sure—the moment it appears, it means an elder entity is merging with you.” His words were matter-of-fact, but there was a flicker of something deeper there—a reflection of his own experiences with the mark, the merging of powers, and the ways in which it had shaped him.

Sakura, standing next to him, let her fingers brush idly against the curve of his arm, the casualness of the gesture betraying the deeper affection behind it. She raised an eyebrow at his words, her lips curving into a teasing smile. Her voice, a soft and amused murmur, cut through the tension that had momentarily filled the air.

"So, you’re not all mine, then?" she asked, a playful glint sparking in her eyes.

Hannibal’s gaze snapped to her, a flicker of intensity passing through his normally calm expression. His lips parted as if to speak, but there was something about her question, the teasing edge in her tone, that made him pause. The silence stretched for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, laced with the same undeniable pull that always seemed to be there when he was with her.

"I am all yours."

The words hung in the air between them like a promise—calm, firm, and unwavering. His eyes were dark, intense, filled with the weight of the promise he’d just made. There was no room for doubt in his voice. The power of his statement wasn’t just in the words—it was in the certainty behind them, in the way he looked at her, as if he had already made the choice and would follow her anywhere, without hesitation.

Sakura’s heart fluttered at his words, the teasing tone dissolving into something far more intimate, more real. A gentle smile spread across her face as she stepped closer to him, her fingers lifting to trace the edge of his jaw with delicate precision. She stood on her tiptoes, her lips brushing lightly over his, the kiss tender, lingering—full of the quiet intensity that had been simmering just beneath the surface between them.

"Ah, darling," she whispered against his lips, her voice thick with affection and something deeper—something that only seemed to bloom when it was just the two of them, when the outside world faded away. Her fingers rested against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, grounding herself in the connection between them.

Hannibal's hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer as his lips met hers again, this time with more fervor. It was a kiss that spoke volumes—of promises, of desire, of the subtle power they held together. And as they broke apart, both of them breathing a little heavier, the world outside their quiet corner of the camp seemed to recede further into the background, leaving nothing but the electric charge between them.

Sakura’s voice, softer now, broke the silence. “I think you might be the only one who can make me forget everything else,” she said, her words sweet, but laden with a deeper truth. “It’s like you’ve put a spell on me, Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s eyes glinted with that familiar intensity, his hand brushing a strand of her hair away from her face as he looked at her, his smirk ever so slight but filled with quiet confidence. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice almost too smooth. "But I think you’ve done the same to me."

A rare vulnerability flickered in his eyes before he masked it with that same calm assurance. But Sakura had seen it—seen the way he gave himself to her so completely, the way he let his guard down in her presence. And for the first time in her life, she felt the kind of connection that went beyond mere affection. It was something deeper, something sacred.

And as their lips met again, everything outside of that moment seemed to disappear.

A few days had passed since the Dire Mortalis incident, but tension still hung thick in the air of Artemis’s encampment. While most demigods had settled into a wary routine of preparation and recovery, whispers and side-eyes followed Hannibal wherever he went. The rumor mill had been working overtime, and the chief architect behind the gossip was none other than Kenny, son of Apollo.

Kenny stood near the central fire pit, leaning against a wooden post as he loudly recounted his theory to a group of skeptical but uneasy listeners. His sun-kissed features were set in an exaggerated look of exasperation, as if he couldn’t believe people weren’t seeing the obvious.

“I’m just saying,” he drawled, crossing his arms, “doesn’t it seem a little convenient that Hannibal—of all people—just so happened to be there when the Dire Mortalis showed up? And that he knew exactly what it was?” His golden eyes flickered with the satisfaction of planting doubt. “What if he led it straight to the rec center? Maybe he made a deal or something.”

Across the camp, Hannibal sat near the weapon racks, sharpening his twin daggers with a lazy, almost bored expression. He could hear Kenny loud and clear, but he didn’t acknowledge him—at least not yet. The whispers weren’t new, and neither was Kenny’s disdain.

Sakura, however, was less composed. She had been watching the exchange from a distance, her nails tapping irritably against her arm. Finally, she had enough.

With effortless grace, she sauntered over to where Kenny was holding court, her presence immediately shifting the energy. The gathered demigods straightened as she approached, their previous murmurs dying in their throats.

“Kenny,” she purred, her voice saccharine-sweet, “I couldn’t help but overhear your little… conspiracy theory.” Her smile was pleasant, but there was a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Kenny met her gaze with feigned innocence. “Oh, Sakura, I’m just trying to make sure everyone’s safe. We can’t just ignore the possibility that—”

“That Hannibal, who risked his life to warn everyone, who helped evacuate the camp, who is the only reason half of you aren’t dragon food right now, is actually the villain?” Sakura’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s quite the leap, don’t you think?”

Some of the demigods shifted uncomfortably, clearly less convinced of Kenny’s theory now that Sakura had stepped in.

Kenny held his ground, though. “I just think it’s weird, alright? He’s not a demigod, not a legacy—he’s something else. And every time something big happens, he’s in the middle of it.”

Sakura stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough that only Kenny could hear. “You’re trying so hard to make him the bad guy,” she murmured, “but you and I both know this isn’t about the dragon. It never was.”

Kenny stiffened, his jaw tightening as Sakura pulled back, still wearing that infuriatingly knowing smile.

“If you have a problem with my boyfriend,” she said, voice like silk, “you can take it up with me.”

Then, without another glance, she turned and made her way back to Hannibal, who had been watching with veiled amusement.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he remarked as she sat beside him.

Sakura simply smirked, taking his dagger from his hands and twirling it between her fingers. “I know,” she said airily. “But I wanted to.”

Hannibal chuckled, leaning back. “You’re a menace.”

“And you love it,” she countered, placing the dagger back in his palm.

His gaze softened as he looked at her, the weight of her words—and her unwavering defense of him—settling into his bones.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I really do.”

Uneasy Truths

The return to the rec center was a blur of magic and movement. Artemis, wielding her divine power with effortless precision, transported the demigods back in the blink of an eye. One moment, they were in the dense, moonlit woods of the Huntresses’ encampment; the next, they stood on familiar ground, the remnants of battle still etched into the earth.

Despite the destruction left in the dragon’s wake, the demigods wasted no time in resuming their daily routines. Repairs began immediately—shattered windows were replaced, scorched walls were repainted, and the echoes of battle gradually faded into the hum of normalcy. Yet, not everyone could return to the way things were.

Yujin watched from a distance, arms crossed, as Hannibal moved through the crowd with his usual unreadable ease. He seemed to fold himself into the world effortlessly, offering wry remarks here and there, helping where he could, but never lingering too long. And that—that—was what bothered her most.

He was too composed. Too capable. Too knowledgeable.

Alex had tried to soothe her suspicions. “He saved us, Yujin. He didn’t lead that dragon to us. You’re being paranoid.”

But Yujin’s mind was a whirlwind of unanswered questions:

“Where did he come from?”

“How did he get his magic?”

“Why is he so powerful?”

“How does he know so much about monsters?”

Hannibal didn’t act like a demigod. He didn’t act like a legacy either. There was something about him that felt other, and it unsettled her in ways she couldn’t quite explain.

It all came to a head when Wonyoung, for the first time, instinctively tapped into her newfound magic.

A simple sparring session had turned into something else entirely. One moment, Wonyoung had been on the defensive, dodging and weaving, and then—boom. The air crackled with energy. Golden-blue runes blazed across her skin, the mark on her chest glowing like a brand, and raw dragon magic erupted from her, sending her opponent flying backward.

The camp had fallen silent, all eyes on her.

Yujin’s stomach dropped.

That mark.

It was like his.

Before she could second-guess herself, she was already moving.

Confrontation

She found Hannibal near the camp’s edge, adjusting the straps on his pack, clearly preparing to leave. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable, but Yujin wasn’t fooled.

She stormed up to him, her spear materializing in her hand with a burst of golden light.

Before he could react, she shoved him hard against the nearest wall, pinning him there with surprising strength.

“What did you do to Wonyoung?” she demanded.

Hannibal blinked. “Nothing that I can think of.”

Yujin’s grip tightened, her knuckles turning white. That calmness. That casual indifference. It infuriated her.

“Last chance,” she hissed, her spear humming with power as old magic burned through her veins. “Tell me—what did you do to her?”

Hannibal’s brow furrowed slightly, a rare flicker of genuine confusion crossing his features. “What are you even talking about?”

Yujin hesitated. She was good at reading people, and despite every fiber of her being telling her to stay on edge, she saw no deception in his face.

Her grip loosened slightly, but her voice remained sharp. “Wonyoung has a mark like yours. What did you do to give it to her?”

Hannibal exhaled, the tension in his shoulders fading as realization dawned. “Oh. That.”

He rolled his shoulders, looking almost amused as he straightened his clothes. “Personally, I didn’t do anything. I just kept her from exploding into an arcane bomb. But if you want the full explanation…” He met her gaze evenly.

“When you guys killed the juvenile Dire Mortalis, its magic had to go somewhere—and since Wonyoung likely landed the final blow, it chose her. The mark? That’s just her body’s way of interpreting and manifesting the power she absorbed. Does that make sense?”

Yujin exhaled sharply. She wanted to argue, to refute his explanation, but deep down, it did make sense.

Her frustration, however, didn’t fade.

“Then how do we fix her?” she asked, her voice still laced with anger.

Hannibal shrugged. “You don’t.”

Yujin’s eye twitched. “Excuse me?”

Another shrug. “That’s like asking how to ‘fix’ someone who got a bone graft. You can��t. You just have to monitor them and hope they don’t backslide.”

Yujin saw red. She had spent years protecting Wonyoung, making sure nothing happened to her, and now Hannibal was telling her there was no way to undo what had happened?

Her father’s temper flared within her, and before she could stop herself, she hurled her spear at him, magic surging through the weapon.

It struck him dead center—

—and bounced off.

Yujin’s breath caught. Her spear, infused with her power, should have at least knocked him back. Instead, it clattered harmlessly to the ground at her feet.

She stared at him in disbelief.

Hannibal gave her a knowing look, his expression unreadable once more.

“Achilles and Siegfried’s blessings,” he said simply, then turned on his heel and walked away.

Yujin stood there, her spear still at her feet, frustration bubbling beneath her skin.

She hated that he had answers.

She hated that she didn’t trust him.

But more than anything—she hated that he wasn’t scared of anything!

Here’s an expanded version of the scene with Alex and Yujin’s relationship woven into it:

Alex found Yujin sitting on the rec center’s rooftop, her legs dangling over the edge as she stared up at the sky. The remnants of golden hour still clung to the clouds, but Yujin’s expression was anything but warm. She had been stewing for hours, ever since her confrontation with Hannibal.

Alex approached quietly, settling down beside her and nudging her shoulder. “You’re brooding,” she noted. “That’s usually my thing.”

Yujin huffed, still gripping her summoned spear like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “I just don’t trust him,” she muttered. “There’s something off about him, and no one seems to care.”

Alex tilted her head, resting her cheek against Yujin’s shoulder. “Sakura cares,” she pointed out. “She’s not the type to get tangled up with someone shady.”

Yujin scoffed. “Maybe, but she’s also… well, she’s different around him. More indulgent. What if he’s manipulating her?”

Alex gave her a skeptical look. “Sakura? Manipulated? You do remember who we’re talking about, right? She’d eat a guy alive before letting that happen.” She leaned back on her palms. “Besides, you and Wonyoung both think she’s a great judge of character.”

Yujin opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, the door behind them swung open.

“What the hell, Yujin?”

Wonyoung’s voice rang out sharp and clear as she stepped onto the roof, her arms crossed and her expression a storm of frustration. “I heard what you did. You attacked Hannibal?”

Yujin tensed but didn’t turn to face her. “I didn’t attack him—I just… tested something.”

Alex snorted. “That’s a pretty diplomatic way to describe throwing a spear at a guy.”

Wonyoung marched up to them, looking between Yujin and Alex. “You seriously thought that was okay?”

Yujin finally turned, eyes flashing with lingering frustration. “You weren’t there, Wonyoung. You didn’t see the way he just… deflected my magic like it was nothing. How he knew exactly what was happening to you like it was just some routine phenomenon. How he acts like he’s been here forever, but we know nothing about him.” She gestured vaguely, searching for the words. “He’s too… alien. He doesn’t fit.”

Wonyoung and Alex exchanged a look before Wonyoung let out a slow breath. “So let me get this straight. You attacked him not because of anything he’s actually done, but because he’s different?”

Yujin clenched her jaw. “I attacked him because I don’t trust him. He’s too powerful, too secretive, too—too much.”

Alex gave her a searching look. “And yet, he’s never done anything to hurt us. He’s helped us. He helped Wonyoung. And he’s done nothing but be good to Sakura.”

Yujin shook her head, gripping her spear tightly. “You’re acting like that means we shouldn’t be careful. Just because someone helps doesn’t mean they’re safe. We don’t know where he came from. We don’t know how he got his magic or why he knows so much about monsters. He just showed up and started changing things.”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes. “Oh no, someone showed up and helped us not die. Terrifying.”

Alex held up a hand before Wonyoung could get too heated. “I get what you’re saying, babe,” she said gently, rubbing Yujin’s arm. “I do. But are you sure this isn’t just you trying to find a reason not to trust him? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks a lot like you’re reaching.”

Yujin’s grip on her spear loosened slightly, her expression flickering with uncertainty. But still, the unease remained. Something about Hannibal didn’t sit right with her, and she wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

Here’s an expanded version of the scene with more tension and depth:

A few days later, Hannibal returned from his trip, slipping back into the rec center with the same quiet presence he always carried. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the courtyard where a handful of demigods lingered. He barely had time to get past the entrance before a familiar figure stepped into his path.

Kenny.

The son of Apollo leaned against one of the columns, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with something just short of outright hostility. He straightened as Hannibal approached, a smirk playing at his lips, but there was no humor behind it.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to come back.” Kenny’s voice was deceptively light, but there was an edge beneath it, sharp enough to cut. He took a step forward, sizing Hannibal up. “So, where do you go when you leave us, big guy?”

Hannibal didn’t pause, didn’t even spare Kenny a glance as he moved past him with the same measured indifference he carried in every step.

Kenny let out a low chuckle, pushing off the column and falling into step beside him. “What, no answer? You’re usually so good with words.” He tilted his head, his golden hair catching the last rays of the sun. “Come on, man. I’m curious. You keep disappearing and then popping back up like nothing happened. Where do you go?”

Still, Hannibal remained silent, his strides purposeful as he walked past the training grounds and toward the dormitories. He had no interest in entertaining whatever game Kenny was trying to play.

But Kenny wasn’t the type to take silence as an answer.

“See, here’s the thing,” Kenny continued, his voice lowering slightly. “People are starting to wonder about you, Hannibal. You show up out of nowhere, you take down a dragon like it’s just another Tuesday, and now Wonyoung’s got some kind of weird magic mark that looks an awful lot like yours.” He scoffed. “Not to mention, you always seem to know things you shouldn’t. Kinda suspicious, don’t you think?”

Hannibal came to an abrupt stop. Kenny nearly walked into him.

Slowly, Hannibal turned, his expression unreadable, but there was something heavy in his gaze—something cold and unwavering. “Why do you care so much about me?” he asked, voice low but carrying a weight that made Kenny’s smirk falter.

For a moment, there was silence.

Kenny opened his mouth, then shut it, his jaw tightening. He didn’t know why, not exactly. All he knew was that there was something about Hannibal that set him on edge, something that made his skin crawl in a way he couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the way he always seemed so composed, like nothing could shake him. Maybe it was the fact that no one knew anything real about him, despite how easily he seemed to slip into their lives. Or maybe it was just instinct—some deep, gnawing feeling in his gut that told him Hannibal wasn’t someone to be trusted.

Kenny’s silence stretched a beat too long, and Hannibal took it as his answer.

“Thought so.” Hannibal turned back around and walked away, leaving Kenny standing there, fists clenched and unanswered questions burning at the back of his mind.

Here’s a follow-up scene where Sakura approaches Hannibal about revealing some of his secrets to the others:

Later that evening, as the sky bled into deep purples and blues, Sakura found Hannibal leaning against one of the stone walls near the rec center. He was watching the stars emerge, his expression distant, unreadable. He didn’t turn when she approached, but she knew he was aware of her presence.

“You know,” she started, her voice smooth and teasing, “you have a real talent for making people suspicious of you.”

Hannibal exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That so?”

Sakura leaned next to him, tilting her head as she studied his profile. “Yeah. Kenny’s practically frothing at the mouth trying to figure you out, and Yujin still watches you like you’re about to sprout a second head. Even Wonyoung is starting to ask questions.” She paused before adding, “You don’t make it easy on yourself, you know.”

Hannibal finally turned his gaze toward her, his dark eyes searching hers. “And what would you have me do? Lay my entire existence bare just to make them comfortable?”

Sakura sighed. “No, but…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “You don’t have to tell them everything. Just enough so they don’t feel like you’re some unknown variable. You’re not a villain, Hannibal, but the more secretive you are, the more they start to think you are.”

He was quiet for a long moment, looking back up at the stars as if seeking an answer in their distant glow. “It’s not that simple,” he said finally. “There are things about me they wouldn’t understand—things they might not want to know.”

Sakura crossed her arms. “Try me.”

Hannibal glanced at her, and for a moment, something flickered in his gaze—hesitation, maybe even vulnerability. But it was gone just as quickly as it came. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“You’re different,” he murmured. “You see me for what I am and don’t flinch. But not everyone will.”

Sakura caught his wrist, holding it there against her cheek. “Then show them that you’re more than just some enigmatic force in the background. Let them see the man I see.”

Hannibal let out a soft chuckle. “You have too much faith in me.”

“I have just enough,” she corrected.

He sighed, finally looking away. “I’ll think about it.”

Sakura smiled, pressing a brief kiss to his palm before letting his hand go. “That’s all I ask.”

She turned to leave, but not before casting him one last glance over her shoulder. “Just… don’t wait too long, okay?”

Hannibal watched her go, the weight of her words settling over him like a shroud. He knew she was right. But the question remained—how much truth was he willing to share? And at what cost?

Later that night, away from the prying eyes and whispers of the others, Sakura found Hannibal exactly where she expected him—perched on the edge of his bed, lost in thought. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a lantern casting flickering shadows against the walls. He looked up as she entered, his expression unreadable, but his body relaxed at the sight of her.

Without a word, Sakura stepped closer, sliding into the space beside him. She didn’t speak, didn’t press—just leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers lightly tracing the veins along his forearm. Hannibal sighed, the tension in his frame easing as he shifted to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

“You always do that,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her hair.

“Do what?” she asked, her voice hushed in the quiet of the night.

“Make everything stop feeling so heavy.”

Sakura smiled, nuzzling into the warmth of his chest. “That’s what I’m here for.”

They settled back against the mattress, bodies entwined in the kind of closeness that spoke of silent understanding rather than just comfort. Hannibal’s fingers lazily traced circles along her back, and Sakura’s breath fanned against his collarbone as she pressed closer, absorbing his warmth.

For a while, neither of them spoke. There was no need to. The world outside could wait—its uncertainties, its conflicts, its endless questions. Here, in the cocoon of their quiet moment, nothing else mattered.

Sakura sighed contentedly, her hand resting over Hannibal’s heart, feeling its steady rhythm beneath her palm. “I like you like this,” she whispered.

“Like what?”

“Soft,” she teased, tilting her head up to look at him. “Like you’re actually letting yourself breathe.”

Hannibal smirked, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead. “Only for you.”

Sakura hummed in satisfaction, draping a leg over his as she tucked herself deeper into his embrace. “Good. Because I’m not letting go.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

Sleep came for them slowly, wrapped in warmth, whispered words, and the quiet certainty that, no matter what came next, they had this. Even if just for tonight.

The rush of the next morning came quickly as the camp bustled with energy—sparring day was always an event. Demigods paired off, steel clashing, magic crackling, and strategies unfolding in the dirt. Everyone had their partners picked except for Yujin and Hannibal.

Hannibal, on his part, had tried to slip out of it, but Sakura was having none of it. She leaned against a nearby post, arms crossed, watching him with a knowing smirk.

“Come on, Kura,” Hannibal sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know I shouldn’t be fighting everyone else.”

Sakura’s smirk widened. “No, I don’t. I’ve never seen you fight.”

That was a problem.

Hannibal let out a long breath, knowing he’d lost the moment she said that. He was pushed into the sparring ring, the crunch of dirt beneath his boots sounding louder than it should as Yujin stepped up to face him, twirling her celestial bronze spear in hand.

The air between them crackled with anticipation. Yujin grinned, practically bouncing on her heels. She had been waiting for this.

“So you’re finally out here,” she teased, rolling her shoulders. “No more lurking in the shadows like some cryptid?”

Hannibal gave her an unreadable look, his brow furrowing slightly as if something about this whole situation didn’t sit right with him. He opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, then finally asked, “Uh… how hard should I go?”

Yujin tilted her head, confused. “What?”

“I mean, how hard is too hard?” Hannibal clarified, shifting on his feet. “I’ve never really fought at anything less than ‘to kill,’ and I know I’m not supposed to kill you, so… I don’t really know how to tone it down.”

The confidence—no, the certainty—in his voice threw Yujin off. She scoffed, assuming it was a scare tactic, an attempt to intimidate her before they even started. Cute.

“Just go all out,” she said, completely undeterred.

Hannibal sighed like she’d just made things needlessly complicated. He pulled out a pair of wireless earbuds and popped them in, cutting himself off from the noise of the crowd. Around them, demigods gathered, intrigued by the match-up.

Kenny, always quick to stir the pot, started taking bets.

“Twenty drachmas says Yujin mops the floor with him,” Kenny called out.

“C’mon, man, he’s a mystery box. What if he’s hiding something?” someone else argued.

“If he was, we’d know by now,” Kenny scoffed. “Dude’s all talk.”

In the arena, Hannibal’s Hunt Symbol began to glow, pulsing in a malignant crimson and deep teal. The crowd quieted slightly, sensing something dangerous waking up beneath his skin.

Yujin steadied her stance, her grip tightening around her spear. Finally, she thought, a glimpse at what he can do.

Then the first attack came.

A black bolt of energy arced off Hannibal’s fingertips and shot toward her. Yujin barely had time to register what it was before she twisted out of the way, the attack narrowly missing her. Another bolt followed, then another, forcing her back step by step. She dodged with the grace of a dancer, but each evasion pushed her further from Hannibal, forcing her into a reactive rhythm rather than an offensive one.

Her brows furrowed. He’s controlling my movement.

“You know,” she called out, leaping over another strike, “I wouldn’t take you for a coward!”

Hannibal didn’t respond. He couldn’t hear her, too lost in whatever music was blasting in his ears. His face remained unreadable, his eyes watching her with cold calculation, analyzing every movement.

Frustrated, Yujin launched her spear straight at him. The weapon whistled through the air, but just before it could strike, a surge of dark energy intercepted it, dissolving the attack on impact.

Yujin smirked. Fine. If I can’t hit you directly, I’ll force you to react.

She activated her spear’s secondary ability—an explosive detonation of divine energy erupted in front of Hannibal. The shockwave sent him hurtling backward, crashing into the ground near where Kenny and the betting crowd stood. Dust billowed around him as the audience erupted in a mix of cheers and shocked gasps.

But Hannibal didn’t stay down.

As the dust settled, he pushed himself to his feet with eerie calm, brushing off his jacket. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes now gleamed with something sharp—an edge Yujin hadn’t seen before.

The fight had just changed.

Yujin rushed him, her body a blur of movement. She was fast, fluid, relentless. But Hannibal had already analyzed her patterns. He reached into the ether and pulled his weapon from the pocket dimension he kept it in—a sleek, ancient sword that crackled with dark energy.

The clash was immediate.

Yujin’s spear struck first, but Hannibal parried effortlessly, redirecting the force of her attack. She struck again—one, two, three precise jabs—but Hannibal weaved around them like water. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he caught the shaft of her spear, twisted it, and wrenched it from her grasp.

Before she could react, he pressed forward.

A swift strike to her side forced her back. Another knocked her off balance. Then, in one smooth motion, Hannibal’s blade hovered just a breath away from her throat—the killing blow.

Silence fell over the arena.

Yujin’s chest heaved, sweat slicking her brow. She stared at the blade, then at Hannibal’s face. He wasn’t gloating. He wasn’t taunting. He just… stopped.

And then he turned and walked away.

The crowd erupted into murmurs.

“What the hell was that?”

“He just—he barely tried.”

“Did he throw the fight?”

Sakura, having watched the entire thing, let out a laugh. A knowing, amused, delighted laugh.

She had her answer. As the crowd slowly dispersed from the sparring arena, Sakura found Hannibal leaning against a nearby tree, earbuds still in, absently scrolling through something on his phone. His expression was the same unreadable calm as ever, but she knew better.

She plopped down beside him, stretching her legs out with a satisfied sigh. “You could’ve tried a little harder, you know.”

Hannibal barely glanced up. “To what end?” he asked, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “I won. Yujin’s barely hurt. Everybody gets to go home happy.”

Sakura blinked before laughter bubbled up from her chest, spilling out in delighted waves. She laughed so hard she had to lean against his shoulder for support.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, finally looking up at her. “What?”

Sakura wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still grinning. “You really don’t care what people think of you, huh?”

Hannibal shrugged, tucking his phone away. “Why would I? They wanted to see me fight. I fought. Yujin wanted a challenge. She got one. But I wasn’t gonna break a sweat for some camp spectacle.”

Sakura snorted. “Gods, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet you adore me,” he said smoothly, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in just a little closer.

Sakura hummed, resting her head against him. “Unfortunately.”

Hannibal smirked but said nothing, content to let her warmth settle against him. As Sakura leaned against Hannibal, she shifted closer, draping an arm across his chest and tracing idle patterns along his collarbone. Her touch was soft, absentminded, but deliberate—the kind that spoke of quiet possession.

“You know,” she murmured, her fingers trailing up to his jaw before gently tilting his face toward hers, “for someone who doesn’t care what people think, you sure do make a habit of keeping secrets.”

Hannibal exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “That’s different,” he said, his voice low. “Secrets are power. Perception is noise.”

Sakura hummed as if considering his words, but her fingers moved again, this time brushing along the edge of his ear before sinking into his hair. She played with the strands absentmindedly, her nails lightly grazing his scalp. “Maybe,” she mused, “but you can’t keep everything locked away.”

Hannibal leaned into her touch, just barely. “I let you in, don’t I?”

Sakura smirked, then leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “That’s right,” she whispered, letting her lips linger. “You’re mine.”

Hannibal’s arm tightened around her waist, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. His lips brushed against hers—slow, deliberate, a silent acknowledgment of her claim. “Completely,” he murmured.

Sakura smiled against his mouth before deepening the kiss, her body melting into his as she reveled in the rare vulnerability he showed only to her.

[lizclipse]

i’m looking to switch to nix to manage stuff on everything and i’m starting with my mac but i don’t use one of the 2 shells nix-darwin supports so i actually can’t use it after hours to trying to figure out literally anything (how is the documentation for anything nix both good and fucking horrendous at the same time) and now it’s 2 in the fucking morning and i don’t know how it got so late and i’m just pissed man

[chastiefoul]

how they'd react when you wanted to sleep on the couch... just because.

fluff. light-hearted ft. gojo, nanami, sukuna, suguru, toji, choso

satoru

“baby scooch over.” a whispered voice along with a gentle nudge on the shoulder woke you from your dozed off state. “hmm?” you mumbled out, blinking your terribly heavy lids open although to no avail they’re begging to keep themselves shut. satoru glanced at you with a frown on his eyes with a pillow held close to his body. “scooch over baby,” he pleaded, kneeling beside the couch you’re currently lying on.

“go back to bed toru,” you said softly, tugging your blanket closer. “but you’re not there,” he whined, intertwining his hand with yours as he attacked it with kisses, not letting you go back to sleep, especially if it’s without him. “i thought you said you’re going to be fine?” you asked, jogging the memory of him being all smug while saying you could do whatever you wanted. “that was not me, i would never say that,” he said promptly and goodness you didn’t know before someone’s lips could turned that much downward. you chuckled breathily, knowing this will happen sooner or later.

you scooted over on the big couch, leaving him the space he’d been begging for. you could have sworn you heard a squeal before you’re wrapped in satoru’s warm hold, his head resting snugly atop of yours. “no sleeping on here anymore. not without me,” he said into your hair, kissing it softly.

❀

nanami

“but why, love?” he asked, having a hard time comprehending your wish to sleep alone on the living room only because... you randomly wanted to? you chuckled looking at his bewildered face, an expression of someone who’s probably racking his brain upside down thinking that he’s done something wrong. “ken, i promise it’s just because i feel like it and no reason other than that.” you cupped his face, planting a soft kiss on his nose.

nanami looked a little relieved, albeit sullen, hesitant in asking whether he could invite himself in or you wanted a little time for yourself. and when it’s finally time to sleep it’s becoming more obvious that your lover wasn’t going to make it easy for you.

“need any more blanket honey?” he asked tapping the head of the couch as he stood there a tad nervous, knowing full well you got everything you needed since he insisted to be the one to prepare it. pillows, blanket, a hot drink, he’s got it all for you. “i’m perfect here, ken. you can go to bed,” you said with a reassuring smile, yet it did the opposite effect to the man.

“can i be here until you sleep, my love? it’s just that i feel like i wouldn’t be able to rest properly until i see you do the same.” he stroke your cheek softly with his thumb, and when you leaned into his touch he knew he’s gone for you. that there’s no way he could be asleep if he went back to the bedroom in that moment—unless you’re with him, of course. though, he didn’t say this, he just continued combing through your strands of hair, loving the peaceful expression on your face.

and unfortunately for the blond man, when it comes to these things his thoughts were written all over his face. you already caught on the fact that he wanted to lie down with you there yet his wish in prioritizing your wants refrained him from speaking his. you laughed a little, feeling a burst of fondness towards the tall man.

“on a second thought, can you sleep here with me ken?” he moved as quick as the sentence ended, already making his way under the blanket. he sneaked a hand around your waist, pressing your body closer against him. “i was kind of hoping you’d ask,” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed. you snuggled closer to his chest, feeling utmost comfort as he rubbed your back gently.

“i know.”

❀

sukuna

not even ten minutes in trying to sleep on the said couch, sukuna had already carried you back towards your shared bedroom.

“but-“

“no.”

he put you on the bed gently, then he draped a blanket over as he tucked you in. sukuna has that look of a man who’s determined in keeping you there, and you already knew it’s a fight you could not win thus, you turned for another plan instead: pouting.

even until he got beside you as he rested his big hand on your stomach, you refused to look at him, crossing your hands in front of your chest. he sighed, “give me one good reason i should let you sleep out there,” he said exasperatedly. “cause i want some me time?” you claimed. even you weren’t sure why you’re battling him so hard on this.

“then have it here in this bed with me. you’ll get all cold later and cling to me later anyways. i’m just speeding up the process.” he replied, already closing his eyes.

“what a strange way of saying you couldn’t sleep without me,” you said, with a grin on your face. the feeling of his thumb moving against your skin brought you immense comfort, your impulsive plan long forgotten.

“if you already knew that then quit making it harder for me, brat.”

❀

toji

he stared at you who’s already making yourself comfortable on the couch, amused. “looking cozy there,” he said with a grin, a face of someone who’s up to no good. “yeah, it’s actually not ba-“ the sentence was cut off was your own squeal, toji had picked you up as he took your lying down position and put you top of him.

“you could’ve just asked first!” you fumed, hitting his bicep—which did more to you and it did him, how could one even get their muscle to be as hard as that? he just chuckled in response, putting a hand around your waist. “sorry doll, got too excited,” he said lazily, already seemed all happy, like he had all he needed.

and he did, with you close to him resting your head on his chest, knowing that you loved counting his heartbeat. the man was truly content.

“we really should get a bigger couch,” you mumbled. we should get everything you wanted, toji thought. but it’d be a bit much to say in the moment so instead he just continued rubbing your sides until you dozed off, plunging into the dream land.

“sleep.”

❀

suguru

“whatcha got there baby?” he asked, an easy smile on his face. there’s really no day with you where you didn’t make him tilt his head questioningly. “’m going to sleep here tonight,” you said, fluffing the pillow before lying down on it comfortably.

“okay, where’s mine then?”

“your what?”

“my pillow. you didn’t bring mine along yours?”

“oh well i just thought you’d want to sleep in the bed anyway?” you replied, and suguru looked like you just insulted him deeply. the couch dipped, he then lied down beside you on the same pillow, making him extra close as he embraced you. “i sleep where you sleep baby, you make me this way. i can no longer rest when i don’t get to hold you close like this,” he said softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

you have a big smile on your face as he said this, inhaling his familiar scent as you put your arms around him. “that better not be a complaint,” you said, cuddling closer to the man.

“never.” he kissed your temple.

❀

choso

it seriously look like it killed him when he had to walk away from the room, leaving you to sleep by yourself on the couch. his steps were excruciatingly slow, taking as much time as he could in case you changed your mind.

“cho?” you almost laughed looking at the way he perked up, a hopeful expression on his face. “can you turn off the light on your way?” and it almost felt too cruel the way the sparkle on his eyes dimmed, his shoulders beyond slumped. he then practically had to drag his own feet before letting out a small nod.

you chuckled, couldn’t keep up with the teasing anymore. “i’m kidding baby, do you wanna get in here?” you lifted up the blanket, patting the empty space next to you. it was the fastest you’ve ever seen him, as he’s beside you in no time.

he clinged to you tightly, like he’s making sure as much of his skin made contact with yours, a satisfied smile on his face. his hair tickled your neck nicely, as you traced the area below his eye with back of your finger.

“next time you want something just ask, cho.”

[deusfoundry]

in retrospect, there's really no other way this night could've possibly ended.

zayne likes to think that he tried. that he had exercised as much restraint as he could. that the only reason he's got his lips on your skin, planting wet kisses that trails along the path of your collarbone, is because truly, he's been pushed to the brink of his self control.

but is he really to blame when you looked absolutely divine in that dress?

"z-zayne, we have to go ..."

your words fail to register in his mind, anything and everything but the tiny sounds you make enters one ear and slides right out the other. he almost feels bad now, the memory of how ecstatic you were when he'd invited you as his plus one to a banquet hosted by akso hospital three weeks ago flashes before him. how that excitement grew tenfold when you told him about the dress you'd bought to surprise him with.

and he certainly was surprised, pleasantly so, when the sight of your bare back greeted him as he entered his bedroom.

zayne stops in his tracks, feet feeling like they've been permanently rooted to the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

you're seated in front of the vanity table he'd put together for you. the size of it is nothing like the one you have at your apartment, but it shares a similar design, the same wooden accents. it's enough that you can get ready for anything without having to make a stop at your place. he'd bought it when you first began to spend the night at his apartment.

lately though, you've been spending the better part of each week in his place. zayne's been reminding himself to build up the courage to ask you to move in with him.

he's supposed to be used to this. to your back facing him. to your eyes lighting up when you catch sight of his figure through the reflection of your vanity mirror. to you pausing in the middle of your routine to turn around, greet him with that smile of yours that sends an ache in his heart.

but this damned dress.

he forces his feet off the floor to move towards you, his heavy footsteps catching your attention. you flash him a sheepish smile, your eyes flitting towards the jacket of his dress suit draped on his arm.

"have i been taking too long?" you ask, hurriedly dragging the tip of your eyeliner to your lids.

"no," zayne stalks close enough to place his hands on the back of your chair. he drinks you in, eyes casting downwards to the fabric pooling at your lower back. your hair is pulled up to a loose bun, fastened with a clip shaped into a snowflake, leaving your bare shoulders to view. he takes the thin strap of your dress betwixt thumb and forefinger, fighting the immense urge to pull the flimsy fabric off.

it's a losing battle, and zayne succumbs to his desires in a matter of seconds. he leans down, planting one tender kiss on the base of your neck.

he holds your gaze through the mirror as he releases his hold on the strap, letting it fall just above your elbow. he uses the same fingers to map out the scars littered on your back.

"no, you're alright."

"i'm-" your words get caught in a choke. "i'm almost done. why don't you wait for me here?"

"of course." zayne kisses your cheek before taking a seat on the edge of his bed. his eyes bore into you with an intensity that you can feel, enough to induce a tremble in your hands as you add the finishing touches to your make up.

"done!" you begin tidying up your table, placing the brushes back to their compartments. "just need to put my heels on."

"allow me." zayne very nearly bolts from the bed. he takes your heels by the straps from their place beside your vanity.

slowly, zayne kneels before you.

it's then that zayne notices another ... feature of your dress, discovering a slit that goes right up to your thigh. he freezes, hands ghosting your ankle, a field of smooth skin staring at him. possibly taunting him. definitely not helping his pants that seem to be growing tighter by the minute.

"love? are you okay?"

and you had the nerve to ask. surely, you must be aware of your effect on him by now?

"yes." he breathes out an apology, sucking the air through his nose as he slides your feet into the shoe. his fingers find the straps, wrapping them around and working up your leg the way he's watched you do so countless times before. he moves closer, reaching behind your leg to tie the straps together into what he hopes is a neat bow over your calf.

zayne repeats the process with your other shoe, but this time, he lets himself linger. lets his fingers run past your leg, over your knee, until they land on your thigh. lets them prod lightly at the flesh, encasing the muscle with his palm. lets himself lean down, low enough that from your point of view, it looks he's bowing to you.

he places a kiss, first over the strap of your heels that he's just worked on, the material an odd intrusion to his moisturized lips. then another, on your knee. and finally, his lips replace the palm on your thigh.

you shiver at the sudden loss of warmth, but you find soon enough that zayne never intended on keeping his hands away from you for long.

his hand glides further up, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress where it finds itself a home there.

zayne is too caught up in you, plush skin, enchanting perfume, this godforsaken dress, to hear your voice. he's only knocked out of his trance when he feels your hand cup his cheek.

"zayne?" he looks up, chin resting on your thigh. there's a flush to your cheeks, an obvious difficulty in the way you breathe. "we're going to be late."

he nods, pushing himself off the floor. he holds his hand out for you take and gladly, you slip your hand into his with a smile, using him as leverage to stand up.

zayne makes it about halfway through the living room before something in him snaps. he strides across his apartment, footsteps quick and erratic, almost tripping over his own feet.

you hear him from where you stood before his front door, turning around with the knob between your hand to ask him if he's okay. you get barely a word out of your mouth when zayne crashes his lips onto yours.

and that's how you find yourself now, pinned against the door of his apartment, clinging to his shoulders as your legs begin to go limp.

zayne kisses you everywhere, frenzied lips travelling from your neck, the exposed skin of your cleavage. he gives you not even a second to breathe before he's back on your lips. his hands behave similarly, squeezing at every inch of skin his fingers come across.

"i'm sorry." he sends a stream of warm air to your neck, nipping lightly at the skin. "it's just- you look so- god, it's this dress."

"the event-!" zayne cuts you off by sucking at your neck hard enough that it's bound to leave a mark.

"to hell with it."

you yelp when he cradles the back of your thighs to lift you up with ease. instinctively, you wrap your legs around his lower back, bringing him close enough that you can feel the bulge poking through his pants.

"the things you do to me..." zayne whispers over your lips. he eases your entire body into just one of hands, the other moving up to your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "god, you have no idea."

except, you think you know exactly what you do to him, when he starts making his way back to the bedroom, lips eternally attached to yours.

[katsukistofu]

my caffeine mix-up!

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x fem reader. fluff. slightly suggestive. you accidentally pick up the number two hero’s coffee so picks you up instead. | pt. ii

You take a sip of your morning coffee and almost spit it out on your dashboard.

This could not be your order. It was so… unusually sugary. Too sugary. Like someone liquified a whole candy store and shoved it into a venti cup.

Still reeling a little from the overly sweet aftertaste that lingers on your tongue, your eyes trail down to read:

Vt Crml Crnch Frap

5 Banana

Ex Caramel Drizzle

Extra Whip

Extra Ice

Ex Cinnamon

7 pumps Add Dk Crml Sauce

Ex Caramel Crunch

1 pump Honey Blend

Heavy Cream

Double Blended

What kind of pretentious asshole orders this garbage? Were their taste buds dead?

You mentally sent your condolences to the poor person that had to make this disgusting monstrosity of a drink. Please, you would’ve taken one look at the order and thrown it in the trash.

Your eyes searched the paper cup for who your local coffee shop transgressor was– catching sight of a scribble in blue marker reading “H-A.” You moved your hand a bit to reveal a “W-K-S.” A sense of dread creeps in as you numbly stare at the squiggly heart next to it.

It was like someone slipped an ice cube down the back of your shirt.

You had mistakenly picked up the wildly famous winged pro hero’s order and to make things even worse, put your mouth on where his was supposed to be.

Okay that sounded kind of dirty. But it’s not like you could drive back and return it now, what with your lip gloss already staining the lid.

Hey, um, I think I accidentally took a sip of the Hawks’s coffee? Oopsies? You guess you could pay for his order to be remade, but who’s to say he’ll even come back for it, much less accept it from some random stranger?

You were already running late to your desk job as is, and your coworkers were probably scratching their heads, wondering where you were since you always arrived at least half an hour before them. Should you just throw it away and pretend it never happened?

Oh god, would some person dig through the trash the moment you turned your back and extract your DNA from your lip gloss on the lid, thinking you were a deranged fan who stole his drink on purpose?

Or worse—that you were his secret girlfriend picking up his drink who had just wanted a little taste first before delivering it to him?

Your brain starts to wring itself dry of all the possibilities that could happen, shuddering despite each one being as unlikely as the next. An impressive mental workout for an un-caffeinated person at barely eight in the morning.

You wish you never even went to get your usual little treat today. That barista definitely looked right at you when you went to pick up your order, you swear they did.

But now that you’re thinking about it, maybe they were looking at the person standing behind you that you didn’t see as you rushed out of the shop? How do you even miss a man with wings that big?

Something gently knocks on the driver side window and you almost jump out of your seat.

As you roll it down with caution, your brain momentarily stops functioning as you’re met with a pair of striking golden eyes. Another inch of tinted glass down, a strong Grecian nose.

Forget work, the hell. You didn’t even know noses could be that pretty, and as your last bit of window disappears into the car so does your self-respect as you realize he’s abandoned his usual tan-colored jacket, standing before you in his black compression shirt with gold embossment.

Forget everything, actually.

You don't realize you’re holding your breath until he laughs at you, and you sheepishly close your slightly parted lips.

“Didn’t know coffee thieves came this cute.” Drinking in your appearance his keen eyes stray from yours, slowly trailing down to your trembling lips, a stark contrast to the growing smirk on his. “Or this nervous.”

His fingers drum absentmindedly on the side of your car door, clear amusement written across his handsome face as he waits for you to say something. You collect yourself and snap out of your thoughts, taking a deep breath.

“I’msososorryIdrankyourcoffee!” You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment as your words come out in a jumble. “I totally grabbed the wrong order and I can’t believe I didn’t see you waiting behind me, I swear I’m not a creep–”

“Hey, hey,” Hawks gently interrupts you, reassurance laced in his voice. “It’s all good, no harm done.” He taps the paper cup that somehow miraculously hasn’t slipped out of your fingers yet.

“Sooo was it good?”

You choke on air, not expecting that. “Your drink?”

“Yeah, my drink.” He shoots you a cheeky grin. That bastard. “Good or nah?” You pause, contemplating if you should lie–no. No, today you chose honesty.

“...Genuinely, I have no idea how you drink this shit.”

Hawks laughs at your bold answer. “Thanks for being my little taste tester anyways. Too sweet, huh?” The tip of his finger traces around the remnants of your lip gloss on the lid, the cup still in your now slightly shaky hand as you nod.

His touch seared against your skin, as his pretty fingers closed around yours to raise the drink up to his lips to take a slow sip, eyes never leaving your own.

With a gaze that was infuriatingly sultry as it was sweet, like a bird of prey beckoning a field mouse to be their next meal, he murmurs, “Just how I like it.”

You’re not really sure he was talking about the coffee anymore.

He hums, and your thighs involuntarily clench a bit as his soft-looking mouth closes around the opening of the lid to take another sip.

“I’d say you’re a villain that deserves their own special category.” He grins, eyes sparkling conspiratorially. “One that involves letting me take her out to dinner.”

If you weren’t sitting down you know your legs would have given out. “Like… like on a date?” You gape at him incredulously. Because there was no way. Hawks. Just asked you out.

“Now sweetheart, what else would it be?” Hawks smirks at your dazed expression, like you’re sure you misheard him. So cute. “I mean, unless you don’t want to–”

“No!” He blinks, and your hand flies to cover your mouth at your sudden outburst.

“I-I mean, I want to…” You shyly say at a much quieter volume, fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. He leans closer to you with a grin, languidly resting his folded arms over the open frame of your car door.

“It’s a date then. I know this really good sushi and ramen place down the block near my agency, my treat of course.”

“If I’m a villain is this your idea of rehabilitation?” You joke dryly. “Because it’s working.”

He tips your chin up. “Oh don’t worry pretty, I’m just getting started with turning you into a good girl.” A hot flush creeps up your neck to your cheeks, and you almost melt into a puddle right then and there at your steering wheel.

“I’d love to stay but I’m actually so late for work right now.” You utter weakly, chin still resting against his finger. Hawks tilts his head at that, unfolding his vibrant crimson wings as he wordlessly opens the front door of your car.

With little effort and an impressive flex of his biceps, plus a sharp intake of breath from you, one of his arms slips under your thighs and another firmly hugs you just under your shoulder blades as he lifts you up to his firm chest.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he feels your flustered arms hastily reach up to wrap around his neck. Honeyed eyes like molten gold meet yours as he gives a gentle squeeze to your thigh through your pencil skirt, and once again you find yourself needing a reminder to breathe.

“So, where to?”

‎

‎

‎

‎

‎

‎

‎

‎

“IS THAT FUCKING HAWKS OUTSIDE OUR COMPANY’S BUILDING?!”

say you can’t sleep, baby i know, that’s that me expresso~ ♪

[tangerineastronaut]

heavy ♥ s.mingi

You're so very sorry.

Pairing: Mingi x Fem!Reader Genre: smut. just pure smut. slight fluff at the end, 99% smut. Requested: No w.c. 3.9k Warnings: Everything is consensual - rough sex, dirty talk and more dirty talk, choking/breathplay, deep throating, name calling, degradation, slight talk of somno, Mingi seems like an asshole, sort of noncon but not really, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink, reader doesn't talk much during, established relationship If you notice other potentially triggering content please let me know so I can add it. A/N: I...I have no excuses. Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

“Mingi, I-I‘m sorry—”

“You fucking will be.”

You struggled with the key to unlock the door; he was bearing down on you, already grinding against your ass, but that was your fault, wasn’t it?

You thought it’d be cute to tease him—

> Might’ve forgotten my panties…wish you were inside me.

—but the look he’d given you after opening his phone…the way his jaw ticked, how he’d tugged at the crotch of his jeans. You knew you’d fucked up. 

Finally, it opened, though you almost wished it hadn’t. Mingi grabbed your arm and slammed the door, throwing you against it. 

“Wanna say it again?” he asks, one hand moving to your throat. He towers over you, plump lips forming a half snarl. Fuck, you wanted to kiss him. You whimper, the sound dying into a squeak as he puts pressure on your trachea with his thumb. “Say it. I love when you do. It’s easier to fuck that pretty face when I’m mad at it.”

“I-I…” you begin with a choked sob. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—”

Mingi curses, shoving you to your knees with his heavy grip. When he took his hand off your throat, you began taking deep breaths—it’d be a while before you weren’t gasping for air anymore. You glance up. 

His dark eyes were half lidded, never leaving you as he worked at his jeans. You swallowed, an instinctual response to the sound of the button popping and zipper going down. 

“Open that slutty fucking mouth, baby. Wanna see you drool,” he orders. You open your mouth and keep it open. It’s like muscle memory; you can already taste him. 

Mingi pushes the material down his thighs, stopping half way. His spandex boxers go next, the snap of elastic making you jump. When his cock is freed, it springs into your face, already swollen and ready to be sucked and fucked. 

That was your fault. 

“Don’t look so fucking surprised, y/n,” Mingi says, one large hand fisting your hair and the other gripping his cock. “Wanna send me filthy texts during dinner? Hm? Tell me you’re not wearing panties? Did you think I wouldn’t make you choke on this fucking dick?”

You whimper, feeling drool beginning to leak down your chin. Mingi smirks, rubbing the thick head into your spit.

“Say it, baby. Say it again.”

You sniffle, eyes burning. Mingi is unrelenting, gently bumping your head back against the door. 

“Say it for me, princess. Love that pretty mouth,” he coos in a deceptively smooth tone. You knew better; he was baiting you. You were nothing more than prey to him right now. “Please? One more time for me, be good just this fucking once.”

“I’m sor—”

The minute you try to speak, Mingi forces his cock inside. His hips thrust forward, pinning you against the door and stretching your lips open. He wants to fit it all in one go, to push the head into the back of your throat. When you gag, he grins. 

Your hands go to his hips, shoving, as if that’d do anything. He moved his hand to get a better grip on your hair, tilting your head back. 

“Mmn…hold still, pretty. Gonna use that mouth,” he growls. You dig your nails into his thighs, making him hiss, but that doesn’t stop him from beginning to fuck. In and out, in and out, his cock stretches your throat, giving you seconds to breathe between thrusts. 

Mingi fucks your face until your gagging becomes more violent, pulling out in time to watch you cough and drool on yourself. He still had a tight grip on your hair, and the other went to his cock, now slick with your saliva. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he hums, stroking himself. It’s somehow menacing, the way his thumb rubs over the head. A threat. “You look scared.”

“I won’t do it again,” you whine softly, swallowing down a mix of spit and precum. “P-Promise.”

Mingi stares down at you until you squirm. He suddenly kneels down and you flinch, though he yanks you forward by your hair. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, kissing the wet corner of your mouth. “You have ten different ways, baby. Half of them don’t need words. Tell me to stop treating you like a whore.”

Fuck. 

You swallow, nails digging into your palms. Your cheeks flush red from shame and Mingi chuckles. He knew you wouldn't, that you know the signals, the ones you'd agreed on when someone decided it was too much, words and taps and gestures.

He was rubbing it in your face—just how much of a fuckdoll you turned into for him.

“No? Don’t tell me you like being treated like this,” he taunts you, a look of faux concern on his gorgeous face. “Nothing but a pretty collection of warm holes for me to choose from. I’ve got plans for you and this cock, baby. Gonna make you suck it some more, then it’s gonna go in that needy little hole between your legs. It’s not coming out of there until you’ve taken every drop of cum from me. Tell me not to do it, baby.”

When you don’t answer, refusing to look at him, Mingi yanks your face toward him with your hair. He forces his mouth over yours, groaning into you as his tongue slips inside. You feel hot tears rolling down your cheeks as he takes from you, rubbing his cock against your exposed thigh beneath your dress. He sucks and licks and nips the soft flesh of your mouth and tongue, holding you open by the jaw.

Mingi sucks your lower lip and bites it, making you squeak. He laughs and finally releases you, only for you to fall back against the door. 

Strings of drool stretch between you, and you shudder when he licks his lips. But the sensuality is dampened as he stands to his full height, gripping his fat cock and staring down at you. 

“Open wide, babygirl. That’s it…fuck yes. Stop moving, baby. Just take it. If I feel teeth, 'm gonna make it hurt, yeah?"

Your throat is numb. 

Your jaw aches, your fingers are curled into the carpet, but your eyes haven’t left him. He’s standing over you as he’s been doing for the past half hour, though now both of his hands hold your head in place for him. They’re so fucking big, gripping tight as he uses your mouth like a fleshlight. When you’re lucky, you see him bite his lip and whisper that he loves you; otherwise he’s got his head tilted back, chest heaving as he fucks into your mouth. 

“That’s it, so fucking dirty,” Mingi groans, hissing as your teeth catch on his massive cock. “I should make you choke on my cum, baby. Should hold that pretty head down until I pump it right down your throat. Feed you like a fucking whore.”

Your dress is soaked in spit and precum, as it’s been dripping down your chin. You consider pulling it off, but you don’t want to expedite his plans for you. So you sit there in your ruined dress, letting the love of your life abuse your throat over and over. 

Mingi looks down at you, thumb brushing over your lips where they’re stretched open, forced by his cock. He bites his lip, cursing under his breath. 

“Say it again, baby.”

“Nnh…” you choke around him. He licks his lips and nods, so you do your best to please him. “Nnhn…nnh…”

Your eyes are wet with tears; drool leaks out around his cock, and you helplessly swallow as you try to speak with the obstruction in your mouth. Mingi watches as though enthralled, nodding the more you choke on words.

“Nnh…”

You finally give up when you splutter with a sob. 

Mingi pauses and growls. He throws an arm against the door, taking the other hand off your face as he pulls out. You quickly gasp for air before he begins thrusting again. 

Without his hands keeping you steady, your head hits against the door repeatedly. Mingi slides his hand behind your head, fisting your hair once again, then leans forward until there’s no space left between him, you, and the surface behind you. Each thrust is less than a few centimeters as he grinds against your esophagus. You weakly cry until he decides he’s had enough, stuffing himself down your throat for a few seconds before yanking it out. You gasp and fall onto your hands and knees, heaving for air. 

Your throat feels raw, your cheeks are wet, your knees ache from sitting on them for so long, but Mingi pulls at you as though impatient. 

You expect him to carry you to the bedroom, probably throw you on the bed, but while you catch your breath you feel his hand on the back of your head. 

“M-Ming—”

“Stick that fucking ass up,” he grunts, shoving your face into the carpet. Your cries are muffled against the plush surface as he holds your head down. 

Where you expect to feel his cock, you instead feel his tongue lick between your sticky cunt lips. You jolt, only for him to chuckle. He says nothing else before burying his face in your pussy. 

You release a loud cry, your hips wriggling from the sensitivity as he sucks your clit into his mouth without waiting. You whine and gasp, fisting the carpet as you moan against it. 

Mingi lets go of your hair only to hug your ass against his face. He sucks and licks, mouthing at your labia and lapping at your slit like candy. He groans and rubs his face between your legs, plush lips feeling like heaven as he french kisses your cunt. 

When he suckles your clit again, you squeak, mouth falling open. He groans and teases the bundle of his nerves in his warm mouth, tongue sliding below the hood until you’re twitching from the overstimulation. He releases it only to lick up and down your vulva repeatedly, as though savoring a popsicle.

“Say something, baby. Tell me how it feels,” he says, slurping and smacking his lips. He moans before diving in again, throat working as he swallows your sweet juices. You shudder, licking your lips from where your front half is flopped against the carpet. 

“Mm. G-good,” you mumble. Mingi smacks your ass so hard you cry out. 

“Fuck, that’s right. Such a juicy cunt,” he murmurs, hands moving to your thighs. He grabs your ass and uses his thumbs to pull apart your pussy. You hear him suck a finger into his mouth before it prods at your hole, making you clench around nothing. 

“Don’t pretend like I haven’t seen this pussy swallow all eight inches of me, baby. Gonna fuck up this little hole until you can’t sit right.”

You whine and jump when he begins sliding his index finger inside, long and firm, though not enough. Your pussy flutters and Mingi moans, thrusting his cock against your thigh. 

“Got me rutting like a fucking dog after a bitch in heat,” he growls, roughly smacking your ass. “Put those legs together. Gonna use all of you.”

You do as he asks, a little dizzy as you shuffle to close your legs, ass still in the air. His finger begins steadily pumping into you, though you feel something slick and hard wedging itself between your thighs. 

“Mmn…fuck, love your thick fucking thighs baby, takes my cock almost as good as your filthy little cunt,” Mingi groans, hooking the finger inside you. You yelp, and he does it again, and again, roughly poking the inner bundle of nerves. Each time you move, you grind on his cock, your thighs giving him a tight squeeze to fuck into. 

You begin pushing back on his finger, so he adds another. The stretch is good, but nothing like what he’ll feel like when he’s inside you. 

“Look at you,” he groans, watching as you try to fuck yourself on his fingers. He squeezes in a third and you moan, ass lazily bouncing against his knuckles. “My nasty little girl. Always wants to act so sweet, you just want me to climb on top and pick a hole to use, right?”

“Mmnn…” you mumble, feeling the pad of his finger stroke your inner walls. You were getting desperate, and you hated that. Desperate you is exactly why Mingi gets like this—he knows you. 

“I love playing with this one, like how you scream and beg me to put something in that needy cunt at the same time,” he hums. His thumb rubs over your asshole, and you feel the tight ring of muscle respond to his touch. He chuckles quietly, leaning over you, fingers still fucking into you. “I think I’m gonna use my pretty girl’s pussy. See how she takes it when I fuck her like the horny bitch she is.”

“Mingi,” you whine, currently the only word in your sex-dumb vocabulary. He sighs, pulling his fingers out. You shiver at the cold emptiness, but then your boyfriend is suddenly getting ready to fuck you on the floor of your entryway.

“Bedroom?” you manage to ask, but a firm hand on the back of your neck silences you by smothering your face into the carpet.

“You think you deserve a soft bed right now?” Mingi asks darkly. You hear shuffling; he slips off his jeans and tosses them to the side. When you try to look back at him where he’s unbuttoning his shirt, he smacks your ass, nearly sending you rolling to your side. 

“The bed is where I fuck my good girl,” he says, pulling you back against his hips. He nudges his cock between your thighs again, thrusting once, hard, and you feel the tip of his cock poking your lower belly. “You’re my bad girl, my little whore who’s desperate for this cock. You’re gonna get fucked right here in the floor.”

You moan softly, and Mingi peels you open again. He squeezes the flesh of your ass, toying with the way your pussy lips stretch open. 

“So fucking wet, look how sloppy you are, baby. Your needy little cunt wants it,” he hums. Mingi flicks your clit, making you shudder violently; he moans in approval before sucking his fingers into his mouth. 

He apparently can’t wait any longer, as he begins to mount you, pulling you beneath him with large hands gripping your waist. You try to lift your upper half, though he shoves you down again. 

“Keep your fucking head down,” he growls, licking his palm and roughly jerking his cock a few times. “Don’t worry about this little cunt, baby. Just focus on staying conscious, yeah? Hate it when I have to hold you up.”

You whimper and wiggle your ass, earning another slap, though it’s not as hard as the last few. This is for a good reason, as he’s tugging you back to him. 

Mingi uses one hand to grip your ass cheek, opening you up to him. He groans, gripping his cock and rubbing it up and down your lips, following the path of his tongue minutes ago. He uses two fingers to hold you open, revealing your hole—he slots his cock against it and begins to push.

You moan and arch your back, gritting your teeth at the sensation of being opened. Mingi’s cock is so fucking thick, it stretches you open deliciously. You can feel every vein, every dip in the swollen member as it slides inside of you, inch by inch. No part of your insides are left untouched. 

You wince when the head nudges your cervix, though Mingi only laughs. 

“You’re not done yet, baby. Open up that cunt for me,” he growls, thrusting once. You whimper as you’re thrown forward. 

“H-Hurts,” you mumble, reaching back to push at his waist. Mingi grabs your arm and twists it around your back, putting pressure on you as he works himself deeper. 

“I know it can fit,” he says, pushing harder. “I’ve been balls to pussy inside of you and had you begging for more. Now let me in before I make it fit. You don’t like it when I do that, remember?”

You shudder at the memories of being pinned down, Mingi’s fingers keeping your hole stretched as he wedges his cock inside, all the while telling you it’s gonna look so pretty, you being wrapped around him.

He was wrong. You loved that. 

He begins rutting against you, ignoring your whines of pain as his cock somehow manages to slip further inside. It takes one last thrust before he breaks you open, and his balls are pressed tightly to your clit. You moan, able to feel him deep inside you. 

“Fuuuuck,” Mingi groans, and you remember why you’re so willing to be used by him—that sound, the sound of him being buried inside his girl, caught between wanting to love her sweetly and fuck her like a whore. 

“Feel it?” he asks, grabbing your hips and leaning over you. “Feel it inside, baby? Gonna split you open on this fucking cock.”

“I-I said I was sorry,” you whine. Mingi smacks your ass, this time grabbing the plump flesh and squeezing. 

“You’re not sorry,” he chuckles, adjusting himself on his knees. “Not one fucking bit, y/n. You can fool every other bastard you’ve ever been with, but I know you, baby. I love you. That’s why I’m gonna fuck you up.”

Mingi saws into you relentlessly. 

Your upper half is pinned to the floor as he drags you onto his cock like a broken doll. He leans over you, using his weight on your body as he grabs both of your arms, pinning them to the floor. 

“So fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, hips working steadily to penetrate you. “You like to look dumb, baby. Like people to think you’re so fucking helpless. If someone saw this, saw what I’m doing to you…fuck, I’d be crucified. They’d say I’m taking advantage of a sweet girl, using her to feel good, like a pretty little cocksleeve.”

Mingi leans down, biting your shoulder until you yelp. His lips go to your ear as he grinds against your ass, his cock painfully knocking at your cervix. 

“Little do they know, huh? I’d have to beg you to stop instead, beg you to let me pull out of this sopping pussy before you milk me for my fucking cum.”

You moan softly, and Mingi fists your hair. He painfully yanks you off the floor, bending you at an odd angle to lean over and kiss you. It’s wet and desperate, more tongue than lips on both ends, but he doesn’t pull away. He leaves his mouth against yours and fucks you harder, deeper, free hand gripping your waist and nailing you to the floor. 

“Can I, baby?” he groans. “Can I pull out? ‘m gonna pull out unless you beg. Beg me to stay inside this little pussy and make it hurt, let me pump my cum so deep it makes you nervous.”

You whine at his words, unwilling to say much thanks to your pride. But then you feel him begin to slip out, throwing a hand back to grab his hip. Mingi laughs until you dig your nails into his ass, throwing yourself back against him until he fucking whimpers. 

“Jesus fuck—”

“Don’t stop,” you plead breathlessly. “P-please, Mingi…keep going. Want you so bad.”

Mingi curses, using his knee to kick yours apart. You lose your balance and fall flat on the floor, though he curls an arm around your hips to keep you propped for him. 

“Yeah?” he asks, nosing the back of your neck. “Want it that bad? Need me to keep stuffing that needy little cunt?”

“Yes,” you moan shamelessly. Mingi lies on your back, now pressing all of his weight on top of you. It’s hard to breathe, though you can tell he’s close. 

“What if I fuck my load in your pretty pussy? Hm? Might put a baby or two in there,” he groans. You squeak and tilt your head back, surprised to find him right there. Your head rests against his shoulder and you bury your face against his throat. 

“D-Don’t care,” you mumble. “Want it. Want you.”

“I’m gonna go deep, babygirl. Gonna make sure your slutty little body can’t stop it.”

“Yes, fuck, y-yes, Mingi…” you whimper. He curses, his chest against your back. 

“G-Gonna cum, baby. Gonna put one inside you,” Mingi gasps. “You gonna take it? Make me pretty babies?”

You don’t have a chance to answer, as he suddenly groans, gripping your thighs and forcing them apart beneath him. He clumsily thrusts until he manages to snugly fit himself inside your body, head dropping against yours as he begins to cum. You feel his fat cock pulsing, pumping his sperm into you, raising a hand to his cheek. 

Mingi tilts his head and kisses you, the softest kiss all night. His plump lips are gentle against yours, and you forget for a few moments that you’re pinned down in an awkward position with his cock stuffed in you. 

A large hand slides beneath your bodies; before you can ask, Mingi’s thumb and index finger find your clit. He gently pinches, rolling the sensitive bud. 

“F-Fuck, Mingi—”

“Want you to cum. Want that cunt to squeeze my cock ‘till there’s nothing left,” he groans against your ear. You moan as he rubs at your clit, though it’s not until he begins gently thrusting again that you feel yourself coming undone. 

The minute your orgasm hits, it draws a sinful moan from Mingi as your muscles squeeze and work at his cock. You feel him try to pull out with a hiss of pain, though he’s unable to, forced to endure his sensitive cock being milked.

Serves him right, you think, wearily collapsing onto the floor. Mingi follows with a groan until you squirm, reminding him that he’s not a lapdog. 

For a few minutes, the apartment is quiet aside from the heavy breathing. Mingi finally pushes himself up, nearly falling again on unsteady arms. He grabs your waist with one hand and the base of his cock with the other, gently easing out of your sore cunt. You still wince, though it’s not too bad, but he mumbles an apology anyway. He keeps his hands on your ass once he’s successfully pulled out and gently squeezes.

“Shit,” Mingi breathes. You ‘hmm’ curiously, unwilling to lift your head, but he crawls above you to lean down and kiss your cheek. “Nothing. Just like watching my cum drip out like that.”

“Gross.” You crinkle your nose. 

“You okay?”

You glance up at Mingi, resisting the urge to smile. Only this boy could pin you to the floor one moment, and then look lost the next, like he’s not sure if he’s hurt you or not. The other Mingi wouldn’t care, the one who threatens to choke you and calls you a slut, that one was fun. But this one was yours, you loved this one.

“I think I’ve got carpet burn—”

“Me too,” he mumbles, looking at the redness on his forearms. 

“—but I’m okay.”

“Good,” he says with a sigh. He kisses your cheek until you turn your head, letting him kiss you properly. He's careful, soft lips molding against yours and looking at you in between kisses to make sure you’re satisfied. 

“I really am sorry,” you mumble against his lips. He hums softly, still kissing you. “For sending that text. I…I don’t know why I did that.”

“Please. Do not ever stop doing that,” he laughs, pinching your cheek. “That was hot as fuck.”

“Then why did you—did you have to throw me against the damn door?!” you huff, pulling back. Mingi sheepishly smiles, nosing at your cheek. You roll your eyes. 

“You liked it,” he sings. You pout. 

You liked it. 

[poguehearted77]

After Hours

summary: Rafe lets his jealousy get the best of him and it pisses you off, but he makes it up to you after hours.

"Y/n, he's doing it again" Carly whispers over your shoulder as you work on drying off the bar glasses and putting them back on the shelf. You sigh on the outside but your insides warm at the thought of Rafe staring at the back of your figure. This is how it always goes.

He always wants to see you, claiming he can't get enough while you pull away, dedicated to your job. So Rafe decides why not kill two birds with one stone and come see you at work.

Unfortunately, wherever Rafe goes, his posse follows, and considering they're notorious party animals, they can't seem to hold their liquor. "Hey, Let's get another round goin' over here!" Topper shouts, words slurred and eyes heavy-lidded. Anyone within a mile radius could hear the cheers that came from their table at the announcement, and it made you dread going over there, but it's your job.

Not that you hated where you worked, it was right in the heart of figure eight, not too far from where you lived and it pays well most days, but drunk kooks pay even better.

As you walked over with a tray of shots, their hollers grew louder in volume and the environment made you nervous. Not because of the noise at their table, but because of the silence that Rafe held as you placed everything down.

His quiet, blue gaze lingered over your curves as you smiled at the boys. "Wow, you're just too pretty to be working at this hour. How about you pull up a chair and join us?" Topper's hand gently holds your upper arm and Rafe finally speaks up.

Prompted by a flare of jealousy, "Get your hands off her, Top." Rafe's voice overpowers the table to a still silence that even startled you. Topper immediately moves his hand as Kelce 'Oohs'. "Shit man, my bad." He apologizes. Rafe sends you an apologetic glance that you ignore before hastily collecting your tray and returning to the bar.

But it was too late. You were already upset.

-

The bar had just let out its last customer and you worked on wiping down the tables, most of the lights off and the blinds shut. Some street lights managed to seep through the cracks in the shutters which left golden shadows on the black marble countertops.

It takes a knock on the door to finally pull your head up from the task on hand where you are locking eyes with Rafe on the other side of the glass. You stepped towards the door, not unlocking it.

Your arms crossed and your expression conveyed what he already knew. "Open the door." Voice muffled but you still hear him loud and clear, you huff, knowing he would break the door down if he needed to. You opened it.

"You know I'm not a fucking child, right Rafe?" You sneer, and he locks the door behind him. "I know that. I just hate seeing other guys hit on you. It does things to me- shit makes me just wanna-" his expression contorts, unable to describe the emotion.

"I know, but you gotta trust me. You think I like when that bitch Holly from the yacht club has her hands on you? No, but I trust you." You throw the cloth down on the bar.

Watching as Rafe rounded the island to be on your side, finger under your chin and tilting your head up to look at him. His stone-cold blue eyes run warm as he grins down at you, "I don't give a fuck what Holly does, cuz at the end of the day all I'm thinkin' bout is you."

He leans down, his breath ghosting over your lips. Just barely giving you a taste of what you so desperately need. "I still don't forgive you." You quip, hardly able to step away before his big hand is wrapped around your neck, a light pressure applied, a warning.

"You think I'm lying? I'll show you who the fuck this dick belongs to. How about that, yeah?"

In a blur of heated kisses and hot touches, your clothes were scattered across the floor and your bra had landed somewhere on the rack, forgotten as Rafe fucked you mindless over the counter.

His thick cock pummeling in and out of your soaked cunt. He grabs a fistful of your dark curls, pulling you up so your back can meet his chest. "Now tell me, baby. Who does this pussy belong to, huh?" He hisses through clenched teeth, overwhelmed by the tight grip your walls provided him.

"M-me." You moan pathetically and it makes him laugh. He lets you go, and your upper half falls back onto the counter unceremoniously. He pulled out slowly, all the way until only the tip remained buried. "Try again."

He plummets back inside your core, his tip kissing your cervix and you scream, eyes filling with tears as you blabber, begging him not to stop. "Let's try that again, yeah? Who does this pussy belong to."

"You! You-- fuck! It's yours, all yours. No one else's."

He grins, he already knew this, of course. He just liked hearing you say it.

[mountquokka]

Attention

Bang Chan X fem!reader

Word count: 1,848

Warnings: dom Chan, sub reader, bondage, heavy amounts of teasing, orgasm denial, sir kink, begging, no protection (no), pet names (baby, babygirl, babe), hair pulling, mirror sex, slight choking, oral (f receiving)

Summary: You're bored and just trying to find a way to past the time

Notes: This will have a second part 🤭

Taglist <3: @hongjoongtime117 @lee-sang1625 @wontini

Part 2

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays🎄☃️🎅🏻

Chan was with 3racha working on a song for their next comeback and you were alone in the dorm. You find ways to pass time. You clean any room that seemed remotely dirty and reorganized random books on the bookshelf. Looking at your phone hoping the time would go by faster yet nothing kept you occupied long enough.

You then get an idea. 

You remember you had bought an outfit to surprise him with. You knew he would love it and wouldn’t be able to resist you, so you kept it hidden. Until now…

You went to your bedroom, fetched the box you hid in the back of the closet and opened the lid. You took out the red lingerie with matching thigh highs. You admired the soft material and started changing. Once changed, you walked over to the mirror next to the bed and smiled at yourself. The lingerie hugged your body perfectly. The sheer material with lacy detail left little to imagination.

Afterwards, you put on a little lipgloss and sat on the bed. You took a pillow, placed it in front of you and put your phone on it.

You go to your camera and set the timer. You do various poses, showing off the set. When you were satisfied, you sent them to Chan with the message “I miss you sir, please come home soon. I really need you” You wait for his response with a mischievous giggle.

Chan was in the studio trying to find lyrics when he felt his phone vibrate. Usually he'd ignore it but he thought that a little break might help his writer's block. He pulls it out and sees it’s a text from you. 

He opens it and his eyes widen. He clears his throat and excused himself from the studio and went to the bathroom. He pulled up the pictures you sent again, smirking. He called you.

When you saw him calling, you smiled and answered, putting it on speaker. “Hey babe, how’s work going?” You asked innocently “Oh babygirl, I know what you’re doing” you giggled “I don’t know what you are talking about sir” he growled into the phone “watch it” you could tell you were getting to him so you push a little further. You slide your hand into your panties and moan at how wet you already were “Sir please? I need you, I’m already so wet for you.” You add a hint of tease in your tone. He groans a soft fuck, trying so hard to not pull his cock out and release right there in that bathroom. “You’re playing a dangerous game baby, you better watch it before I punish you” 

You smiled to yourself, you had him right where you wanted him “maybe that’s what I want” the phone goes quiet for a few seconds before Chan replies in a deep lust filled voice “you just wait” With that he hangs up and heads back to the studio and starts packing his things.

 “Hey everything ok?” Han asked and Changbin looked him slightly concerned. “Yeah I’m good but I gotta go… y/n needs… help. with… something? GottaGo!” Then he was out the door. Changbin and Han look at each other and just shake their heads and get back to work.

When Chan arrived at the dorms, he drop his stuff at the door. He instantly went to the bedroom where you were. He opens the door to see you laying there on the bed, in a sexy pose, looking back at him. He smirks and takes off his shirt. He walks to the bed and stops at the edge. You get on your knees in front of him on the bed. “Such a naughty girl, you really thought it was a good idea to tease me while I’m working?” “It seemed like you were enjoying” You giggled, continue your teasing. He grabs you by the throat and brings your ear to his mouth “you think this is funny? You better drop this teasing act before your punishment gets worse” you shiver and  thought for a moment, wanting to keep this game going. You put on an innocent look and answered “I just wanted your attention sir” you drag your hand against his abs, biting your lower lip. He grabs your wrist with his free hand before you can get any lower. “And now you have it” He lets go of your throat with a growl and walks to the dresser across from the bed.

He pulls out a box from one of the drawers. He takes out rope and walks back over to the bed, you’re already in position. He smirks at your eagerness and he gets onto the bed, kneeling next to you. “Arms” you raised your arms up and he started tying the rope in a basic but pretty design up to your elbow.

He gets between your legs and hovers over you. He starts kissing you and his hands roaming your body. His kisses start making its way down your body. You moan as he starts going lower. You take your tied arms and grab his hair as he kisses your inner thigh. Chan moves away and slams your arms down over your head. “Who said you could touch me? You wanted to be a tease so your lost your privilege” you whine, realizing what the REAL punishment is.

“Now be a good girl and keep your arms there”

He starts taking the bottom of the lingerie off and admired your glistening pussy before him. “you look so beautiful babygirl, so wet” he takes his index and middle finger and drags it against your folds. Your fingers twitched trying to hold back from touching. He continues to move his fingers against you as he starts bringing his face closer. He starts with a lick to your clit and you tense at the pleasure. He feels you tense up so he lightly rubs your thigh. 

He starts lapping at your folds and your hand goes to his hair, unable to stop yourself. He takes your wrists into his hand and continues licking and sucking your clit. He held your arms far enough where you couldn’t reach him even if you weren’t tied up. He pulls off your clit with a pop and looks up at you. 

“What did I say about not touching me? You just don’t wanna listen today do you?” You mewl and squirm in his hold “No wait please I’m sorry. It was a reflex. I didn’t mean t-” He cuts you off by going back to your folds also plunging two fingers into you. He pumps at a fast pace while sucking your clit. You wriggle against him as the pleasure in the pit of your stomach builds rapidly. Your moans get louder and more high pitched as you feel your release approach.

When your legs started shaking, he knew you were close and removes his fingers and mouth. You whined as your high starts to die down. “No cumming yet baby, we’re just getting started”

He gets off the bed taking off his pants but leaving on his boxers, the tent very prominent. You eyes fall to his dick and your mouth starts watering. The wet spot in his boxers doesn’t go unnoticed along with the twitch when he realized you were staring. “My eyes are up here babygirl” he says with a smirk. You look up at him with doe-like eyes “Please I want it in my mouth” He groans at your response “Do you think you deserve it? Especially with how you were acting earlier?” You pout, knowing the right answer “No…” He hums at your response.

Chan unties the rope but still pins them down so you can’t touch him “You still can’t touch me baby, your punishment isn’t over yet” You whine loudly. He flips you onto your stomach and moves behind you. He pulls you up by your hips so your ass meets his bulge. He slowly rocks himself against you groaning at the friction. You feel him twitching against you and you whimper, trying to push back against him. He holds you hips in place and continues grinding against you faster, more precum building in his boxers. 

“Please sir just fuck me already. I really need you please” he smirks and pulls down his boxers. He lines himself up to your entrance, but he doesn’t push in right away. “Hmmm, I don’t know if I should. Maybe I’ll just stay like this”  “No no please, sir I wanna feel you so bad! I’ll be good please, no more teasing I really really want you” Chan groaned at your begs. He slams into you, you let out a scream. “Damn baby you feel so good, still so tight” Your eyes roll back as you moan at his words. You grip the sheets in front of you until your knuckles turn white. You mewl out his name as he groans at you clenching him, throwing his head back. His speed increasing the more you clench him.

He looks over to the side and sees the mirror across from the bed. Then an idea pops in his head. He moves you and places you facing the mirror. He grabs your hair and pulls you up to look at yourself. “Look at how fucked out you look on my cock” you whimper as you make eye contact with him and then yourself, taking in you disheveled appearance. He grabs your boobs and squeezes them as you fall apart underneath him. He plays with your nipples through the bra of the lingerie and you start clenching around him more. He groans and starts picking up more speed. 

He starts thrusting harder getting close to his high. You start shaking getting close to yours too. “S-sir I’m gonna-“ he groans, not being able to hold back anymore. He flips you onto your back, continuing his rough pace “I wanna see your face while you cum for me” You grip the sheets next to you. He interlaced one of his hands into yours “you can touch me now baby” You wrap your free arm around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. “Cum for me babygirl” he moans against your lips. Your release crashes over you. Chan swallowing your screams as his hips stutter. He releases into you and you moan at the warmth of his cum painting your walls. You wrap your arms around his neck. “You took your punishment so well baby” You giggle into his neck as you come down from your high.

Chan pulls out if you and goes to the bathroom. He wets a rag and comes back into the room. He wipes you down then goes to the closet. He grabs one of his hoodies and puts it on you. He grabs boxers for himself and puts them on. He gets back on the bed and cuddles up with you. He kisses your forehead as you drift to sleep.

“You’ll never fail to get my attention babygirl”

[xxknockoutxx]

Izuku

(this is just something to put out for fun but I take heavy inspiration from Glitched they're freaking amazing! I hope they are doing well ❤️‍🩹🥦)

It was another day of sitting at home without a care in the world. Waiting for your husband to come home, this was the one day where you weren't working or out doing chores. The giant house that you and your pro hero husband inhabited was so intimidatingly big, that seeing the house so quiet and empty kinda scared you but in a good way. Like a really secured way.

It wasn't all that lonely I suppose with your husband texting you every once and in a while with memes or compliments or how much he misses you. He's gotten the hang of One for All and is the number 1 hero. All this sounds pretty good for you guys but it's not...

The stronger your hunk of a husband gets, the longer he'll be working and that means less time for you too. This was probably the 3rd day he'd been vacant from the house this week so you were tired of it. I mean who wouldn't be?

I'm just gonna have to make him forget work when he comes back. you thought. Sure it was a lot easier said than done but you are Y/-fuckin-N! Ain't nobody or nothing gonna stop you from getting what you want✨

*Bzzz* Your phone buzzes and you find out it's your husband.

🥦My hero🥦: Hey baby I got some good news! 😁

I'll be home either tonight or next morning! I can't wait to see my precious little Bunny💚

Your heart swelled as you read the text you eagerly texted him back showing your excitement before going back to brainstorming. Shit.... Now you're on a time limit. With little time you began thinking about a dinner; one with a huge table full of different foods and of course dessert but will that be enough for your busy husband to stay home?

Annoyed and stressed, you just focus on that one thing, preparing food. You walked into the kitchen and searched the full fridge for things to cook. thankfully you had the ingredients to try some viral recipe you saw on Pinterest.

After cooking and laying everything out on the table you decided to change into something more anticipating you changed into some tiny pajamas and black lingerie under it. Surely it would do something to him to see those thin, black and green panties.

"Bun! I'm home!" Your heart froze up before running to the front door and hugging and kissing the breath out of Izuku.

"baby! Hiii" "Hey bun... You look so....- He takes in the way that the shirt you were wearing hugs your curves. The way that it just barely shows the outline of your hardening nipples. —Good..."

"I made you a little sumthin-" You help him put his stuff down and drag him towards the kitchen. This food is gonna be so fucking good that he's gonna eat this and then eat me- wait.

As Izuku takes a seat and looks in awe at all the food on the table. After working 22 hour shifts for 3 days straight you get kinda hungry. He waited for you to be seated as you walked to the table with his plate of healthy servings.

"thank you so much, Bunny. I love you."

You smile and join him at the table, in your rightful chair or throne rather; Izuku's lap.

He begins to chow down on all of his food rather quickly, while spouting his compliments about you and the food. "Wow this is so good, Bun" and "You look so pretty today" and "Did you get all dolled up for me?"

At the end of the meal you carefully bring him upstairs and take off his hero gear. Making sure to be slow and to add a sway to your movements. At this point Izuku's eyes were lidded and he still had that same smile of adoration but it seemed almost suspecting.

You pushed him back on the bed and slowly took off the pajamas. (Deku merch obviously) Under it you had your dark green and black lingerie.

"wow.. you were ready for me, weren't you bun?"

He cups your cheek and pulls you onto his lap. You feel his warm, calloused hand touch your face as a familiar sensation of Izuku's bulge rubbing against your sweet spot.

You lean in for a kiss and start playing with the zipper on his hero suit pants. As you do he slips a hand on your waist and deepens the kiss while helping you loosen his pants and takes off his suit.

"lemme help you with that bun..."

✩.･*:｡≻─────────── ⋆♡⋆ ───────────.•*:｡✩

"F-fuck! Wait! Izu...." Of course after working for so long and so hard your husband is gonna be a little pent up. Not being able to come home to see his pretty, loyal wife. The only way to solve that? A fucking mating press. Nothing can compare to the satisfaction of a good fucking. Especially passionate, rough and deep sex.

I mean if you aren't screaming his name at the end is it even considered a good fucking? Clearly he isn't putting in enough effort if you give him a reaction that's anything less than a moan of his name, unintelligible mumbles, or praises. So he'll go for a couple hours. Maybe he'll be satisfied after a few positions, some breeding, and marking. Just to make sure you know you're his.

And right after he would take a shower with you cuddle with you and make sure you were at 100 percent and then only then would he go to sleep with you in his arms. An unbreakable grasp.

Then he'll do the same thing next week.

⏤͟͟͞͞☆𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐱.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

pt2 of liaison!reader getting shot ft. boyfriend spence

pt1 right here

there was loud beeping beside your ear and the lights were still too bright with your eyes shut. your face scrunched as you slowly came to, feeling a scratchy material over your chest and arms. you tried pushing yourself up, but your arms were jelly and there was a sharp pain rising up your left side.

you groaned and hissed, tears pricking at your lashes when the sensation didn’t stop. the beeping spiked and it worsened a hidden headache. “hey, hey your fine. just lay down.” a comforting voice mixed with gentle hands at your shoulders.

your head flattened into a pillow and you slowly worked your eyes open, lashes feeling sticky and eyes crusty. harsh fluorescent lighting lit your space, showing you plain white walls and a sterile space, a hospital room.

your brows scrunched and you slowly moved your head to find the source of the soft voice. hovering over your laying figure was spencer, your worried boyfriend with his messy hair. you wanted to smooth it out, but your arms felt like weights.

“spence,” his name a crack from your dry throat. it caused a harsh cough from your lips that rattled your chest, you saw spencer move quick to grab some water with a straw and pushing it to your lips, “drink, please.”

feeling refreshed you asked, “what- what happened?” everything looking fuzzy in your memories as you tried to recall how you ended up here.

spencer sat slowly beside your thigh, his nimble fingers caressing at your dry knuckle. “you were shot by the unsub. he kidnapped a kid from a previous family and used him as bait.” he licked his lips as he looked down, “you lost a lot of blood in the ambulance. i thought-“

“hey,” noticing him choking up and rushing to ease his worry. “spence, i’m breathing.” not wanting to console him with saying you were fine, cause you weren’t. and you didn’t want to put a burden on his shoulders with saying that he saved your life. all that mattered was that you were stable and breathing.

“is the kid safe?” hoping they caught the killer and rescued the child from anymore harm. spencer nodded as he controlled his labored breathing, “he’s somewhere in the hospital as they check him over. the unsub is in custody.” you nodded absentmindedly.

spencer reached to tuck his fingers behind your ear and run it along your jaw, “told hotch we’re both gonna take a month off.” he rubbed his thumb on your chin while his warm eyes wandered around your sickly face.

you licked your lips, leaning your head into his touch. “probably for the best. not very eager to be around guns for a bit.” trying for humor, but it landed flat. worried you won’t be able to do your job after this incident.

spencer spoke up, hushed and loving, “we could visit my mom after you’re safe for travel. she’s been missing you.” probably able to tell what you’re thinking so heavily about.

your heavy lids blinked slowly and you smiled, cheek muscles aching. “that’d be nice. want to hear more stories of baby spence.” getting quiet, suddenly feeling depleted of energy.

you heard spencer give a muffled laugh, “i could always tell you.” there was a bit of shuffling on the small bed. a warm presence beside you then a hand slowly moving your head to lean and rest. your breathing started to grow heavy, the smell of spencer, a simple clean cologne that mixed with his every present fragrance of books soothed your muscles.

“once when i was little…”

-

a/n: for @abandonlilly

[kingkat12]

procrastination (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: FLUFF, biting, suggestive content, mentions of sex

summary: Roman knows exactly why you're up so late-- and now it's time to get you to admit it and go to bed

word count: 1,155

a/n: enjoy this oneshot i wrote at one a.m. yesterday to talk myself into going to sleep, and i hope it might work as efficiently for u as well<3333

"You should go to bed,"

I turned away from my computer, staring back at Roman with an annoyed look in my eyes-- still, I was sure he would spot the heaviness of my lids instead, along with the way my lashes moved in slow strokes as I continued to battle sleep. "I can't. I have to finish this,"

"You don't have to do anything at all," he murmured, taking off his reading glasses as he put today's paper down in his lap-- I was glad he finally wore them after I had dragged him to the optician to get a prescription. "This is just yesterday's argument all over again."

I cocked a brow; "We're not arguing, though?"

"... You know what I mean,"

"We didn't exactly argue yesterday, either,"

Roman sighed, the yellow hues of a lamp nearby dipping into the golden brown of his hair. "Yeah, you're right," He placed the paper next to him on the couch, crossing his legs as he stared back at me. I wasn't sitting too far away as he had allowed me to use his home office today, and he was on the couch a little further away from the desk. I loved being in this room; it smelled like Roman. It looked like Roman. Everything from the minimalistic style of the interior to the whisky glasses scattered all around the room which he had forgotten to put coasters beneath. He continued; "We didn't argue, and I'm not going to argue with you now either. I'm simply saying that you don't have to get that stuff done right now."

"But--"

"It's not life or death, is it?" Roman shifted, uncrossing his legs as he moved to the edge of the couch. "How much work do you really think you can get done at one in the morning?"

I shrugged. Being put on the spot like this wasn't my favourite thing in the world. Realizing I had to get real with him to get my point across, I let my shoulders slump as I rolled the office chair an inch or two away from my previous spot near the desk. I had to do everything in my power to not start spinning around on it like I usually liked to do with chairs like these. "I don't want to sleep, though,"

Roman nodded, ready to attack the root of the problem; "Why?" he asked, voice soft and gentle. 

I wanted to shut down. Go quiet again and get back to work. Still, I had a feeling this was coming from genuine concern-- and when Roman Godfrey is concerned about your sleep schedule, you know something is off. "I've procrastinated all day," I mumbled, tapping my fingers against the table as I grew uncomfortable with the truth I had suppressed. "I'm procrastinating now. And if I don't make my mind busy with something, I will think about the fact that I haven't gotten anything done today."

Humming, Roman folded his arms over his chest as he listened. Had he not been my boyfriend, I could've mistaken him for my therapist. "You staying up any longer won't change that, though,"

"Yeah," I breathed, no longer meeting his gaze. "But at least I'm not rolling around in bed right now feeling guilty about it." My sentence ended with a sigh, and it didn't take long before I drove my elbows against the hard wood of the desk and buried my face in my hands. Just talking about sleeping made me further exhausted-- was this what he wanted to get out of this conversation? My next words were muffled against my palms; "You don't have to stay up with me, if that's what you're doing. You should get some sleep."

Roman remained quiet, nodding to himself as he kicked back on the couch and ended up in a casual manspread. He grabbed the paper beside him-- "I'll make myself busy with this crossword. By the time I'm done, I hope you've come to your senses,"

I peeked at him through my fingers, and I couldn't help the confusion coursing through my veins as I spotted him reaching for a pen. Was he actually going to do this? Roman Godfrey... doing a crossword puzzle? I must've opened a portal into an alternative universe with my whining. "Come to my senses about what?"

Roman shrugged, filling in his first word on the paper as he no longer met my gaze. "How much nicer it would be to roll around in bed with me instead of doing whatever it is you're doing on your computer,"

Oh. He had a point. I hated when he did that. "Doesn't sound like we'd be getting much sleep that way either,"

Roman chuckled softly, mostly to himself, and wrote down another vertical word across the puzzle. "Perv,"

"... Me?"

"Yes, you," He tsked, pulling his pen away to think about which word to go for next. "Rolling around in bed doesn't necessarily have to mean sex."

I cocked a brow-- "Roman, are you perhaps having a stroke? Everything usually means sex when you're the one talking,"

"Well, tonight I'm a new man," He smiled as he found the answer for a word going across, finally meeting my eyes as he finished filling in the empty slots. "What do you say about making out like we're sixteen and sexually repressed?"

I nearly choked on air. "That's specific,"

"I'm not denying that,"

"How is that different from just... making out like usual?"

Roman leaned his head against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as he thought out loud; "I think it'd just be messier. So uncoordinated that we'd constantly be knocking teeth,"

It was impossible not to laugh-- "You want to knock teeth, Roman?"

He turned his head to me, his green eyes meeting mine with the loveliest of smiles. "Fuck yeah. I'll even bite you if we get that far,"

"... Christ," With a giggle, I shut my laptop. "Fine! I'll go to bed, but only if you promise to keep your teeth far away from mine."

Roman sucked in a sharp breath as he got up to approach me. He spun the chair to make me face him, and he leaned down far enough for his hot breath to graze my cheek; "Actually, I'll bite you right now if you don't get out of my chair, young lady,"

Oh, I loved this mood of his. "Your chair?"

"Yes. My chair," His classic smirk made an appearance as his eyes darkened; "And my girl." 

It didn't take long before Roman scooped me up, hoisting me over his shoulder as I yelped. Still, I knew there was no fighting him. If I did, I'd get another one of those bite marks on my thighs that would linger for days, and I couldn't go through that again. To be frank, I planned to wear more short skirts going forward-- I was visiting his actual office tomorrow, and I planned to make my visit one he'd remember for longer than I had ever had a bite mark lingering on my skin.

[bananayuyu]

just friends (2) - back to the beginning

pairing: san x f reader

genre: smut, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 12.6k

summary: could you really call this a friendship anymore? what was it really, when you spent nights curled up in the sheets with him, days fighting till your blood ran cold? this was more than anything you'd had with anyone; but what it was, you didn't know. you'd fight to keep it alive, for it held you together; but how much more of this could San take before he breaks?

warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal sex, cream pie, oral, cum eating

a/n: i have become completely obsessed with these two. I've mapped out 10 parts for this series (help me), please let me know if you'd like to be tagged for the rest <33 new parts won't be coming out on any certain schedule as I have many other writing projects I'm working on, but I will for sure finish his series within the year. I'm too obsessed not to. also the argument at the end of this part is pretty nasty so please proceed with caution <3

<- previous part | next part -> | series masterlist | read it on ao3

One Year Ago

"Titi, it's 4:15, get your ass up!" you called from her desk, squinting at your eyes in the mirror as you put the finishing touches on your dark, heavy face of makeup.

"I know, sorry," she grumbled from her bed, slowly pushing off her comforter. "Winter makes me so sleepy," she yawned, stretching as long as she couch reach, her feet falling off the side of her mattress.

"You just love being late, I think," you joked, slapping closed the lid of your highlighter, putting the brush you used back into the drawer it came from.

"You'd think I do, with how often I am," she laughed, another yawn escaping her lips, her palms rubbing circles over her eyes.

"I'm leaving without you if you're running late, just so you know," you responded, stepping up off her desk chair and over to your trusty bag, double checking you had your costume for tonight, your phone, your keys, wallet, and makeup bag.

"I'm coming, just give me a second," she muttered, pushing herself up dramatically, a deep sigh wracking through her. "I didn't get to sleep till like ten in the morning."

"What were y'all doing?" you asked, chuckling, zipping closed your bag with a satisfying sound, everything packed just right for the day ahead.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she laughed, waggling her eyebrows at you.

"You're a couple of fucking rabbits, you two," you shot back, staring at the disheveled state of your best friend. She tipped her head back, laughing hard, that bright full smile showing across her beautiful face. She'd been smiling a lot like that lately, ever since her and her girlfriend had made things official, ever since they'd decided to move in together.

"I'm sorry, I won't talk about it so much if it's annoying," she said, finally standing herself up and shlepping off her pajamas.

"Don't stop, it's very adorable," you responded. "Why would it be annoying?"

"Just cause, you know, your last situation was such a disappointment. I don't want it to feel like I'm rubbing it in," she said, grabbing for a pair of black leggings and pink sweater in the pile of clothes on the floor.

"My last, what, three situations, actually?" you said, trying to remember each of the ridiculous members of the cast of dates you'd been on last year.

"Dating sucks," she said, pulling her leggings on, stumbling a bit.

"Not for you, it doesn't," you responded, crossing your arms.

"Well, not now, but it did for my whole life up until this point," she said.

"Ah, turned twenty-two and now you have it figured out?" you joked, rolling your eyes.

"Hey, don't get snippy with me missy," she pouted, pulling the sweater over her head.

"Sorry, you know I just like arguing for no reason," you sighed, chuckling a bit.

"I need to find you someone who likes it just as much as you do," she joked back, grabbing her phone off it's charger.

"But who's not actually an asshole?" you said.

"Yeah, exactly," she laughed, shooting off a quick text. "Shit, 4:20," she said, stuffing her phone into her own huge bag, not bothering to check it's contents like you just did.

"Okay, we're going now," you said, walking out into her living room, heading straight for the front door.

"Wait, just let me make a cup of coffee!" she called to you, stumbling behind.

"They have coffee where we work, you know," you remarked, looking back at her over your shoulder.

"Oh my god, you love saying shit like that," she rolled her eyes, following close behind you.

"I'm not wrong," you said as you opened the front door, stepping out into the hall.

"I just wanted my pretty mug," she sighed, stepping out after you.

"Then go grab it," you said, holding the door open.

"I can do that? Make coffee into a mug I've brought in?" she asked.

"I don't see why not," you responded, shrugging your shoulders.

"Okay, if I get in trouble I'm blaming you," she said, running back in to grab her favorite mug from the cabinet above the sink.

"Fine, fine," you shook your head, closing the door once she'd come out again.

As soon as you exited the building you realized you'd worn too much; it might be January still, but it was hardly cold at all, this dense desert city holding all the heat the rest of the world must be craving.

"Can we slow down?" Tina asked from beside you, your shoulders bumping as you stepped around a huge group standing on the sidewalk outside of an Italian restaurant, chatter filling the air.

"I don't wanna be late," you answered, keeping your pace as it was.

"Dude, you're so wound up," she said, snaking her hand through your upper arm, genuinely worried you'll start sprinting off if she didn't ground you somehow.

"Sorry, I know," you said, linking your arm around her's. "I'm good, I swear. Just stressed about my manuscript submission," you said, flashing her a wary smile.

"They said they'd get back to you by next week, right?" she asked, gently pulling on you to help you avoid a dark spot of something sticky on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, next week," you sighed, letting out a disgruntled noise.

"Okay, so, you just gotta wait. You did all that work last year finishing that play, you should let yourself have some fun for a few weeks. We should all go out after work today, we haven't done that in forever," she said, the two of you snaking around a line of people standing outside the old movie theater that sat just a block from your place of work.

"Doesn't Maya work Sunday mornings?" you asked, pulling up at the corner to wait for the light to change.

"Usually, but not this week. She's on a later shift today so they gave her tomorrow off," she answered you, eyes darting around at the cacophony of sounds streaming through the streets from every direction.

"Oh, that's nice," you said, and Tina started laughing, squeezing onto your arm. "Shit sorry, did that sound sarcastic?"

"It's so funny when your tone goes all flat like that," she said beside you, a genuine smile on her face. "Seriously though, there probably won't be a Saturday night where she can come out with us for a very long time. We should do it. Maybe we can even convince Sasha and Bibi to come too."

"I'll think about it," you said as the light changed, the two of you stepping down onto the asphalt in front of you. A car honked loudly from your left, wanting to turn down the street you were walking across, and you both shot the driver identical looks of confusion over your shoulders. Only another minute and you were pushing through the side door of the bar, stepping right into the back of the kitchen and waving hi to the cooks on the line. The hallway to the dressing room was already uncomfortably hot; your light layers were far too much now, so you stripped them off quickly, shoving everything into your locker and checking your phone. You weren't late, after all. Thankfully, because you were on early tonight, second in the program, and you only had time to change into your costume and warm up a bit before Ilya was calling your name and pushing you down to the left wing of the stage.

It was a fairly normal night, by all accounts. You'd been working at the bar for nearly two years by then, one of the longer standing performers. There was high turnover in the staff, as was typical in a bar, but especially amongst the performers, who'd often find sudden success in movies or TV, or decide that pursuing this was just not for them anymore. Ages varied wildly; your boss Julie was not one to obsess over youth, or any other conventional markers of beauty. All she cared about was talent; she wanted to create the most interesting, jaw dropping, entertaining show this whole city had to offer, and there was no doubt she had succeeded. Every kind of person could be found working here; sometimes servers would take on a performing shift or two, and sometimes the opposite. It wasn't rare for you to be asked to take drinks to a certain table, your costume still on, sometimes staying in character as you placed them down in front of wonder-filled eyes. You all were expected to help each other out; once or twice you'd even been requested in the kitchen or behind the bar, when there'd been one too many sudden call outs.

It was a classy establishment. Doors opened at 4:30, the show promptly starting at 5pm; it ended at midnight sharp, the bar closing only half an hour later. It was the earliest place to close on the block, only open four days a week, Wednesday night through Saturday night. It was a place people went to pregame, to start their evening with a bang, or a place people went to see a great show before heading back home at a reasonable hour. There was a drinks limit; you all could deny a customer another if they were acting unruly, your security team inconspicuous under the dark shadowy light inside, but always watching. The food served was regular bar fare: tacos, wings, pizza, burgers, but it was high quality, so good that some people came frequently just for their favorite menu item. The place was known for its drinks, too, having hoards of non alcohol options that put every other bar's mocktail lists to shame. It was known for its organized and sparkly atmosphere, known as a reliable place to have a good ass night. The patronage was a mixed bag, but the place wasn't cheap; it tended to skew a bit older, a bit more mature. You didn't hate that; it meant the behavior was generally predictable, even if you didn't exactly fit in amongst the crowd cheering you on.

Halfway through the night you plopped down on your stool in the dressing room, scrubbing free the bits of eyeliner that had smudged below your eye during your first two solo performances of the night.

"Hey girl, sorry to bug, do you have any lashes I could borrow?" Sasha came running in, a slightly panicked look on her face.

"I should, let me see what I have," you said, setting your makeup wipe on your bare thigh and zipping open your bag.

"I'm so sorry to ask, but I literally don't have any with me," she sighed, coming to sit beside you. "My right one fell off on stage and I couldn't find it for the life of me. I was trying to look for it without making it obvious," she said, a nervy chuckle escaping her.

"No worries, here, look through there. Take whatever you need," you said, handing her the small box you kept your old and new lashes in.

"Oh darling, you're a lifesaver," she sighed, snapping it open and rifling through, finding the size she needed. She still had some of that newbie air about her, not six weeks into working with you. But already she had established herself as irreplaceable; by then she emceed almost every night she worked, and thank god for that, as none of the rest of you had any talent or desire for it. Julie tended to do it, if no one else was available, but having a beautiful drag queen host the evening, one who also performed in the show, was a much better choice in every way.

"A group of businessmen just walked in and took table four, I'm hoping one of them is interesting in all this," she said, leaning forward to place the replacement lash on her right eyelid.

"I'm sure one will be, Sash, you're fucking gorgeous," you said, wiping the last of the smudged makeup from your face and giggling.

"Oh sweetheart, you flatter me," she drawled, looking over her face in the mirror. "Do you think those straight-" she lifted her hands, making air quotes, "men can tell I'm not a woman in all the typical ways?"

"Girl, I wasn't even sure the first time I saw you. Your makeup skills are unmatched," you said, chuckling at her.

"Oh stop it," she joked, shaking her head at you. "I hope my hosting skills are half as good," she sighed, finally placing the lash on her eye just right and batting her hand in front of her face in a desperate attempt to get the glue to dry quickly.

"Sasha, are you kidding? You put the rest of us to shame. You should have seen me the one night Julie made my try it out," you laughed, tossing your used makeup wipe in the waste basket beside you.

"I'm sure it was just fine, you little genius," she responded, blinking her eye open and closed a few times. "Sorry to cut this short, but I should probably get out there again."

"Go get 'em, girl," you responded, shooting a playful wink her way.

"Thank you again, darling," she said as she walked past, a gentle hand on your shoulder. You squeezed it briefly; "of course," you said. Then her heels were clacking past you, and soon the room filled with noise as nearly every performer on your cast came in to start their makeup, all of you preparing for the big group number of the evening.

You'd discovered the song, randomly, a few months back. The title, Kalyna, and the album art had intrigued you; after your first listen you were imaging the choreography immediately, turning on your phone to record the sudden ideas flooding your brain. You'd never choreographed a number for the bar, but you knew Julie would be open to it if you pitched it correctly. Three weeks later and you were teaching your coworkers the choreography, chaotic short lessons between everyone's normal performances, all of them picking it up lightning quick. It was an instant hit with your audiences, the night it debuted, and had been kept in the rotation longer than most of the other numbers ever were.

That night the air was buzzing in the dressing room; everyone looked sharp and stunning in their body suits, hair slicked back and pulled tight into buns. The makeup was angular; this number was meant to evoke a bit of tension, maybe even some fear in the audience. But it also showed the strength of the team, the strength of community, and the physical strength of each of you. It was your absolute favorite number that winter; you looked forward to it every night you worked, proud to know you'd created something that stuck so fondly in the minds of the people who watched.

As you hit the stage, you saw immediately what Sasha had just mentioned. Table four, which sat just off the right side of the stage, was cramped full of men in suits, every single one sharp and fitted and so obviously expensive. There was every type of man you could imagine at the table; you spotted immediately the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, Sasha's dream come to life. And when she led the first eight counts towards the front of the stage, you saw his eyes take in everything, her long legs, her face, her deep rich eyes he seemed lost in. You nearly broke character; so rare was is that people in here flirted with the performers, oddly enough, and normally you were very thankful for that. It was all a part of the classy environment your boss had curated, and it meant you felt safe. But you couldn't deny how giddy it made you to see this playing out in front of you, mere feet from where you danced.

You danced the rest of the number focused, determined not to drop your professionalism for too long, the crowd erupting in cheer as you all finished. Clasping hands down the line, you took one giant bow, spinning and running off stage as the number ended.

"Lina needs help y'all!" Ilya called as you ran through the wings, and immediately you headed down the short hallway to the back of the bar, bursting through to find her. Stacked along the bar were multiple trays of drinks; a line was forming, and your head bartender looked the tiniest bit stressed. Sweat dripped form her brow, and she wiped it away quickly with her hand, punching something into the computer before whipping around to take another order.

"Oh, good, please take those out!" she said when she saw you and Tina, pointing to the trays of drinks in front of you. "The beers are for table four, the cocktails table seven!"

In an instant you grabbed the tray in front of you, sliding past Tina as carefully and quickly as possible. This was sometimes your favorite moments of the evening, when in the adrenaline of post-performance you had to run out drinks to an excited table, who'd marvel over your performance and ask you every question they could think of. As you started weaving through the room, several iterations of 'great job!' and 'amazing, just amazing!' were thrown your way, making your smile so wide it nearly stretched off your face. You barely payed attention to the drinks in your hand, only to make sure they didn't spill, as you nodded in thanks to the compliments, smiling at the half-lit faces around you.

It wasn't until you stopped, stood close to the wall to let another server past, that you realized which tray you'd grabbed. Both table four and seven sat on the far side of the room opposite the bar, and in the chaos of the moment you'd just headed this way, not bothering to actually take note. Now, you did; eight beers sat on the tray balanced on your hand, all identical dark ales. You shot a look to your side at Tina's tray, littered with pink and blue and clear cocktails, fun decorations sticking out the top of them all. Your's was meant for table four, for those businessmen Sasha had spotted, the one's you'd just performed mere feet from.

It shouldn't have worried you, but you couldn't help remembering it now. The only time you'd felt uncomfortable at work had been when serving a giant table full of just men, when one of them had said things severely over the line with you, just to make his friends laugh. It'd only ever happened that once, but the feeling was humiliating enough to have stuck with you, your mind whirring a bit as you made you way towards the crowded table. You decided you'd set the tray down by the man eyeing Sasha; maybe you could subtly hint at her interest, though you had no idea what you'd say. But as soon as you entered their proximity and reached between two of them to set down the tray, a man across the table spoke to you.

"I love that song!" he said, and you looked up to find a sweet, bright smile and deep dimples staring back at you.

"Oh, thank you!" you replied, giving him a genuine smile back, your mind immediately put at ease. You started placing the beers around, one in front of each man, careful to avoid the plates of food already littering the table.

"Do you know the significance of the Kalyna plant in Ukraine?" the same man asked, and your head snapped to him, eyes slightly wide.

"Yeah, that's why I chose to make that number," you said before you could think, so shocked that someone here knew anything about the song you'd spent long hours researching months ago.

"You choreographed that?" he asked, his eyes going wide a bit too.

"Oh, yeah," you said, slightly embarrassed that you'd just openly admitted that. It wasn't something you tended to do, when making light chatter with customers. You grabbed the last beer, which was for him, and made your way around the table to set it down in front of him. "It's just such a great song, easy to choreograph to," you added, trying to make yourself sound less conceited, less interested in talking about yourself.

"It is great, haven't heard it in years," he responded, taking the beer from your hand as you moved to set it down.

"You've heard it before?" you asked, genuine shock in your tone. The band was not one very popular here; not a single person you knew had heard of them, and no one in the months you'd been performing it had mentioned knowing anything about the song.

"Yeah, my freshman roommate in college was from Ukraine and he played a lot of their music. He's a drag queen, I would go to his shows a lot. He actually did a routine to that song, too, for a while," he responded, turning in his seat a bit to better face you. By this point the rest of the table had fallen into another conversation; it seemed none of the rest of them had heard of the song before, or cared to learn much about it. Kind of made them seem like shitty friends, to you. But you were thankful for it, because all of the sudden it felt like you and this gorgeous man were all alone, your back against the west wall of the seating area, Sasha's voice booming through the speakers around you.

"Next time he's visiting I'll be sure to take him here, he'd love it," he added, taking a swig of his beer.

"Well we might not be performing that number anymore, depending on when he's coming. Our numbers are put on a rotation, and this one's overstayed it's welcome already. Though it's still quite popular, we might be able to perform it a while longer," you said, words coming easily, the normal walls you kept high when talking to customers nowhere to be found.

"That's too bad, I hope you get to keep it for a while. It's fucking great, you're a real genius," he said, looking up at you again with those perfect dimples.

"Thanks," you said, blushing, the smirk he was sending your way bringing sudden heat to your face. You'd had time now to take him in; his hair was black, short at the sides and longer on top, his suit black to match it. His skin was honey, smooth as can be, and his face was pure perfection, pouty lips and a perfect nose, a strong jaw, strong eyebrows. He was very masculine, but very pretty too, so stunning you couldn't believe your eyes. And his wire framed glasses held his look together perfectly; he looked sharp, smart, and confident. He looked the way you were pretty sure every man wished he looked in a suit.

"I don't usually say stuff like this, but, when are you free tonight? We're all headed to a huge party up in the East Heights after this, if you'd like to come. There's gonna be an open bar, a pool, it's supposed to be pretty crazy," he said, taking another quick sip of his beer, his face pure and calm as he said it.

'I don't usually say stuff like this' my ass, you thought. The words had flown off his tongue too easily for that to be believable. But it was working on you, his confidence. You'd experienced too many instances of vague flirting, of indirectness, of shaky voices and shakier hands. You'd dreamt of a moment like this, when someone saw you and liked what they saw, liked it enough to ask you out then and there with no hesitation.

"Uh, I get off at 12:30, when the bar closes," you answered him, words falling out of your mouth without intention. "I- uh- I'll need to think about it though. I wouldn't be comfortable coming by myself, would I be able to bring some friends?"

"Yeah, bring whoever you'd like. It's a big event, a few extra bodies should be no big deal," he responded, smirk turning to a full on smile. His teeth were perfect, god he was perfect, and you got lost in his face for a few seconds, resting your hip against the wall behind you, your lower lip grasped between your teeth.

"I'm San, by the way," he said, reaching out his free hand in your direction.

"Oh, yeah, I'm y/n," you replied, placing your hand in his. His handshake was strong, hand warm around yours, your fingers nearly disappearing in his palm.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, holding onto your hand for a second longer than needed, gently releasing it and looking you straight in the eyes.

"Nice to meet you too," you said awkwardly, eyes darting around the room. "I should probably get back to work, it was nice chatting with you," you said, finally walking around the table to grab the tray and bring it back to the bar.

"We'll be here till closing, so just let me know then if you'd like to come," he said, nodding in your direction as you started to turn.

"Okay, thanks," you said, smiling over your shoulder, before walking off hurriedly between tables, suddenly worried sick that you'd be in trouble for talking to him for too long.

"Titi, you still wanna go out tonight?" you asked as you rushed back into the locker room, two slices of sweet bread you stole from the kitchen in your hands.

"Yeah, you actually wanna?" she said excitedly, reaching forward to grab one of them from you.

"I just got invited to a party in the Easy Heights," you said, a bewildered look gracing your features.

"Hello? What?" she responded, her mouth open in a comical O.

"I don't even know, but yeah, apparently some big party is happening at a house up there? He said it will have an open bar and pool?" you said, shaking your head in disbelief at the words coming out of you.

"Who said this?" she asked, mouth full as she chowed down.

"He said his name is San, he's in that group at table four," you responded.

"Oh my god, Sasha was just telling me she was making eyes at one of those men," Tina laughed, a hand coming to your shoulder.

"Yeah, I saw that while we were performing Kalyna," you said, giggling too.

"You sure you wanna go to an East Heights party? There's definitely gonna be like coke and shit, probably worse. It might be crazy," she said, head tilting to the side.

"If it's awful we can just leave, but I kinda feel like going. I doubt we'll ever be invited to one of those again," you laughed, giving her an assured smile. "I kind of want to see what tomfoolery those rich assholes get up to."

"So this isn't about hanging out with that man?" she asked.

"He seems cool, but I think he might be gay," you said to her, crossing your arms.

"Um, why?"

"He said his roommate in college was a drag queen, and that he went to his shows a lot. And he talked to me way too confidently to be into me. If he's not gay, then he's definitely not interested," you said, shrugging.

"Babe, he invited you to a party with him, barely knowing you. He definitely finds you attractive," she said, giving you that look she does when she thinks you're being just a bit dumb.

"Okay, but, well-" you cut yourself off, holding your hands out in a gesture of pity. You were dumb when it came to this relationship stuff, downright stupid. You knew that, as frustrating as it was. You wanted to be confident in your suspicion he was into you, but you'd been wrong enough times when you were younger about this sort of thing to assume it now. You'd been made fun of countlessly in high school, person after person laughing at the mere thought that they'd be into you. You were always baffled; you'd been told by some other person that this person had a crush on you, and were only asking them about it because of that information. They were pranks, and it took you embarrassingly long to figure that out. You understood that now, you recognized it had just been childish bullying; but still, even years later, you doubted any instance of even a suggestion that someone found you attractive.

You were different back then; you'd changed so much in the few years you'd lived away from home. But still, you doubted yourself. Maybe you had a complex about being undesirable, but who didn't? And frankly, when you looked around the world, it seemed like more of the "ugly" people had partners than not. It must be more about personality, you reasoned, which made your undesirability all the more painful. A silly, sick side of you began to feel attached to being single, began to feel better than other people for it, even your ride or die perfect friend standing in front of you. You didn't need romantic love like everyone else did, you decided; you had your art to give you passion, your friends to give you companionship. And you could physically satisfy yourself just fine. It was all projection; it was how you coped. How else could you deal with the pain of never being loved, lusted after, wanted the way all of your friends had since puberty?

But even as attached to your single identity as you were, you'd perused the apps last year, a tiny buried part of you wishing and hoping that there was someone out there for you, perfect in every way. It had been a bust, as expected. You felt like a fool for even trying. You had hoped that it would give you at least a little self-esteem, even if no relationship came of it. But it had only driven that painful truth of your undesirable personality deeper into your heart, cracking it further.

"I don't even want a relationship right now, Ti, I've said that for like the past three months," you said, pulling your hands back to your chest. You felt your heart thumping there, trying desperately to come alive despite the year of terror you'd put it through.

"It doesn't have to be a relationship, you could just hook up with him, you know, have a little fun," she answered you, grabbing your hands in hers. "Let's go, let's have some fun. Just relax, spend the evening enjoying ourselves." You hadn't seen her so excited all winter; her moods were severely affected by this season, and it always felt like a part of her left you for the cold months. It made a complex mix of sadness and excitement swirl through you, staring back at her perfect face. There was no way you'd be saying no to her now, despite anything.

"Okay, fine," you sighed, pulling her into a tight hug.

It took little convincing for Sasha and Bibi to join you, and soon the four of you plus Maya were standing on the sidewalk outside, stuck like a barnacle to the side of San's huge group. You were all waiting on two limos, according to him; when he's said this the five of you looked between yourselves with huge wide eyes, grabbing each other's arms and trying desperately not to laugh.

"You realize none of us have ever been to the East Heights, right?" you said to him, the soft arm of his suit jacket brushing up against the exposed skin of your own upper arm.

"That's fine, I've only been once. It's nothing that crazy, the houses are just big," he said, looking down at you, his shoulders intimidatingly broad now that he was standing beside you.

"I thought you said this party is gonna be crazy though," you replied, squinting your eyes playfully.

"Well, it's possible. I don't really know," he responded.

"So you just said that to say it earlier?" you questioned him, head cocked to the side.

"I was trying to make my offer sound enticing," he replied, looking you up and down, that smirk back on his face.

"So you lied to me?" you shot back.

"Hey, like I said, I don't know much about this thing, it could very well be crazy," he responded, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Wow, what have I gotten us into," you said, turning to the group, all of whom were suppressing their laughter at the interaction unfolding in front of them.

"The best night of your life," he answered, nudging your shoulder in a way that almost could have been accidental, making your eyes snap back to his again.

"I hope that wasn't a lie," you said, eyeing him sharply.

"I'll make sure of it," he shot back, one eyebrow raised slightly.

A titter sounded behind you, Tina unable to keep her composure at the ridiculous bickering unfurling between you. Your eyes were locked on each other, faces closer than either of you realized. It was so damn obvious to all of your friends, then, what was about to happen. The two of you couldn't hide it for a second, how affect you were. You were still locked in eye contact when the first limo pulled up, the rest of San's group filing in, waving him goodbye.

"You can go with your friends if you'd like," you said as he closed the door, stepping back.

"Oh they're not really my friends, just guys I know through work. This whole thing tonight is a networking opportunity, what fun," he joked sarcastically, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Oh wow," you said, eyes glued to the limo as it pulled away. "People network at one in the morning?"

"Us tech bros do I guess, we just love it," he said, laughing sarcastically again. "I don't really like this stuff, but my manager is making me go. He gave me Monday off, so, I can't really complain."

"Wow, you have like a normal job," you said, laughing.

"And you don't?" he asked.

"I just mean, you work Monday to Friday, 9 to 5, right?" He nodded. "Yeah, I literally don't know a single other person who does. My mom is a doula, and my twin sister is a nurse, and my dad has early-onset Parkinson's so he's been on disability almost my whole life. And the rest of my friends work here, or work at other bars or restaurants around here. Even my best friend from high school works in a library at her university, but she works weekends and nights."

It all came stumbling out of you so fast, your hand shot up to your mouth.

"Sorry, that was crazy. Just forget all that shit about my dad..." you trailed off, eyes wide with worry as they met his.

"What shit about your dad?" he answered, and your expression immediately changed to one of relief, one of laughter. Just then the second limo pulled up to the curb, and the five of you excitedly gathered by the door, San opening it for you.

"Ladies," he said, bowing his head slightly and beckoning you all to step inside.

"None of us have ever been in a limo either," you told him, chuckling as your friends excitedly squealed while carefully entering the sleek black car.

"Uh, I have, speak for yourself miss thing," Bibi said as she crouched down, shooting you a look over her shoulder.

"Well damn, I guess one of us has," you said to San as you finally stepped inside, his body following quickly after you, rich laughter ringing in your ear.

San, it turned out, was most definitely not gay. Which of course, deep down, you'd already known. You'd known it from the moment he asked you to go to that party with him, from the moment he smirked and your body sizzled under his glare. But he was so different from anyone you'd dated before; too kind, too upfront, too knowledgeable about musicals and theater and all the things you loved so very much. It almost pained you to find out he'd been studying theater in college before switching to computer science. That was why he'd been paired with his freshman roommate; at the time, they'd had the same major. That roommate, Antin, became one of his best friends; the two bonded over coming from overseas, the pressure their parents put on them even thousands of miles away. It was so sweet, so charming, and in the two hours you spent at that raucous party, you learned what seemed like all there was to know about him.

He was too perfect; it was too easy to say yes when he'd asked if you wanted to see his apartment, too easy to bid your friends goodnight as your Uber pulled up in front of their places. You thought of nothing but the hunk beside you, about what he'd look like with that suit strewn on the ground. You tried not to jump his bones the second you were alone, but damn was it hard; as soon as you arrived he'd taken your purse, and placed it in the front closet of his apartment. His apartment was huge, his front closet bigger than the bathroom you shared with three other roommates; it was fancy too, well kept, stacks of books and DVDs in the living room, only two dirty dishes in the bottom of his kitchen sink.

It was all simply too good to be true, and in that moment nothing felt real. You were present, sure, but you felt like you'd been knocked into an alternative timeline, getting to live out the life of someone far better than you, who deserved all this.

"Aren't you hot in that suit?" you asked him, your loose minidress hanging free, your body unburdened with extra fabric. You always kept a few random clothes at work in case you needed to change suddenly, and even though it was the last day of January, this tiny dress had been a great option. Outside you'd thrown a large old flannel of your dad's over it, but at the party you'd tied it around your waist, the mass of bodies creating more heat than you could bear.

"Yeah, I was sweating all night," he laughed, slowly and methodically pulling off his suit jacket, finally revealing the shape of his shoulders to you. Under his white button-up they bulged; you did all you could to stop yourself from just staring, especially as he loosened his tie and finally pulled from his head, setting it down on the small table just inside his front door.

"You can put your shoes in there, if you'd like. Oh and your shirt, here, let me hang it up," he said, reaching for the flannel still tied around your waist. His touch was electric as soon as his hands made contact; even through the material of your dress you felt the spark, your body shivering. It only lasted a second, his nature too respectful to make anything more of a moment like that, especially after what you'd said at the party to him not twenty minutes ago. You wished you could have frozen time, wished every little detail of this night could be burned into your memory forever. It would be hard to believe then that you'd forget a lot of it in just a year, that somehow so much would happen that this one night would come to feel almost insignificant.

"Can I make you some hot cocoa, or tea, coffee?" he asked as he walked towards his kitchen, pouring you both glasses of water.

"Some herbal tea sounds nice, if you have any," you answered, and he opened his pantry to reveal a small collection. You picked out the lavender mix that sounded refreshing, placing the purple tea bag in a black mug he'd set down on the counter. As he set his tea kettle to boil, you hopped up on the counter beside him, bare feet swinging in air.

"So, you think that was the best night of my life?" you quipped, looking sideways at him as he set the kettle to temperature.

"Night's not over," he responded, eyebrows flicking up in amusement.

You were squirming under his gaze, your face now level with his. His shirt and pants fit him immaculately; you were so obviously ogling him, your thighs rubbing together as you did, your eyelids heavy with lust. He could feel it pouring off of you, but he kept replaying what you'd said, and kept trying to keep his composure, because he really wasn't that guy. He wasn't the guy who slept with the girl right away; he had known too many of those guys at college, seen too many of them back home too, when he visited his brother in the fall. He found the hookup culture he was surrounded by almost unnerving. He'd been raised with integrity, with respect; and being here in a new country had challenged his beliefs, for sure, but not when it came to sex or romance.

But you were determined. Your body had a mind of its own, and this whole night had felt surreal for hours now. Your own, already loose morals were thrown out the window, and you didn't give a fuck. You wanted him now, forget whatever the hell you'd said earlier; you didn't even remember it anymore, too filled with arousal to think straight.

You grabbed onto his arm closest to you, pulling him in.

"Hey, I thought you said-"

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling his face towards yours, leaning back slightly to arch into him. It was feverish as your lips met, mouths open, your legs already shaking as you wrapped them around his waist. It didn't take long for his hands to find your hips, your waist; he dug in, feeling the softness of you, softness he wanted to be wrapped in forever. He'd kept his composure the whole way here, not putting a hand on your thigh in the Uber, not a hand on your back as you walked through his front door. But now, it had left him; just five seconds of you in his grasp, and he knew he could never let go. His tongue swiped into your mouth, sucking hard on your lower lip, and without thinking he was reaching under your dress, feeling over the bare expanse of skin.

You hadn't worn a bra or panties tonight. He could tell about the bra, from the way your dress caught on your chest, but the panties were a surprise, making his head fuzzy as he reached down to your ass and found it bare for him. Your hands now were desperately grabbing at his over-shirt, trying in vain to undo each pesky button as you kept kissing him, your hands stumbling and failing over and over. Finally, he reached up and just ripped his shirt open, buttons popping and falling onto the floor in a soft rattle. He flung it off his arms, his tight under shirt leaving nothing anymore to your imagination. His abs rippled underneath it; you'd never seen abs like that in person before, weren't sure that they even existed. Especially not on a man who worked in tech, whose face was prettier than a porcelain doll's.

He came back to you, breathing hard; you grabbed at his abdomen, his shoulders, his chest, desperate to feel all of the perfection in front of you. You could smell the sweat on him now, musky and rich notes hitting your nose and making your body heat even more. He moved his mouth to your neck, your ear, making you whine and squirm with pleasure, sharp sparklers of energy running down the entirety of your body. You were pulling at him, desperately, forgetting any sense of where you were, or what you'd planned for tonight. As he licked a stripe up your collar bone you squealed loudly, the feeling ticklish and pleasurable all the same, and you jerked away from him momentarily, falling into a fit of giggles.

Suddenly there was a crash; the mug next to you was sent flying to the floor by your hip, and now it's pieces spread out across the grey tile, littering it in shards.

"Fuck, sorry," you gasped, your hands flying up to cover your open mouth. You were expecting maybe a light chuckle, maybe a shocked noise, for San to want to clean this up right away before you two got to whatever you were doing; instead he laughed deeply, his bright, wide smile back on his face, dimples staring you in the face for the probably thousandth time that night. He looked down to each side of his feet, sighing ever so slightly, before moving his gaze back up to you, his eyes thoughtful.

"Fuck it," he laughed with a shake of his head, grabbing you again, his hand on the back of your neck, soft lips wrapped around your own. You giggled into his mouth, so overcome by the chaotic set of events; but it only took a moment of his lips on yours again for you to melt, your legs around him, your breathing hot and heavy as he grabbed at your dress, pulling it up at the front to reveal your bare crotch to the room, running two of his fingers down your slit to see how wet you were.

"Fuck, San," you gasped, feeling how easily his slippery fingers moved, his movement unexpected.

"You want this, right?" he asked you, voice husky and deep. His eyes were boring into yours, and his look was dark and intense. It made you shiver to look back at him, and a part of you wanted to look away, to not feel the complex string of emotions tumbling through you. It almost felt like dread; dread laced with beauty, laced with desire and sweetness and everything addictive, and you just couldn't bring the rest of yourself to look away.

"Yes, please," you responded, pushing your hips down onto his hand, grinding onto his fingers. "Please fuck me, San."

You'd never said anything like this in your life; you'd only imagined it, or read it. As cheesy as it could feel on the page, in that moment it felt consumingly empowering, downright sexy. You pulled at his belt in front of you, your mouths meeting again, his teeth scraping over your upper lip as he nearly devoured you. Once again, you struggled with undoing his clothing; he moved his hands away from you to unclasp it himself, pulling it hard and tossing it to the ground when he had. Your hands were around his chin, holding his face to you as you messily kept kissing, his hands now working on the button and zipper of his jeans. In a matter of moments he'd pulled his hard cock out of his pants, and held it in his hand, hungrily eyeing your flushed cunt in front of him.

"Let me get a condom," he huffed, clearly having to work at pulling his eyes away from you.

"No, I have an implant," you said, pointing to your left arm. You saw his eyes twitch to side for a moment, like his brain was struggling to process what you'd just said. "It's fine, I can't get pregnant," you added, in case he didn't know what the hell you were trying to say. It took another few moments for him to accept it; but once he did he moved his cock closer to your aching entrance, and rubbed it along your slit where his fingers had been just seconds ago.

"Fuck," you sighed, head hitting his shoulder as he leaned into you, as he spread your wetness over his tip. Your closed eyes cloaked you in almost darkness, only the soft light in the kitchen illuminating the room, and all you could feel was your throbbing cunt and San's movements, already whimpering and moaning in his ear. He lined himself up carefully, pulling your hips to the very edge of the counter to give him room, and slowly sank halfway down.

"Oh my god," you squeaked, the stretch not at all what you expected. He was far bigger than any man you'd ever been with; it almost hurt, and you'd never experienced this before, so you had no idea if this was a hurt that would subside, or a hurt that would grow and fester. You clung to his shoulders for dear life as he slowly pulled out of you again, thrusting back in just slightly deeper, his movements slow and controlled.

"Ahhh, shit," you whined again, grip on his shoulders even tighter.

"I need you to relax for me," he said in your ear, the vibrations of his voice sending tremors of pleasure through you.

"I'm trying," you squeaked out, face stuck in his neck as you tried to breath slowly.

"Need me to stop?" he asked, stilling his movements completely, holding onto your lower back for support.

"No, please don't stop," you whispered, finally finding some control of your breath. "Just give me a second."

San obliged, kissing the top of your head as he ran a comforting hand down your back. You continued to breathe deep, continued to take in his scent, and in a few short moments you felt the walls of your cunt finally release a bit, allowing you to rock yourself against him without pain.

"Okay, I'm ready," you said, bracing yourself, and a moment later you felt him push himself in further, finally bottoming out. You both let out a guttural groan; it felt like you'd discovered new parts of yourselves in that moment, like your bodies were made for each other, made to pleasure each other just the way you needed.

"Fuck, y/n," San moaned your name, your walls tight around him as he pulled back again, thrusting short and soft at first. Hearing your name roll of his tongue made your chest swell; it was far to intense, all of these emotions you were having, for you to utter a thing. Soon he was thrusting faster, setting a steady pace as he held firm onto your hips, his mouth on your neck leaving bruising bites that you'd have to deal with tomorrow. You were breathing ragged, an eruption of feelings so perfect coming from your core that you couldn't quite believe it.

Then it happened; he picked you up by your hips, holding you dead in the air, still thrusting into you. If anything his thrusts were harder, deeper now; the position had given him space, and he used every bit of it, his thrusts becoming longer, harder, his cock nearly falling out of you when he pulled out. Your moans turned to screams; you were no longer aware at all of what sounds you were making, so overcome with the severe intensity of the feelings in your core.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you started babbling, breathing desperately, your hands again grasping at his shoulders.

"What?" he asked between grunts, a chuckle following.

"I didn't- fuck- think this was po-ossible," you stuttered, his thrusts not letting up, the feeling so intense it almost was zapping you back into the moment again, reversing the drifting that your mind had started to do. This felt real; felt too real, too intense. You swore you could feel every vein in his shaft, feel the exact shape of his head. Your orgasm was building, fast, and you'd never come just from penetration.

"Now you know, baby," he chuckled again, not letting up. Soon you were clenching hard, the rippling feelings of your climax building to their peak, your legs around his hips, squeezing him.

"Fuck, fuck," you screamed, biting down on the top of his shoulder, shaking hard.

"Did you come?" he asked, still thrusting hard, wanting you to ride it out as much as you could.

"Yes," you almost sobbed, drool dripping down onto his bare skin. "Slow down," you whined, and he did, gradually slowing his movements until he'd stopped, placing a quick kiss on your neck and making you squeal again.

After that, the night was a blur. He took you again, on the couch, and you came so many times you couldn't keep track. He was flipping you around, holding up your legs; he seemed to know every perfect angle to make your cunt feel even better, and you gladly accepted every movement from him. When he finally came he dropped down between your legs, eating you out as his cum dropped out of you, his face a flushed mess when he looked up to take a breath. You came again; finally, you begged him to stop. Your body was spent, you couldn't take anymore. When you looked at your phone it was nearly six in the morning, and when you ventured a look over to his kitchen window you recognized the first signs of winter dawn, the sky not as dark as it had been.

He made you stay put, cleaning you up in a fluffy towel, picking you up to carry you to his bedroom. He helped you out of your dress; then his own clothes came off entirely, and you ogled him all over again, as he scolded you and told you to get some much needed sleep. Wrapped around him your cunt seemed to stay permanently wet; you thought there was no way you'd fall asleep, but it was late, even for you. Soon you were both out cold, San's blackout curtains tricking your bodies. It wasn't until nearly three that afternoon that you woke.

"You stay, I'll go make us some food," San yawned, kissing your forehead, your face smushed in his chest.

"Are you sure?" you pouted, looking up at him. Even with his curtains open the sky outside was dark; what time it was now, you had no idea. After you awoke and showered, the two of you couldn't keep your hands off of each other. Another slew of hours had flown by, and your pussy was aching, begging you to give her a break. You couldn't help how fucking good it felt, though. You wanted it to never end. You were sure you could be satisfied with your life if all you ever did from now on was fuck him.

"Oh god, don't give me that look," he groaned, turning his head away. You laughed, tugging yourself on top of him, wrapping your arms and legs around his torso. "I thought you said you were hungry," he said, arms around you too.

"I am," you answered, snuggling into him.

"Well I can't make you food if you're laying on top of me," he responded, squeezing the tops of your thighs.

"I think you're definitely strong enough to carry me around," you said, giggling.

"Oh, is that what you want? You done with walking?" he joked, pinching your thigh.

"Ah, hey!" you squealed, jerking off of him, trying to reach for his ribs to tickle him in retaliation. But just then your stomach rumbled, so loud you both could hear.

"Come on, let me make food. What do you want?" he asked, sitting himself up.

"Do you have eggs?" you said, and he nodded. "Can you make just some toast and scrambled eggs?"

"Of course, anything else?" he responded, standing up off the bed. The naked form of him in front of you was so distracting, especially in the hazy light coming in from outside, the evening street lights shining in through San's huge window. You took a mental screenshot; no one else could ever look this good, you thought, in such low light. It accentuated every nook and cranny of his body; he was so perfectly built, every little part. It was hard not to stare at the curve of his ass as he threw on some sweats, or the muscles of his back as he stretched his arms.

"No, I just have that for breakfast every day. I like simple food," you said, yawning again and sitting yourself up.

"Me too," he smiled, looking back at you for a moment before exiting the room, clinks sounding from the kitchen as he started preparing.

It took you some time to finally get yourself up; your body was wracked with exhaustion, but you'd never felt better. You felt on a permanent high around him; you grabbed your crumpled dress from the floor and slipped it over yourself, finally walking out to the living room to check your phone, which was probably dead. As you came out you saw San on the floor cleaning, the remnants of that poor mug swept into a pile at the corner of his kitchen.

"Oh shit, let me help you with that," you said, making your way over, but San stopped you.

"No, don't walk over here, you'll cut your feet. I'll take care of it, it's no biggie." You stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, but already this dynamic felt comfortable. If he really was fine with it, then you were fine letting him deal with the mess you'd made. You turned on your heel and walked over the couch, grabbing your phone off the coffee table, checking the time.

|6:14 pm|

You saw a slew of texts, but your battery was at ten percent, so you ran to your purse to grab your charging cable, plugging it in.

{Titi}

|3:43pm| how was your night bestie?? |5:58pm| please tell me you didn't get kidnapped |6:14pm| fuck sorry, I hadn't looked at my phone till now |6:14pm| I am alive and well

|6:15pm| oh thank god, we were worried |6:15pm| nothing to be worried about 😌 |6:16pm| so how'd it go?? |6:16pm| girl, we fucked for like three hours last night 😭 |6:16pm| HELLO |6:16pm| are you okay??? 😭 |6:17pm| Maya just said you're putting us lesbians to shame 💀 |6:17pm| 💀💀 |6:17pm| we fucked for like three hours this morning too |6:17pm| GIRL |6:17pm| RIP to your vagina |6:18pm| she's never been happier 😭

|6:18pm| this is so crazy |6:18pm| you home now? |6:18pm| I KNOW |6:18pm| no I'm still here, he's making some food for us

|6:18pm| wow |6:18pm| just wow, idk what else to say 😭 |6:19pm| girl same |6:19pm| you busy tomorrow? |6:19pm| no, why? |6:19pm| I'll bring over some dinner at seven, I have so much to tell you |6:19pm| I can't wait 💕

Present

It was nearly noon, when you woke. Slowly your consciousness came back to you; at first you only felt the warmth of the sheets beneath you, and you knew for sure you weren't in your bed, nor on your friend's couch like you'd planned. You were in the place you'd ended up so many times this month; maybe close to twenty of the nights of January you'd spent here. Thinking of it pulled at you. You knew this was a mistake, ending up here, knew something terrible would come of this. But you hadn't had the will this morning to stop it. You woke grumpy, worried, with the events of the morning spiraling through your head, especially Tina's flushed face of agony and the guttural sounds she made as she threw up.

You were worried, as much as she told you not to be. You'd never seen her like this in the five years you'd known her. As soon as your eyes melted open you were reaching for your phone on the night stand, finding it plugged in to San's charger, a glass of water there too.

You shot off a quick text to your group chat with Tina and Maya. How are y'all feeling? You didn't want to smother them with your worry, so you kept it as casual as you could, sipping at the water beside you and scrolling mindlessly through the other notifications littering your screen. There would be no convincing Tina to go get checked out; you had to accept it, had to welcome the fact that it'd be you and Maya keeping her well. She mistrusted doctors, on top of the unneeded expense, and you completely understood why; with the experiences she'd had, there would be no reason to give them a second chance. But she'd always had a stomach of steel; to see her so unwell was unnerving you, tremendously.

Finally you pushed yourself up; your stomach was rumbling, your head still aching with exhaustion, but the feeling was duller than this morning. The sleep you'd just woken from had been helpful, no doubt, but you wished you felt a little more normal today, instead of sleep deprived and emotionally unsteady. You had important work to do; you needed to head home fast, needed to not get distracted by San like you always did. You couldn't afford to spend the rest of the afternoon here eating and watching a musical, forcing him to recreate it with you. You had a musical of your own to edit.

"Hey," he said when you poked your head out of his room, walking gingerly over to him in the kitchen. He was preparing some lunch for himself; a block of tofu lay resting on the counter, as San chopped peppers and onions and broccoli. The smells of ginger and garlic already wafted from the pan, and San stood shirtless, in just grey sweat pants as he cooked, looking like someone out of any person's dreams.

"Hey," you responded, sighing. His body was alight with energy; he must have hit the gym while you were sleeping, which always left him feeling perky and bright. It was wafting off of him, this positive energy, and it couldn't have conflicted more with the heavy stress coursing through you. It was abundant in your tone; you'd gotten less and less good at hiding it from him, how you felt. Especially this last month.

"You want some breakfast?" he asked you, tossing the onions and peppers into his pan before stirring them with a spatula.

"I can make it," you mumbled, crossing past him to the refrigerator and grabbing the carton of eggs from the bottom shelf.

"Let me do it, I know you're exhausted," he said, coming over to you to grab the carton from your hands.

"No, I want to," you sighed, holding it to your side and out of his reach, a grumpy frown on your face.

"Okay, if you insist," he responded, palms up. Your terrible mood was worrying him deeply, but he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine, that this afternoon was in fact the time to finally do it. He'd been at the gym almost two hours, pumping himself up, doing every exercise he could think of to distract himself from the dread that was slowly filling him. It was like sand in an hour glass, falling slowly enough that he could forget it if he tried. Which he'd successfully done all morning, until your tired form appeared from his bedroom door.

You started preparing your food in silence, the sizzling of San's stir fry and clinking of dishes the only sounds in the room. You were thankful you'd be leaving him in a good mood; it was always hard to leave when he was sad, or grumpy, because every single part of you needed to make him feel better, needed a happy look on his face for you to feel okay. There was no doubt he was meal prepping for the week, given the amount of food he was making, and you sighed in hoping that the future days were on his mind now, instead of the past few.

"I realized something this morning," he said out of nowhere, tossing in his chopped tofu. Your eggs had just finished, so you turned off the burner, plopped them onto your plate, and grabbed your two slices of bread from the toaster, carefully spreading on the perfect amount of butter.

"What's that?" you asked, mind still elsewhere, running in circles and figure eights.

"We met exactly one year ago, today," he said, voice bright and breathy.

"Oh shit, really?" you asked, grabbing a fork from the cutlery drawer, then shoving a piece of toast in your mouth.

"Yeah, don't you remember?" he responded, voice lilting a bit. You mindlessly stuffed some eggs in your mouth, savoring the flavor of the local organic eggs that San always had in stock.

"Yeah, I just didn't realize it was that da-" you cut yourself off when you saw his face, his eyes glassy and jaw set. "Sannie, oh my god, don't cry. I'm not that special," you said, almost scoffing at the emotion coming off of him.

"Yes you are," he said, turning back to the pan on the stove, wiping something that must have been a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand.

"I'm really not," you responded, walking back towards his bedroom to find your phone again, which you'd accidentally left behind. Inside his room you could hear him speak from the kitchen, but you couldn't make out the words. You were distracted by the text you'd received from Maya, i'm doing even better, but Titi is still pretty bad. the Tylenol and everything has been so helpful though. and whatever those anti-nausea meds were, please thank San for me. she's able to keep down fluids now.

I'm glad to hear that. I hope she keeps getting better. She looked awful this morning, you responded, typing it out with your right thumb as your left hand balanced your plate of food.

"You gonna eat in here?" San asked from the doorway, and you snapped your head around to meet his gaze.

"No, sorry, just checking my phone. I had texted Maya asking how they were doing," you responded, mouth in a tight line.

"How's Tina?" he asked.

"Fine, it sounds like. Maya said to thank you for all the stuff you got them," you said.

"It's no biggie. I'm glad it's helping," he said, eyes blinking and face neutral. No biggie, the words made you want to roll your eyes. It was always 'no big deal' to him to do so much, and you'd started to realize that those words were total fucking bullshit. 'No biggie' was seemingly just a favorite English phrase of his, one that made him sound selfless and kind in the way he wanted to be. But you could see the flash of irritation in his eyes, you knew damn well that he was upset that you'd called this morning and made him feel obligated to come and help. He'd wanted your thanks for doing so, which you could recognize was fair. But he also should have said no, if he really didn't want to do it. You couldn't help the fact that he'd been lax with you since the start; one year now, as he'd just reminded you, of you pushing his boundaries and him relenting, and somehow he was still frustrated every time it happened. Like he didn't realize this was just how things were.

You waited till he turned around to point your eyes to the ceiling, a long deep sigh matching the movements of your eyes. You just had to eat and get out of here, one simple task. Then you could be home and worrying about the work ahead of you, or you could be on the phone to Tina and checking on her. You couldn't wait for the relief of hearing her voice.

"Did you hear what I said earlier?" San asked as you walked out of his room, sitting yourself down on his couch to finish your food.

"I don't know, what did you say?" you asked, placing your phone face down next to you.

"I asked if you remembered what you said to me that night we met, right before we came here?" he said, his own bowl of food in hand as he sat down a few feet from you.

"I don't think I do," you responded, sighing as you took another huge bite.

"Really?" he asked you, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes really, San, was it something I should remember?" you asked.

"It's just kind of funny, given what happened next," he said, taking a bite of his stir fry. You gave him a confused look, head cocking to the side. "You said, 'sure I'll come to your apartment, but I'm not fucking you'," he said, chuckling.

"I did not," you scoffed, shaking your head at the thought of it.

"You did, I swear," he continued, eyeing you. "Kind of crazy considering that's exactly what you did for the next forty-eight hours."

"Oh my god, shut up," you rolled your eyes, grabbing the throw pillow to your right and smacking his arm with it. He laughed and batted it away, careful to protect his food as you swung it recklessly. "Also, you say that as if I'm the only one involved in that activity, you ass. That was very much a 'it takes two to tango' situation, Sannie."

San laughed hard in response to that, his dimples popping and his chest rising and falling with each chuckle. He was satisfied to have brought out some humor in you; he knew that was the way he could get you to calm down, to feel a little better and be ready for everything he was about to launch into.

"Do you know that you're the only one other than my mom that I let call me Sannie?" he said, voice softer.

"No I didn't- wait, why?" you asked, suddenly really thinking about what he'd said.

"Uh- you just, I..." he looked at you with a confusing expression, face a mixture of what looked like shock and anticipation.

"Sannie is a special nickname only your mom uses for you?" you asked, tone harsher than he'd hoped.

"Yeah," he sighed, looking at you.

"Then why do you let me call you that?" you asked, placing your finished plate of food on the coffee table in front of you, then leaning back and crossing your legs and arms.

"Cause you're special to me," he said, resting the side of his head on his palm, eyeing you deeply now.

"San- I- I thought that was what everyone called you, I thought it was just your nickname. I wouldn't have started calling you that if I'd known it was a you and your mom thing. I'm not trying to be some replacement for her, or something," you stuttered, hands gesturing in front of your face to emphasize your point.

"Of course you're not a replacement for her, god, you're just special to me, can't you understand-"

"San, why would I be the only one who gets to use the special nickname? You have closer friends, a brother, other family you're close to, I'm just a girl you sleep with sometimes. I'm not the love of your life, or something, we're not married with a baby on the way, and now that we're a family unit of our own you're letting me use this special name for you. We're just friends, why didn't you tell me!?" you snapped, cutting him off mid sentence without a care in the world.

"We're not just friends, y/n," he grumbled, face stony. "And I don't see what a big deal it is that I let you use that nickname. You're the one who started using it without even asking me if it was okay," he shot back, face and body completely still.

"Fuck you," you muttered, standing up and grabbing your plate, walking over to the sink to clean it. "I know you think everything bad between us is my fault; you probably somehow think that shit you pulled last night is my fault, too."

"I wanted to talk to you about that, I wanted to apologize-"

"Oh, you wanted to apologize for choking me? Slapping me? Practically raping me?" you turned around, staring at him with wide, petulant eyes.

"Oh god, please don't use that word," he sighed, his food long abandoned as he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

"Why, cause it's honest?" you shot back, rolling your eyes at him.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry I did that baby, I know it was wrong, it was so wrong, I'm just, please know I'm so fucking sorry and I'll do anything I can to make it up to you..." he trailed off, mumbling, a deep sniffle cutting off his words. He was sobbing into his hands, his bare shoulders moving up and down as he heaved, trying with all his might to stop himself from completely breaking down. The sight of it immediately shot right through you; you started crying too, in an instant a huge deluge of tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor below. It was so painful, whatever this feeling was; it was like the entire foundation of your body was cracking, like you were about to crumble in on yourself and die on the spot.

"Sannie, please, stop crying," you managed to say, haphazardly wiping the tears from your eyes. But they kept coming; they wouldn't stop until his stopped, you realized; there was something in you that was breaking with him, like your beratement of him was a boomerang, swinging back around and hitting you too.

"I can't, I'm sorry," he squeaked, and you'd never heard his voice like that, never seen him break down so severely.

"Sannie, please," you cried, and suddenly your feet were rushing over to him, and you wrapped your arms around his folded torso, your tears now falling onto the smooth plane of his back. "Please, when you cry I cry, and I don't wanna fucking cry right now."

It made him cry harder, hearing the desperation in your tone; he tried with all his might to calm himself, to take some deep breaths. But he didn't have the strength; the exhaustion from this past month was really catching up with him, and that high he was riding from the gym this morning was long gone. There was nothing he could do now to stop this; he never cried like this, not since he was a child. He had no idea how to put an end to it.

"I'm sorry I used that word, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you chocked out, breathing through your tears as best as you could, holding onto him for dear life. There were no words on his tongue; he couldn't think of anything now, couldn't remember a single thing he'd planned to say to you, the conversation he'd worked himself up to all morning. Instead he was left with this terrible hollow hole in his chest; one you had created, one you filled, one that he feared more than anything. Your tears were the worst thing for him; the gash you'd carved only grew, deeper, wider, getting closer to the exact shape of you, and all he could do was sit himself up and grab you, wrapping you around him and holding you tight.

"You're not just my friend," he said, voice thin and weak with tears. "And right now I fucking hate you."

next part ->

Taglist: @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starhwa1024 @pyeongstarr @hwaromi @completelyjae

@midnightrebel1028 @pautiny27

Thank you for reading and supporting me my loves! <3333

[famwhy]

Inconsistent

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

Hobie Brown X F!Reader

Synopsis: In which, Hobie Brown confuses the shit out of you.

Note: following up on my last post, here is how I would write Hobie's speech patterns.

"What are you doin' up 'ere?"

Your lids fluttered open, eyes flitting to the side.

He stood there, hands stuffed in those ridiculously high pockets you always criticised with a click of your tongue; criticisms he would respond to with a light, airy laugh that never failed to melt your insides and turn you into a pile of mush.

The glow of the billboard lit him up, coating his silhouette in a warm orange that complimented him so well—bringing out his piercing, dark eyes in ways you had only ever dreamt of.

"I just felt like the ground was getting a little boring." You shrugged, forcibly tearing your gaze away from his intoxicating form to bring it back to the twinkling city below you.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your peripheral caught the sight of those familiar, heavy boots appearing out of nowhere to swing beside your own and, all of a sudden, the bustle of the sparkling street below you was the least of your worries.

Ultimately, you found your eyes trailing back up to his form—breath hitching in your throat as you gazed at him once again.

He was close; much closer than usual. His knees were practically touching your own and the piercings that littered his face glinted under your gaze. Half-lidded eyes stared back at you—a smirk sly enough to make you gulp situated on his handsome face.

"What you sayin'?"

"Hm?" You blinked.

"C'mon, love, I know when some'in's goin' on in that pre'y likkle head of yours." His leg nudged against your own, instantly sending warm tingles through your whole body. "You can chat to me; 'bout anything. You know that."

You almost couldn't help the fond smile that stretched across your lips at his words. "Yeah, I know."

Hobie had always been tender and caring; sweet and kind. He knew exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to put it. It was one of the reasons why your legs turned to jelly when around him; one of the many reasons why he absolutely floored you.

He was just so vocal about everything he believed in—held such strong opinions that he was never afraid of voicing out; that he would yell and scream at the top of his lungs about—you had almost found yourself envious of his confidence.

Even his clothes were loud; bold and so incredibly out there. You couldn't ignore his presence even if you wanted to—

—and to be honest, you never really did want to.

"How's the youngen?"

"He's fine, still on my arse about not needing his big sis to coddle him—" you rolled your eyes, "—how're yours?"

"They're 'opeless," snickered the guy, "man's out 'ere lookin' at 'er like she's the only person in the world and they're still not together."

He threw his hands up in his exasperation and you found yourself giggling slightly—you always did at his antics, no matter how ridiculous.

"...what about you?"

He rose a brow. "What about me?"

"You, uh, you have anyone you're thinking about that way?" A sudden rush of nervousness hit you all at once and you found yourself wondering why exactly you decided to open your damn mouth. "Y'know, like a— a girlfriend or something?"

"I don't believe in labels."

He said it—plain and simple—and your heart felt like it shattered in your chest, pieces of broken shards getting stuck to your insides to sting you even further.

"Oh..."

He didn't believe in labels. You probably weren't even on the list of potential lovers for him. Of course, how could you have let yourself hope for anything more?

"There's this one girl though."

You blinked, the rapidly growing pool of salty water in your eyes being desperately put to a halt. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. She's a nice one—nice personali'y—" he placed one arm against the rough stone of the building, leaning in so close, you could feel the light puffs of his breath against your skin, "—'m thinking of goin' for it."

You wanted to be mad at him, to loathe him for liking another girl while you were so obviously head over heels for him—but in that moment, all you could focus on were his lips and the shockingly short amount of distance between them and your own.

Your heart was beating right out of your chest and you were just so confused. Here he was, talking to you about some girl he was interested in; shattering your heart in a million pieces like some worthless, glass vase—and then he was somehow making the useless shards continue to beat pathetically at just his proximity right after he broke them.

He was just so—

"Mm?!"

Your eyes widened a little, disbelief rendering you unable to move; to respond to the sudden feeling of lips on your own—of his lips on your own.

You. He was talking about you.

Warmth bubbled inside of you—coating your whole form in a lovely sheen of bliss—and soon, your lids fluttered shut as you pushed back against him—reciprocating his passion with your own.

The kiss was sweet and tender, but it soon grew into something more than that. His arm wound around your waist as soon as you kissed back, pulling you flush up against his form and allowing you to feel the heat of his body against your own.

Your fingers made their way to his wild locks, tugging on them as you felt his hands trail down, landing on your arse and pulling you onto his lap—as though just having you right up against him wasn't enough; as though he had to have you closer.

The electricity that ran through your body was enough to coax a smile out of you—one you knew he could feel through the kiss; that you hoped he would reciprocate with just as much love.

And he did, pulling away to rest his forehead against your own—dazed, half-lidded eyes staring straight at you with a mixture between a suggestive smirk and a genuinely joyful smile on his face.

You almost forgot to breathe as you looked at him with just as many pink clouds littered in your gaze—just as much adoration written clearly in your eyes.

"How about it, love?" He asked against your lips, "wanna be mine?"

You giggled dreamily, almost like a little school girl with a crush. "I thought you didn't believe in labels?"

"I don't believe in consistency."

It was official—

—Hobie Brown was the most confusing man you had ever met.

[littlexdeaths]

ten minus two with you - r.b.

modern robin buckley x queer reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: robin and reader are in their 20’s, allusions to smut, reader is a tease, oral sex, fingering, public sex, heavy petting, both reader and robin are tipsy & in love, getting caught, little nod to queer steve

a/n: this is absolutely inspired by the few times i’ve had steamy make out sessions in bathroom stalls oops. the title is a line from one of kehlani’s new songs called 8… go stream it now.

word count: 1.7k

also big thank you to both @strangerstilinski and @xxbimbobunnyxx for listening to me ramble and helping me so much. ily both so much!! now enjoy babes xx.

You’re a mess of limbs and colorful fabric as you both stumble into the bathroom of the bar. Your sweaty bodies are buzzing from the flow of alcohol in your veins and the feel of her lips against yours.

Your lipgloss is smudged, the glitter littering your cheeks has transferred to hers in your hurry to taste each other. The blonde eagerly leads you into the stall, caging your body against the door. Her fingers fumble to slide the lock into place before they are back on you.

“You really know how to keep a girl waiting, huh?” She all but grumbles, earning a small giggle from you as her lips trail down your jaw.

You hadn’t meant to tease her per se, but it was genuinely so easy with Robin.

All you had to do was bat your lashes in her general direction and she’s flustered. But the outfit you’d chosen to wear for the pride festivities really had her riled up. Even though you had spent the early afternoon getting ready together, she wasn’t expecting it.

The sounds of Pom Pom Squad filter through your shared apartment, all sorts of makeup products scattered across the floor of your bedroom. You both sat amongst the chaos, giggling in excitement as you passed a cheap bottle of wine back and forth.

While Robin wasn’t too keen on wearing makeup most days, she happily let you paint her lids in varying shades of pink and orange. The wine had you both feeling fuzzy, stealing chaste kisses as Robin helped apply a sticky rainbow glitter to your cheeks.

Her brows were scrunched in concentration, her tongue just barely poking out from between her teeth as she worked.

“So serious, Robs.” you giggle.

She just grins, shaking her head fondly as she wipes the remaining glitter on a makeup wipe.

“I take my job as resident glitter artist very seriously,” she teases, pressing a small kiss to your nose.

When her phone starts to ring in the other room she is quick to go get it, knowing it would likely be Steve. Which left you to finish putting your outfit together as she reiterated to him what the plans were for the day. Robin had everything planned out, your group would meet to watch the pride parade in downtown Indy.

Then you would end the evening with a little pub crawl of her own design. She’s had this planned for weeks now, determined to make your first pride as an official couple a memorable one. But the one thing your girlfriend wasn’t prepared for was the way she’d react to seeing your outfit in its full glory.

So when you stepped into the living room wearing a cropped, bright pink shirt with the words ‘The Pussy Diet’ etched across the front her jaw dropped. You paired it with a pair of high waisted cutoff shorts that hugged your curves just right, fishnets and your trusted Doc Martens— you were everything she’s ever wanted.

“I think you’ve got some drool there, baby,” you smirk, stepping between her open legs as you swipe your thumb over the corner of her mouth.

Robin responds by guiding your thumb past her lips, tongue swirling around it. With a soft groan her fingers dig into the meat of your hips as she maneuvers you onto her lap. Her lips find yours in a clash of tongues and teeth, causing a soft mewl to rise in your throat.

If it wasn’t for Steve’s insistent banging on your apartment door, your girlfriend would’ve had you sprawled out on the sofa until your legs were shaking. But your friends were waiting on you, so she reluctantly let you tug her along without any further protest.

However your accidental teasing only continued to escalate the more the day went on.

During the parade you had coaxed her onto your lap, in the rush to leave your apartment you had forgotten to bring an extra lawn chair. Your hands unconsciously wandered beneath the hem of her button down shirt, fingertips splaying across her soft skin.

Under normal circumstances she would find this kind of touch comforting, but instead it had her fighting the urge to slide your hand just a little lower…

“— You okay, Robbie?”

Your soft voice snaps her out of her trance, her cheeks flushing as a nervous laugh leaves her lips.

“Oh, yeah!” She rasps, trying her best to play off the obvious hitch in her tone. “Never better.”

As she continues to watch the parade, you find yourself studying her. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of pink, her leg bouncing in between your own. Robin could easily blame the scorching summer heat for the reason behind her blush, but you knew better.

It was obvious by the way her breath hitched whenever your fingertips grazed her skin, and she carefully pressed her thighs together. She wants you, and she wants you badly. So you really can’t help yourself from wanting to tease her even more.

And you do, but subtly enough that your friends wouldn’t take notice. You’d slip your hand into the back pocket of her jeans as you walked between bars. Squeezing her ass as you pull her in for a needy kiss when no one was paying attention.

You even gave her a little show when you did a sultry rendition of Crimson & Clover at a karaoke bar you stopped at. You watched in absolute delight at the way her bright eyes never left you, even as Steve so desperately tried to get her attention.

So much for being his wing-woman tonight.

But the worst was when you were on the dance floor, losing yourself in the music. She opted to watch for a while, eyes darkening with each sway of your hips. But with Steve now preoccupied by a gorgeous drag queen, Robin had no choice when you coaxed her over with your index finger.

Her feet carry her across the sticky dance floor, her body all but melting into yours. Your eyes sparkle with mischief as you wrap your arms around her waist, tugging her closer so your breasts are flush against her own. But when your lips brush against her ear, and you start grinding on her thigh is the moment she loses what little self control she has left.

Robin takes your hand and urgently tugs you through a sea of rainbow lights and glitter, your heartbeat rivals the pounding bass as you enter the bathroom.

But once she has you pinned to that metal door, it’s game over.

The feeling of her lips trailing over your sweaty skin is utterly intoxicating and when her fingers dip past the hem of your shorts you’re putty in her nimble hands. Those same fingers glide through the mess between your thighs, coaxing not one, but two orgasms from you in record time.

So in your mind, she’s definitely earned this.

“That’s— ah,” she pants, her hips rutting up against your mouth as you continue to lap at her puffy clit. “That’s so good, honey. Fuck, you’re so good.”

Robin can almost feel the way your lips lift up in a grin as a mixture of your own saliva and her juices drip down your chin like liquid honey. You pin her hips to the cool metal of the stall wall in an effort to stop her from squirming more.

The feeling of the grimy tile beneath your knees does nothing to deter you, if anything it encourages you more. Just knowing that anyone could walk through that door at any given minute makes all this that much more exciting.

“Hm,” you hum, against her. “You like it when I do this?”

You flatten your tongue, rubbing firm circles over her swollen bud as you slip another finger inside her. Robin keens at the feeling, her fingers gripping onto the edge of the stall to steady herself while her other hand cups the nape of your neck to hold you in place.

“God, yes,” she babbles, her cerulean hues taking on a glassy quality. “I’m so close, baby.”

Her leg that was hooked over your shoulder starts to tremble when you apply more pressure to her clit. Your fingers increase their pace, curving them to rub up against her sweet spot just right. Robin is a beautiful, panting mess above you and that sight alone is enough to have you moaning against her pussy.

Neither of you register the bathroom door opening or the click of heels walking past your stall over the heavy bass from inside the bar and the soft whimpers your girlfriend was letting out. But when the sink turns on both of you freeze, silently praying that the person on the other side didn’t notice you.

A moment passes in silence, and you think you’re in the clear. Just as you’re about to continue circling your tongue over her clit, a melodic voice stops you.

“You know… if you’re really looking for some privacy,” they pause, shutting the water off. “There’s a lot less traffic behind the bar, dolls.”

You curse softly, a resounding chuckle leaves them as you fumble to help Robin put her jeans back on. Her face is deeply flushed from the embarrassment of being caught in this position and the buildup of her now stalled orgasm.

You finally dared a glance through the crack in the chipped metal frame and you’re faced with one of the many queens you’d seen perform earlier in the night. She meets your eyes in the mirror before giving you a playful wink as she fluffs her large blonde wig and turns on her heel back towards the door.

“Now, don’t do something I wouldn't!” She pauses before her laughter echoes through the bathroom again, “Or do, live a little. Happy Pride, lovelies.”

She calls over her shoulder, the sounds from the bar spill back into the bathroom before you’re both met with subdued silence. You lean back against the stall wall opposite of Robin, both of you suddenly bursting into a fit of giggles at what just transpired.

“I can’t believe Miss Anna Conda herself, just caught us like this,” you snort.

Robin just gazes at you, hooking her fingers into the loops of your shorts to pull you in closer. She’s practically glowing as she nudges her nose against yours with a playful grin.

“Take me home?” she asks, though her question is slightly muffled when your lips find hers again.

“Always.”

tagging some lovelies: @edsbug @eddiesxangel @splendiferous-bitch @undead-supernova @paybacksawitch @nailbatanddungeon @lokis-army-77 @babygorewhore @voyeurmunson @bimbobaggins69

[xxacademy]

tender

husband!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: succumbing to injuries inflicted by a B.O.W you fight the mental and physical battle to recovery. meanwhile, your husband does everything in his power to support you.

any leon timeline works, except re2. i did have older leon in mind though <3

a/n: inspired by lil a snippet from an anon request, find it here. anyhow, i love how this turned out, i was 🥺 writing it. pls lemme know what you think <33

content//warnings: depictions of blood & injury, hospital setting, non-graphic description of an IV, pain medication, y/n is used ONCE, pet names (dear, sweetheart, honey), hurt/comfort.

harsh white light wakes you revealing an image of horror. your trembling hands painted with your own dried blood, hooked up to an IV and a pulse oximeter. dazed, you know you’re in pain, but it’s not registering. it’s like you’re floating, possibly in a dream. a bad dream. but the reality of your condition is enough to confirm this is in fact not.

there’s a small group of medical staff standing at the end of your bed, talking quietly amongst each other. “the bloodwork came back, she’s not infected. all though the acid is wreaking havoc on her immune system, sending it into overdrive. the patient needs to be monitored for at least another two days.”

one of the nurses walks over to check on you, first, he looks at the monitors at your bedside, then goes to place a hand on your forehead. he notices you’re waking up, your heavy-lidded eyes focused on your hands.

he calls the doctor over, who pulls a chair up next to you. “hey, how are you feeling?” her voice is soft and calm.

“w-why am i here?” you mutter shakily, unable to make out much more.

“you sustained serious injuries on an extraction mission against a bio-organic weapon. you came in contact with its lethal acid, which is primarily why you’re here. your ankle is broken and you have puncture wounds in your arms.”

you’re still fixed on your bloodied hands, images of what you endured flood back. it was so intense- the last thing you remembered is a sharp talon-like claw piercing your upper arm. it all went fuzzy after that.

“you had surgery early this morning, and we have you on a morphine drip to help with the pain. please let us know if you begin to feel ill.”

you respond with an unsteady nod.

“you’re gonna be alright.” she smiles sympathetically.

another nurse comes into the room walking directly to the doctor. their speaking is hushed. “doctor, there’s a man here to see the patient. he says he’s her husband.”

“we can’t risk exposure from an outsider, we can’t have visitors yet.”

“he seems antsy.”

“well, assure him that she’s okay”-

the room is dead silent, so you can rather clearly make out what they’re saying.

“bring him in.” your voice quivering.

their heads turn, giving you a look of disappointment. similar to the one your mother gave you as a child. a sullen expression of remorse when she couldn’t afford to buy you new toys.

they do not want to hold your loved ones away from you. but it’s what has to be done. after all, it could mean life or death.

you sigh. you’re in no place to put up a fight.

“i’ll talk to him.” the nurse whispers. leaving the room.

“i’m sorry mrs. kennedy, you’re just not in a well enough state for visitors yet.”

you respond with yet another dreary sigh. fidgeting with the ring finger of your left hand.

your wedding ring is missing. you know you were wearing it prior. you’re always wearing it. sometimes you would loop it around a necklace chain, but you didn’t before this mission. surely it was on your finger.

“-doctor” you whisper.

“yes mrs. kennedy.”

“do you have my wedding ring?”

your tattered and blood-stained belongings were placed in a biohazard bag. a nurse picks up the bag feeling through the plastic for a ring.

“it’s not in here.” the nurse admits, a touch of anxiety in her voice.

“that’s okay.” you exhale.

it’s not okay. your beautiful diamond ring was more than just a pretty thing. it was one of the only sentimental pieces you coveted so highly. hand-picked by leon, it was a symbol of his undying affection. despite all the odds pinned against your love.

wanting to cry, but your bloodshot eyes are dry. the medication numbs you enough to let the pain run by, but you still feel broken, physically and mentally.

the hours pass as you bob in and out of sleep. your wavering limb’s finally settling. nurses and doctors are always present, constantly checking your vitals.

the next day two nurses come to bathe you at your bedside. gently wiping the sticky dried blood from your skin. the other trying to get it out of your hair.

“thank you, i mean it, thank you,” you whisper, fighting to keep your eyes open.

it was a relief. the sweet, metallic smell was driving you crazy. it felt itchy and uncomfortable against your skin.

…

leon hasn’t left the hospital. confined to a chair in the waiting room for the last day and a half. constantly flagging down staff for updates on your condition.

“she’s doing really well, the blood transfusion took perfectly.” the nurse smiles reassuringly.

“does that mean i can see her?”

“not yet, but soon.”

leon sighs. “well anyways, thanks for the good news.”

he sullenly returns to his chair. the stress and lack of sleep painting his under eyes dark. in his grasp is a picture you two took together, one he always carries in his wallet. it was taken a few years ago and you’re kissing his cheek. it’s the only solace he can find in the depressing waiting room.

leon had fallen asleep for the first time in over twenty-four hours. slumped over in his chair, chin resting in his palm. he jerked awake when his chin slipped. it was dark outside and the lobby eerily quiet.

3:47am

leon walks to the front desk heavy-footed and groggy. “my wife, y/n kennedy, is she okay?” his voice is grave.

“yes sir, she’s sleeping- and everything is looking good. but, you should get some sleep too sir, it’s gonna be a while until she wakes up.”

“-thanks.”

the pain of not being able to see you cuts like a knife. leon can't stand the image of you suffering and alone. but he’s borderline delirious from the sleep deprivation. he returns to his chair, lays his legs out across another, and falls asleep.

leon is jolted awake by a nurse tapping his shoulder. it’s morning- warm sun seeping through the windows and the smell of fresh coffee wafts through the lobby.

“do you need me to move?” he asks, still half asleep. voice deep and raspy.

“oh no mr. kennedy, your wife is on the right track to her recovery. you can go see her now.”

…

you feel much more alert, the daze the blanketing your apprehensive thoughts finally lifting. they switched you onto a far less invasive medication, which was probably helping.

it’s been a week since you’ve seen leon, and about two of those he’s been here, but just barely out of reach.

whenever the nurses praised you for the progress you made- you jump straight to asking if you're well enough for visitors. In your defense, it’s been unbelievably hard going through this journey alone.

the door creeks open, a very common occurrence of your stay. but instead peaking through the door is your blonde-haired husband.

you immediately start to cry- tears welling up and streaming down your cheeks. leon tears up too, casting a glossy filter over his blue eyes. he delicately wraps his arms around you, careful not to inflict any more pain. and you bury your face into his chest, immediately staining his shirt with your cry.

“i missed you, leon, i can't believe you’re here, i’ve missed you so much.” you sob.

“it’s really you, you don’t understand how much i’ve missed you, dear.”

you take your time, relishing in the comfort of your husband's arms. he gently rubs your back, consoling you with his touch.

“how're you feeling?”

“ugh okay, i guess. my whole body hurts and i can barely move. but the doctors say i’m improving- so yippee” your deadpan tone emphasizes how exhausted you are.

“that’s what i heard. and look, i know it’s been hard, but i’m so proud of how strong you’ve been, sweetheart.”

“i love you.”

“i love you, too” leon squeezes his embrace around you a little tighter, gently kissing the top of your head.

you smile, the first one in a while. but it quickly fades. “leon, can i tell you something.”

“of course you can.”

you fidget with your hands pressing your face deeper in his chest. “i lost my wedding ring- i think it was during the mission. i’m so sorry.”

“is that really what’s on your mind right now?” leon chuckles.

you look up at him with, tears streaming down your face. “you do understand how much that ring meant to me.”

“of course, i know, dear. but how can i care about the stupid ring if the wife i thought died is actually alive and in my arms?”

leon wipes the tears from your cheeks, his hand cupping your jaw. “i promise i’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“okay.” you say sniffling your runny nose.

with a big yawn, leon stands up raising both arms up into a stretch, his shirt lifts up slightly showing off his abdomen. “i’m going to find your doctor, see when you’re coming home.”

you smile. it’s nice not being alone. you feel bad knowing leon anxiously waited at the hospital for days. but there’s an unfamiliar warmth in knowing how much he cares. leon had always cared about you- before you were even dating. that’s one of the many reasons why you married him. aside from the ongoing list of shared interests- he’s so protective, it’s one of his beautiful ways of loving you.

leon comes back to the room, “looks like they need to run more blood tests, make sure that acid is out of your bloodstream before you come home.”

you’re totally spaced out, it feels like you haven’t even had a chance to take in what’s happened to you. it’s all become a blur, taking in the moments a second at a time. you were so worried about the details it almost failed to compute that you were nearly infected by the very thing you swore your life to rid of.

like a time release valve finally triggering; anxiety washes you cold- it could have been the end. leon would have been widowed, and all your friends would have been at your funeral. your mind is playing devil's advocate. what if i don’t get better? are the doctors just hoping i stay positive?

“are you okay?” leon’s bloodshot eyes are nearly aching with concern.

“i’m scared.” your chest is sinking deeper with each anxious breath.

“why? why would you be scared?”

it may not make sense to you now- but having leon there was a sort of reality check. alone, you just survived. with him, everything has weight.

“i dunno… i just want things to be okay. i want you to be okay, i want to get better.”

leon rushes to your bedside, holding your hands in his. “but it will get better- you’re doing better, so much better! i’ll be there every step of the way. i promise you.”

you take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. trying to hang on to his words.

you sob, absolutely overcome by emotion. “i love you, leon. thank you for being here, thank you for everything you’ve done.”

a nurse knocks at the door but you don’t let go of leon’s hand.

“mrs. kennedy- so sorry to intrude. but the doctor wants to do a scan of your ankle. is that okay?”

you wipe the tears from your face, trying to compose yourself.

“yes, of course, that’s alright, thank you.”

leon whispers “you got this, dear,” before standing up and sitting in a chair by the window.

…

leon has done everything possible to make the next few days easier for you. like ordering takeout and watching your favorite movies with you. serving as a distraction while you recover.

it certainly worked. he’s good at keeping you calm, and the energy light-hearted. you didn’t even think it was possible, given the grim reality of your circumstances. but somehow he can have your eyes filled with tears, giggling with laughter.

four days you’ve been in the hospital, and today is your last one. you’re able to stand up and the effects from the B.O.W are finally gone. granted you still have a long journey to recovery, at least you can go home.

…

after the agonizing hours of travel, you make it home. leon helps you into the house, guiding you to your bed. “i want to take a bath, i feel disgusting.”

“i’ll draw one for you, you want it now?”

“hmhm” you nod.

“sure thing, sweetheart.” leon tenderly kisses your forehead.

he runs a hot bath, adding a little lavender soap, just the way you like it. he walks you to the tub and helps you undress. he holds your hand as you shakily step in, slowly adjusting to the hot water.

“god my first real bath in a week, can you believe it.” you sigh, sinking your body in the bubbly water.

leon chuckles, “i know, you poor thing, those nurses really tried their best to help. but it’s never the same, is it?”

“…especially considering i was covered in congealed zombie guts”

leon laughs, “but look at you now, covered in…” he pauses to read the name on the soap bottle “…lavender dreams”

you both giggle, in love and delighted by each other's company.

“okay, i’ll leave you to it, holler if you need anything.”

…

“leon! will you fetch my bathrobe!” you yell from the bathroom. you hear his feet patter across the hardwood, “coming."

you stare at your reflection in the mirror as you brush your wet hair, inspecting the scars, bruises, and stitches that litter your body. it feels like you came home to a different person, a body you’re now unfamiliar with.

leon peaks through the door. head cocked to the side. “everything alright, baby?”

“i don’t know- it’s hard to wrap my head around it. i-i feel off.”

“c’mere i got something to show ya.” leon swoops you off your feet carrying you in his arms.

“what are you doing?” you giggle wrapping your arms around his neck.

“you’ll see.”

he delicately sets you down on the couch in the living room and sits next to you. he fumbles around in his pocket pulling out a little black velvet box.

“leon-honey, oh my god, what is that.” your eyes are round and doe-like, your bottom lip beginning to quiver.

he opens the box, presenting it to you as if his hands were a clamshell, revealing a glimmering ring set in pearlescent white satin.

“for you- i know it was hard losing the ring, but that one was beaten up anyways. you deserve something a little nicer.”

tears swell, gathering in the inner corners of your eyes. chocked up and rendered speechless, you mouth the words, i love you.

he reached for your trembling left hand, sliding the diamond wedding ring onto your finger.

“i love you, most.” he beams, the words fluttering with tenderness.

“i-i love the ring, it’s beautiful-truly. but how’d you do it?”

“do what?”

“get a new ring, you were with me the entire time…?”

“i have my ways,” he smirks, planning on keeping that little secret to himself.

leon holds your hand, admiring the way your hand looks adorned by his diamond ring.

“remember when we got engaged?” he muses.

“of course i do! you took me to milan, i should have known you were going to propose.”

“you have the same look in your eyes as you did then.” leon swipes his thumb along your cheek, smiling to himself, gazing into your eyes.

“and you’re as smooth as ever” you look at him through your lashes, pupils wide. “but really leon, thank you, means more than the world”

“you are my world.” his soft lips meet yours, kissing you gently.

somewhere in the crystal pools of leon’s eyes, you find the hope you were looking for. his unbreakable faith in you, alongside his never-ending acts of love, is reassuring.

hell, it’s not going to be easy, but at least you're not alone.

⭐️tags

@yourgentlegirlfriend

[leighsartworks216]

Small Hands

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Title based on the song "Small Hands" by Radical Face (definitely listen to it, it fits this so well)

Note: This has (vague) spoilers for Act 3, but also I have not seen the scene with Cazador in question (I started to, but then my heart just hurt too much to keep watching)

Warnings: references to violence, swearing, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 718

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

It's been several hours since... since Astarion earned his freedom. He could still feel the rage and despair and fear just below the surface, bubbling like acid. He can feel the angry words he spat at you burning his tongue, even now.

And despite it all, you were right. Ascending would not have brought him the safety he desired. It would have consumed him, as it had consumed Cazador, and his master before. A never ending cycle.

Now that he's had time to think about it, to think clearly away from that wretched place, all he wanted was to be held. Safe. But not because he wields the power to crush everyone beneath him - because he would be protected. Cared for, unconditionally. Loved. And, of course, the one little detail that had him pacing for the last hour, he had no idea how to ask for something like a cuddle from the person he screamed at for refusing to help him ascend.

He couldn't bear the awful feeling that swelled in his gut, or the way his skin crawled with discomfort. He couldn't go the whole night like this. So, before he could think about it much longer, he left his tent and sought you out.

As usual, you lay under the stars in your bedroll. The fire was burned to embers. He wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there until the next century passed. His nails dug into his palms as he crossed the space to reach you.

You shifted as he neared, until you were blearily looking up at him though heavy-lidded eyes. You didn't scowl or turn over to ignore him, you just stared. He tried again and again to speak, to explain what he wanted and apologize and just - anything. But instead he just stood there like a fish gasping for water in a desert.

When you moved in your bedroll, he fully expected you to curl up and ignore him. What he didn't expect was for you to open up the blankets keeping you warm, and what’s more he didn't expect you to open your arms as though preparing a hug. He was stunned speechless - as if he weren't already. He was shocked back into his body when he noticed a shiver run through you.

Carefully, as though you'd rescind the offer with one wrong move, he slipped in beside you. You'd cuddled before, more times than he can admit without becoming embarrassed, but it felt like the first time. He didn't know where to put his arms or legs or head; an uncomfortable gap full of cold air separated you both, but he dared not fill it.

You closed the blankets around him, absent-mindedly tucking him in. And, he couldn't tell if it was purely subconscious or if you were somehow awake enough to notice his reluctance, you wrapped your arms around him and scooted closer. You tangled your legs with his, drew his head to your chest with your arms around his shoulders, and pet his hair.

He ignored the burning behind his eyes as he relaxed into the gentle caresses and heat you provided. He wrapped his arms around your middle and pressed further into your chest, turning his head until his ear was right over your heart, beating steadily behind your ribcage. Beating for him, despite it all.

You sleepily tangled your fingers in his curls, running through them and feeling the way they stubbornly bounced back. Your movements were so very slow, and really quite uncoordinated, but it was the best feeling in the world to him right now. He released a shaky breath and felt you squeeze him around the shoulders in response.

With time - no more than ten minutes - your loving ministrations slowed to a stop as your breath evened out. Fast asleep once more. And still holding him. Even after everything. Even after he cursed you for stealing a life in the sun from him. You were so, so good to him, even when he didn't deserve it.

What little sleep he finds is accompanied not with visceral images of stabbing his master to death, or of the innocents he lured for the ritual, or even those 200 years of pure shit. No - he dreams of laying in your arms like this. Forever.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog