#i've done the first three temples

[lovely-v]

it's crazy how skyward sword is becoming my favorite zelda game despite the fact that I've spent 2/3 of my time playing it suffering unbearably

[painted-bees]

A quick, sloppy little comic about Magritte

[OC's]

(image description under the cut)

[Image Description: It's a vertical comic strip of 14 panels arranged one under the other. The style is realistic, done with sketchy lines in a dark burgundy. It is not colored or shaded and there is no background. The comic features the interactions of a couple, Magritte (also called Margie) and Rafael (also called Raf). Magritte is a young woman, she is wearing a baggy armhole tank top with a tight fitting black top underneath, shorts and boots. She has a messy bun and a small messenger bag slung over her left shoulder. Rafael is her partner, wearing baggy pants, sneakers, fingerless gloves, V-neck t-shirt and an open button-up jacket with a hoodie and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair has short side with long top bangs and a short goatee.

 (First panel): There's only Magritte visible from the waist up. Off screen, Raf says to someone else: “Magritte has our tickets.” Magritte is excited, looking straight forward. Her left hand in on her bag's strap, her right hand rummaging inside her bag. Magritte says: "Yeah! Even made sure to put them in my wallet so that I wouldn't- uh..."

 (Second panel): She is beginning to look concerned, now with her face turned to her back, both left hand holding the lip to open the bag wider and her right hand still rummaging inside. Magritte says: "wouldn't forget.... Hang on, it's not on it's usual pocket. Haha." The last is a nervous laughter.

 (Third panel): Magritte is kneeling on the ground. Rafael is standing to the side and behind her, only his feet visible. Magritte looks frantic, searching inside her bag. Her right arm is forearm deep digging in her bag. Magritte says: "It's definitely here-! It's the one thing I never forget 'cus I never take it out of my bag!" Rafael says, firmly: "Margie, when you took it out to put the tickets in, did you put the wallet back in the bag?" The letters are bolded, with the word "back" underlined for emphasis. Magritte says: "Give me some credit, there's no way I'm that stupid." The last three words are underlined for emphasis.

 (Fourth panel):  The scene has changed and now Magritte and Rafael are in a car. We see them from the passenger's side. Rafael is driving, looking straight ahead at the road. Magritte is hunched forward, hugging herself with the left hand. Her right hand is holding her head. She is looking out the passenger window, avoiding Raf.

 (Fifth panel):  Rafael turns slightly to look at Magritte.

 (Sixth panel):  The point of view is now a side profile view from the drivers side. Rafael has his left arm leaning on the open window, his right hand on the wheel. Magritte is hunched over facing the passenger window. Rafael says: "I'm not mad at you, if that's what you're worried about." Magritte says: "I can literally feel your disappointment."

 (Seventh panel): Back to the passengers side, Rafael is looking at the road. Magritte is frustrated, no longer leaning her head against her right hand and instead her hand is palm upwards. Rafael says: "Well, yes. It is a disappointing situation, but-" Magritte interrupts: "You'd think I'd be able to do the one thing I was asked to do-! That I'd at least learn from the last billion times I forgot shit. Rafael says, quieter: “that's not where I was going with this...”

(Eighth panel):  Magritte has her right hand holding her face with the palm on her cheek, left hand placing the tips of her fingers on her left temple and eye brows. She is frustrated and angry. Magritte says: "It's not like I've got anything more important rattling around in my brain.  But, for some reason, if it's not my music, or like.... food or something, then it's just not a priority. I can't make myself care enough to make it a priority!"

(Ninth panel): She now has both hands in front of her, elbows bent, finger extended in a vague hand gesture as if there was something in front of her. Magritte says: "I'm an adult in my 20s and I still manage my responsibilities like a child. I'd be more dependable if I could just stop and think for a second, but I'd probably forget to even breathe if it weren't for the..."

 (Tenth panel): Her frustrated expression turned to confusion. Her hands are still in the air in the same position as before. Magritte says:"... why are we parked?" Her noticing this stopped her rant.

(Eleventh panel): Magritte straightens up and faces the window entirely, left hand crossed over her body to lean on the car door. Rafael, off screen: "Margie." Magritte says: "Oh." Magritte's inner thoughts are written around her. "He stopped the car to scold me. No, not ‘scold’. Don't be a child about this. He's disappointed and just needs to make sure you understand so you can do better next ti-"

 (Twelfth panel): Magritte is still looking out the window, but now with a shocked expression. Rafael reached with his right hand, and its now resting gently on her upper back. Rafael interrupts her inner monologue with "I need you to stop repeating the shit your parents and teachers and such yelled at you growing up. They were wrong, and nothing you just said makes sense."

 (Thirteenth panel):  The perspective switches back to the driver's side profile. Rafael says: "A poor memory isn't synonymous with poor priorities. Nor does it speak to a lack of maturity. The priority was there, we just have to build a better habit of checking things before we leave the apartment. Both of us. It's gonna take time. You afford everyone else a ton of patience, all the time. Can you please afford some for yourself? The situation sucks, we were both looking forward to this. But it's not the end of the world. We didn't forget things on purpose. So let's take it easy and try to end the day on a good note. Alright?" Magritte says: "Okay... c-can we um...."

 (Fourteenth panel): Magritte has turned to face Rafael and her eyes are filled with tears and they're running down her cheeks.  Rafael looks startled, lifting his arm off Magritte's back. Magritte says: "Can we get some ice cream on the way back?" Rafael says: "O-of course!" End of description.]

This description was written and provided by Hiwi.

[harrysfolklore]

grapes - hs

summary: harry won’t let his girlfriend break her new years tradition

folkie radio: i couldn’t let the year end without posting one last harry fic! i really hope 2025 brings us so much content (including hs4!!) happy new year 💘

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

The party was in full swing at Jeff and Glenne's house, the air buzzing with anticipation as midnight drew closer. Music thumped through the speakers, and everywhere you looked, people were laughing, dancing, and celebrating the final moments of the year. You were nestled against Harry's side on one of the plush sofas, his arm draped casually around your shoulders.

"You okay, love?" Harry asked, noticing you checking your phone for the time again. "You seem a bit distracted."

You gave him a small smile, fiddling with the sequins on your dress. "Yeah, I just... it's silly, really."

"Tell me," he encouraged, turning to face you properly. His green eyes were soft and curious in the dim party lighting.

"Well, it's this tradition I have. Every New Year's at midnight, I eat twelve grapes - one for each chime of midnight. It's supposed to bring good luck for each month of the new year. My grandma started it when I was little, and I've done it every year since."

Understanding dawned on Harry's face. "And we haven't got any grapes here."

You nodded, trying to hide your disappointment. "Like I said, it's silly. It's just... it would be the first year I haven't done it.”

Harry glanced at his watch - 11:40 PM - then pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. "Give me fifteen minutes."

Before you could ask what he was planning, he was up and weaving through the crowd. You watched him stop to say something to Jeff, who nodded and pointed toward the kitchen.

Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. People were starting to gather around the TV for the countdown, champagne flutes in hand. You tried not to feel too disappointed, telling yourself it was just a tradition, just some grapes.

At 11:57, you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder. Harry was slightly out of breath, his curls messier than before, but he was grinning triumphantly. In his hand was a small bowl filled with exactly twelve grapes.

"Harry," you gasped, "how did you-"

"Let's just say I now owe Jeff's neighbor a very expensive bottle of wine," he chuckled, settling back beside you. "Apparently, she's the only person in Beverly Hills who keeps fresh fruit in the house on New Year's Eve."

You felt tears pricking at your eyes as you took the bowl from him. "You went door-to-door looking for grapes?"

"Course I did," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Couldn't let you break your tradition, could I?"

The countdown started, people shouting in unison. "TEN! NINE!"

You quickly counted the grapes - exactly twelve.

"EIGHT! SEVEN!"

Harry pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"SIX! FIVE! FOUR!"

You readied your first grape, heart full of love for the man beside you.

"THREE! TWO! ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

As cheers erupted around you, you started eating the grapes, one by one, just as you had every year since childhood. Harry watched you with amused affection, waiting patiently for you to finish before pulling you in for your New Year's kiss.

"Happy New Year, love," he murmured against your lips.

"Happy New Year," you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Thank you for this. For understanding how much it meant to me."

He smiled, that soft, private smile that was reserved just for you. "Your traditions are important to me because they're important to you. Even if it means running around the neighborhood at midnight looking for grapes."

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. "I think this might be my favorite New Year's tradition yet."

"What, the grapes or the kiss?"

"Both," you decided. "Definitely both."

[akkaweo-akkaweo]

Favorite things

Jang Wonyoung x Shin Yuna x M!reader

Tags: smut, mutual masturbation, (considerable amount of) fluff

WC: 9.4k

—————

"I know you have a crush on Yuna."

You look up at Wonyoung, intently clacking at her computer on the other side of the table. "I have no idea what you're talking about," you dared to say.

"Sure," she retorted. "Keep denying it."

"Wonyoung," you scoffed, at a loss for words. Because damn, she was correct, and you were terrified.

"What?" Wonyoung cut in, now looking at you intently with a smirk. "Think I wouldn't notice when I'm three feet away from you at most for 9 hours a day?"

"Okay," you reply slowly, treading into the conversation carefully. "What exactly is your proof?"

She cleared her throat before shouting, "YUNA!"

"Whatthefuckareyoudoing?!," you mumble as Yuna's chair rolled up right beside you.

"What's up, Wony?," she said, headphones dangling on her neck.

"Uhhh... nothing. I forgot," Wonyoung replied with a falsely innocent smile.

Yuna gave her a puzzled look. "Oookay? Nice talking then," she responded, before rolling away in her chair and putting her pair of headphones back on. When she had looked more fully engrossed, you shot a dirty glare at Wonyoung.

"What the fuck was that for?!," you exclaimed.

"You are so obvious!," Wonyoung replied with a slap on your hand. "You physically recoiled and froze. You didn't even try to look busy. I saw your ears flush! I bet they're still hot right now, aren't they?"

"That's...," you trail off, rubbing your appreny cold fingers on your evidently warm ears. "Ugh. Fine. Yes, I am crushing on Yuna. So what?"

"Then you should ask her out," she said, the jest in her voice dissipating into encouragement. "Take her on a date with you."

"That's just weird," you shot back. "We just met her."

"So?," Wonyoung tilted her head. "Also, 'just?!' Six months is not 'just met' territory."

You sighed, staring at the ceiling. "I've never done this before, y'know."

"Then now's as good a chance as any," she replied, before her phone started buzzing. "I gotta go. I have to sit in another department's meeting."

"Good luck!," you greeted her, even as she was in a rush.

Before you got back to work, Yuna rolled up back to your side, with a big grin on her face.

"What's with the grin?," you asked, puzzled.

"You like Wonyoung, don't you?," Yuna teased.

"What?!," you exclaimed. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"Answer me first," Yuna retorted, pointing a playful hand-gun to your temple. "Or... I'll tell her."

"Yuna...," you hesitated. Because damn, she was correct, and you were terrified. Again.

"A-ha! Knew it," she exclaimed.

You scratched your head. That's two for two today. "Okay, and how exactly did you 'know' it?"

"Hmm," Yuna gave it some thought. "Well first, the way you two exchange banter, it's like you're best friends."

"I mean, duh, we're workmates," you replied. "But that's not proof I like her."

"On the contrary," she added, "the way you smile at her, and stare at her, and get locked in your conversations with her – that's second, third, and fourth. You can't just stay best friends."

"Maybe I'm just a good listener!," you defended yourself. "Why think right away that we should date?"

"Because," she continued, leaning her elbow on your armrest, "I like to think know the face of a boy who loves someone's company. And you love her company. And her attention. Bet you didn't even see me staring at you guys, didn't you?"

You gulped. "Wait... did you listen to our conversation?"

"Of course not," she reassured, pointing to her headphones. "But the fact you didn't notice means you were stuck in your own little world. You should ask her out!"

"I can't," you groaned. "I've never done this before." Déjà vu.

"Figure it out then!," she said encouragingly. "Maybe think about it for a bit. But you better ask her!" She put her headphones back on and rolled back to her spot, same as before.

You buried your face in your hands. It's one thing to have a workplace crush; it's another thing to have two of them with you in your three-person team. Hiding it all was definitely not an easy task.

It all started with Wonyoung, actually. You both entered the company and your current assignment at the same time. Working around Wonyoung the first few times was difficult solely due to your nerves – she was no-nonsense, wanting to have an answer to every request in as little time as possible. And she kept that composure with a twinkle in her eye and the cutest smirk of accomplishment when you did. But that also meant pressure on you to keep up with her – which you didn't hate, actually.

You were still in your downward spiral of infatuation when a few weeks later Yuna was added in. She was no polar opposite to Wonyoung, but she was definitely a much warmer presence than her; she would fondly hold your hand when asking you for guidance, or "swing by" to catch a quick break from work on her side of the room. But what really caught you was when she was most relaxed in her own world, a very candid, renaissance-like view of her always available when you turned your head in her direction.

It's been six months since you've all met, and the feelings are most definitely not out of your system. If anything, it's gotten worse, today being evidence of that.

About an hour later, Wonyoung came back, face scrunched into a scowl.

"Wony? What's–," you tried to say.

"Yuna. Huddle up," Wonyoung said. Yuna stood up from her chair and sat on the armrest of yours.

Wonyoung, leaned on her arms over the table and head fully bowed, took a few seconds to gain her composure.

"We need to make a marketing deck. By day after tomorrow. The whole thing: collaterals, assets, the works."

"But that's a Saturday. What the hell?!," was all you could react with. Yuna, however, looked a little more disappointed than frustrated.

"Man, I was thinking of seeing my parents this weekend," Yuna tried to say, before again being cut off by Wonyoung.

"I know, guys, don't worry. I came up with something," Wonyoung continued. "It's not going to be fun, but I think we can finish all of this by tomorrow night if we try really hard enough."

"And I assume that entails...," you lead on. Wonyoung heaves a big sigh.

"Yeah... we gotta pull at least one, potentially two, all-nighters," Wonyoung continued, to which everyone – her included – groaned at. However, she lightened up immediately. "Fortunately for us, I got permission to work from home tomorrow. So we can work together at someone's place."

"Maybe you can stay at mine," Yuna offered. "As a goodbye of sorts to the apartment."

"Oh, you're moving out?," you replied.

"And moving in with me," Wonyoung added. "Rent's cheaper if we split it."

"Don't feel so left out," Yuna said, pushing your shoulder. "You're free to visit."

"Y-yeah, sure, though I'd have thought by now you'd be tired of seeing my face everyday," you laughed nervously. If the forces that be played pranks, this was definitely one of them.

"What? I was just about to ask if we could hang out more, like over drinks or something," Yuna commented.

Wonyoung gave you a look, then clicked her tongue at both of you. "We can plan a much-deserved drinking session another time. For now we gotta agree on it. As a team. We got each other, right?"

"Of course!," Yuna said with a big smile.

"Game," you replied.

"You guys are the best," Wonyoung responded, beaming. "Okay! Texting boss now."

"Hey, we can clock out now," Yuna added, while Wonyoung typed up her response. "How about let's meet by 9PM? Have some time to ourselves, go home and get some stuff."

"Sure," you reply, quickly packing everything up. "Gotta get going then."

"Bye!," Yuna waved.

"See you in a bit," Wonyoung replied, moving in to give a cheek-to-cheek hug.

On the bus home, all you could do was rub your face with your hands, groaning at the situation. It wasn't so much the hassle or the work, but purely that you'd be spending the next few nights around the both of them, nonstop. The only consolation was that actually working as a team was fun – you had an easy-to-keep rhythm that got stuff done fast, and that made the work enjoyable.

You felt your heart race, your spine shiver, your chest grow a metaphorical hole. What that all meant, you dare not think about right now.

=====

"Hello, Yuna? I have snacks," you muttered into the intercom. You were on the dot, as agreed.

"Great!," Wonyoung's voice cut in, "just come on up." Guess she was early, typical of her.

When you got there, you found the two on opposite sides of a small rectangular table. Around them were open bags of chips and assorted drinks: juices, colas, and an unopened bottle of wine.

"How long have you been here?," you asked.

"She practically lives here now," Yuna replied. "That's why I don't mind moving in with her."

"You make it sound like I've been here ever since I met you," Wonyoung dismissed her. "I think it's been a few weeks since I was first here. Then I guess I just kept coming here because it's much closer to the office."

"Too small to split though, I assume," you added, looking at the room, a single space with a bed in a far corner and a sizable table right next to a kitchen and sink.

"Way too small for me," she replied. "Come, sit there by the end of the table. There's an extension cord here, get whatever snacks you want."

In the first hour you laid out everything that needed to be done, and after another hour of working, Wonyoung took a quick nap while you and Yuna worked on some graphics. Wonyoung was a light sleeper, so you couldn't talk much, though the faint snoring did give a hint you could talk a bit more than usual.

"How'd you get into graphic design?," you asked.

"Been doing this for family and relatives for a while now," she replied. "When they said they'd stop asking me for free labor if I got a full-time job, I jumped right on it."

"True that," you responded.

When Wonyoung woke up after an hour and a half or so, Yuna decided to take a nap as well, at your prompting. Within minutes she was breathing heavily.

"Seems like you made some progress on the pitch document," Wonyoung remarked.

"Only 'cause we're putting off the actual strategic plan," you replied. "That was gonna be easier when you were awake."

"Fair enough, I'll work on that now then," she said. "What are you doing?"

"Just some research figures," you said. "Felt like they might ask for a breakdown by demographic during the meeting."

"Good idea," she replied.

After about two more hours of working, you were yawning non-stop. "Fuuu-," you yawned, "-uuucking hell, this is insane."

"Hey," Wonyoung held your hand. "Take a nap. I got this."

"Thanks," you whispered, as you lay your head on the table. As you drifted off, you still managed to hear Yuna wake up and the first part of their conversation.

"Oh, how long has he been out?," Yuna asked.

"Just a few minutes," Wonyoung replied. That was the last you caught of their conversation was Wonyoung saying "He kinda looks..." before you dozed off.

When you woke up at 4AM, you found Wonyoung no longer at the table but on the bed, and Yuna asleep at the computer. She was in the middle of editing the last few slides, so you helped finish that up. After you put the final edits on the whole document and a poster no one had worked on yet, your 5AM alarm rang. Everyone in the small room jolted awake.

"Oh shit," Yuna replied. "I fell asleep again."

"Don't worry about it," you reassured, rubbing your eyes. "Just finished it."

"Really?," Wonyoung yawned. "Thank fuck." She dropped to the bed.

"Scoot over," Yuna groaned. "That's my bed." Wonyoung groaned as well as she made space for Yuna, and the two laid side by side, facing each other.

After you closed everything up and made a quick scan of everything you had so far, you closed your laptop and breathed a sigh of relief – for now, at least. You found a note on the back of your laptop, likely from when you were sleeping, from Yuna. "Sleeping bag's by the foot of the bed," it read. True enough, it was there. Better than nothing.

You also found the two in the same position, but more entangled. Their legs were crossed over each other; Wonyoung's hand was laid onto Yuna's neck, and Yuna's hand over Wonyoung's waist.

Only now did you notice their clothes from yesterday: Wonyoung had a set of pajamas on, while Yuna had a pair of shorts and a plain shirt. And they looked... pretty: the way Wonyoung hair was draped over her face, the way Yuna's mouth was somewhat half-open, the smoothness of their skin, the curves of their torsos... You ran to the bathroom, immediately washing your face and slapping your face repeatedly.

"Snap the fuck out of it," you told yourself aloud. "Stop thinking about those kinds of things, or it will get awkward and you won't have friends anymore." You got out, you quietly walked to the sleeping bag and fell asleep, in no time at all.

When you woke up, it was 10AM – 5 straight hours of sleep. Not bad. Both of them were up already, scrolling through TikToks together and giggling.

"Morning," you groaned.

"Hey," Wonyoung replied. "Sleep well?"

"Mmm," you groaned, not exactly a confirmation.

"Sorry," Yuna replied.

"No, sorry, still groggy," you reassured. "I'm alright."

You got up to see a sandwich on the table. "Oh, thanks guys," you remarked. You sat at the table to eat while Wonyoung and Yuna stayed at the bed. "What else do we need to do?," you asked.

"Actually, about that...," Wonyoung began. Yuna's lips were pursed. "So... we're actually done. I kinda just told boss that we needed more time to work on it, without the all-nighter part."

"And that means we have a free day!," Yuna added.

"Wait, but... you said we'd finish by tonight," you clarified.

"Yeah, and I wanted you guys to hop on my master plan without anyone telling me off. Like you," Wonyoung responded.

You scoffed. "Was that supposed to be an insult?" You looked at Yuna. "Were you in on this?"

"She means you might have wanted to stay home instead, silly," Yuna replied. "And for the record, no, she told me while I was making the sandwich."

"Almost woke you up with her squeal when I told her," Wonyoung chided.

"Shut up," Yuna rebutted. "Back to my point. We literally have not gone out with you, like, ever."

Wonyoung snapped her fingers. "Exactly! So, that said, what do you guys wanna do?"

"Ooh, I wanna actually taste that," Yuna began, pointing to the vodka on the table, "and not leave it wasting in my cabinet anymore."

You sighed. "I'm down, but I don't think we should exert ourselves that much. We literally only got half the hours of sleep we should have."

"Point taken," Wonyoung replied. "Maybe you should tell us where to go!"

"Uhh," you trail off. "You sure you want that?"

"Of course!" Yuna replied. "I can't even name one of your favorite things."

You pulled out some unwarranted courage from deep within you. "There's two of them right in front of me," you tease, awkwardly pointing finger guns at both of them. What the fuck, you think to yourself.

"You did not just say that," Wonyoung interjected with a playfully disgusted look.

"Minus points on the delivery, babe," Yuna smirked, "but great response." Something about the nickname made your heart race a little bit faster.

"Thanks?," you replied.

"Fine," Wonyoung groaned, trying to hide a smile. "What's the third?"

=====

You took in a deep breath of air and scouted the area. "Yep, I think this is a great spot," you said. "Let's set up here."

You dropped the plastic bags of food on the wooden table and set up some utensils. You were at a base camp about 2 hours away from the city, though from your house – which you passed by to get all the gear – it was only about two-thirds the journey.

"I can't believe this is so close to your house," Yuna reacted, stretching her legs and arms. "If I lived there I'd be hiking every weekend."

"'Close' is relative," you replied. "But I used to. Now I literally don't have time to do that anymore."

"The sky looks so nice now," Wonyoung replied, twirling in her sundress. "Guess we got here at just the right time."

After ordering some food for lunch at Yuna's, you parted ways to freshen up and take some time to rest. You brought your car to drive by their places, which took some time, but did help make the trip to the camp faster.

"This, ladies, is my third favorite thing in the world," you said, stretching your arms to the sky theatrically. "The sunset."

"It's beautiful," Wonyoung responded. "Good thinking."

The girls started taking turns taking photos of each other, giggling and exchanging remarks as they tried to find their favorite shots. You watched from the table, enamored by their merrymaking.

"I'm starving," Yuna quipped as they walked back to the table. She removed her sweater as she sat down revealing a crop top underneath. "Maybe we can start now?"

"It's early, but sure," you replied. You'd passed by different stores for some grilled meats and other assortments of food – which, as Yuna promised, were perfect to pre-game for the vodka.

You sat on one side of the table while Yuna and Wonyoung sat on the other. Their faces were lit up well by the afternoon sky, what bare makeup they put on making their skin gleam. You pulled out your phone to take a picture of them, and showed it to the pair.

"This picture of us is sooo cute!," Yuna said to Wonyoung. "Can you send it to me?"

"Hold up," Wonyoung stopped Yuna, pulling out an instant film camera. "Use this too." You did your best to replicate the photo and snapped a picture of the pair, which Wonyoung printed out three copies of.

"How about you?," Wonyoung asked. "Let us take a picture of you."

You waved your hands in front of your face. "I'm fine! I go here all the time."

"Shut up and just smile, you dork," Yuna replied, pinning your hands to the table. "Wony, go."

She took a picture, showed it to Yuna, and the two giggled.

"You look amazing here," Yuna responded. "Look!," she showed the screen.

"Okay, fine," you groaned, "this might be the best photo I've had of myself since graduation."

"Then I'll give you a copy!," Wonyoung replied, printing another 3 copies of the photo.

"Oh come on," you said shyly. "That's a bit too much."

"What do you mean?," Wonyoung continued. "This is our first group outing. Gotta memorialize these things."

"Aww, are you shy?," said Yuna, pinching your cheek in jest. You playfully slapped her hand.

"No! I just don't like taking pictures of myself," you retort.

"But I took the picture, not you," Wonyoung chimed. "So take it as a gift. Here, you even get one of both of us!"

You could feel yourself blush as you looked at it, their eyes perfectly twinkling in the sunset light; hopefully that same light masked it. "I'll put this in an oversized picture frame for my sidetable," you replied sarcastically. Wonyoung rolled her eyes and Yuna stuck out her tongue.

You sighed. "You're acting like elementary kids," you remarked. "With actual speaking ability."

"So that means we're friends!," Yuna replied.

"You make it sound like I've contested that," you said.

"No, it's just that this is literally the first time we've hung out," Yuna continued, "and to my knowledge, friends actually hang out."

"Oh yeah, thinking about it, we never hung out even before Yuna joined us," Wonyoung added.

You shrugged. "I don't know, I just thought it'd be weird if I went out with you without knowing you well."

"I mean, that's why we ask people to go out, right?," Wonyoung urged, emphasizing certain words and pointing her eyes to Yuna, who seemed to be oblivious to the gesture.

"Sure," you dismissed her. "C'mon, we gotta eat this before it gets cold."

If your social battery were to ever undergo some sort of diagnostic test, this would be it. Yuna, surprisingly, is very chatty, having lots of stories and thoughts to share. Wonyoung, just as surprisingly, isn't as chatty, only interjecting to what Yuna says rather than to initiate discussions on her own. But you, whether for better or for worse, were prompted repeatedly by the two to talk.

It wasn't that you didn't want to share – if anything, the talking made you feel lighter as you let go of more stories and anecdotes of your own – but watching them smile, and laugh, and just beam, was mesmerizing. They were mesmerizing. You grabbed your phone again and made your picture of them your wallpaper.

"You're just staring at us," Yuna laughed.

"No, just listening," you evade, "staring is different." Yuna rolled her eyes.

Wonyoung's phone went off. "Damn, it's been a whole hour already. It didn't even feel like 20 minutes!," she exclaimed.

"Traffic's gonna pick up at this time," you added. "Better head out. There's a convenience store near my place."

Unlike the car ride going to the campsite, where at one point both Yuna and Wonyoung had both fallen asleep, now they were belting out songs from a playlist. You joined in where you knew the lyrics too. Fortunately having dodged most traffic, you finally got to your place.

"Make yourselves at home! Only reason this place is bigger than Yuna's is because it's outside the city."

"Yeah, no shit," Yuna replied. "We should move in with you."

You laughed nervously. "While I would entertain the thought, I think this is still too small for Wony."

"Hey, I'm not a fucking princess," she huffed. "It's not my fault I need a lot of shit."

"Like a princess," you teased, grabbing Wonyoung's hand and playfully kissing her invisible ring. Yuna shot you a look, which you ignored.

"Ew," Wonyoung shook her hand. "Don't treat me like I'm your boss, you shit."

"I'm kidding!," you defended yourself, though Wonyoung slapped your arm with a smirk.

"I know, we're just playing," she whispered. "You're so cute when you're defensive."

There that word was again: cute. These girls were going to give you a heart condition by how many times they've made it beat faster.

"Why is your house so... bare?," Yuna asked. "Do you not like, collect anything?"

"I mean, I do, but you can't exactly display Pokémon cards," you replied. "And I have a PC in my room."

"Fair enough," she responded.

"So... is it drinking time?," Wonyoung prompted, pulling out the full, menacing bottle of vodka.

"Full disclosure, ladies," you warned, "but this is the first time I'm drinking vodka."

"God, did you even have a life before today?," Yuna remarked, pouring one shot out for you. "Try it on its own first, then I'll teach you how to drink it."

You placed the glass to your mouth, and you could feel it cooling your lips before you even put it in your mouth, When you did, all you could do exhale loudly and make a face.

"Holy FUCK, that's different," you exclaimed. "I've had whiskey before but nothing like this."

As the three of you bonded over the alcohol, you felt yourself getting dizzy; by the end of it, Yuna was laid down on your lap, while Wonyoung leaned her head on your shoulder.

"How frequently do you go to bars to have learned this?," you groaned to Yuna.

"I taught her," Wonyoung chimed in, "sorta. Though that was with soju, not fuckin' vodka."

"They're, like, kinda the same, though," Yuna quipped.

"They are very much not the same, Yuna," you retorted. "Well, thank God I learned from you and not some other personal mishap."

Yuna groaned. "You are such a baby boy." The nickname was making you feel things, and you were fighting tooth and nail to keep it subtle.

Wonyoung wrapped her arm over your shoulder. "Are you really the older one among us three? Because all day it's as if we took care of you more than you took care of us."

You could feel the alcohol making you lose some of your hesitations, and you played along with it. "Ignoring that 'taking care' sounds so parental," you said, "thank you. Seriously. For today."

"Aww, babe," Wonyoung replied, "you're so sweet." She started stroking the back of your head with her hand; you felt fuzzy right where her hand was.

"Oooh, he's blushing," Yuna taunted. "You like Wony, don't you?"

Uh oh. You feel like – no, you know – you've been here before.

"What?!," you stammered, at a loss for words. "I don't know, this stuff's really strong," you lifted your shot glass.

Wonyoung elbowed you. "C'mon, it's a joke."

"No it's not," Yuna said, a bit more worked up. "Look at his ears, Wonyoung! That's no alcohol flush."

"I-I–," you stammered again, "that's quite the assumption–"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Yuna knelt up and sat right beside you, propping herself on her arm. "Wony, he likes you. He's been staring at you, like, the whole day, and he's been blushing every time you called him babe. There. Now you don't have to admit it." She flicked your arm in playful annoyance. "You're so adorably frantic I could just pinch your cheeks all the time!"

"Wait," Wonyoung reacted, now fully sitting up. "Me? I was waiting for him to admit to you that he liked you! And hello?! He was staring at you! Not–," she hesitated. "Wait. Did you–"

"Okay, okay! I like both of you, okay?," you began defensively. "But I didn't wanna make things awkward because I literally just met both of you and you're literally the only friends I have right now!" You felt your head sink between your shoulders, your hands up and tucked in like you were surrendering.

There was a very audible silence – likely the ringing from the alcohol – that felt a lot longer than it probably was. But Wonyoung and Yuna shot each other some faces, like they were communicating in some sort of code. Then, out of nowhere, Yuna made a loud chortle, and the pair burst out laughing. You expected the worst.

"Wait," Wonyoung said, tears almost in her eyes. "This is so funny."

"Do you wanna–," Yuna hesitated, a huge grin stretched across her face, "'Cause, like, I–"

"No, I got it, whoo," Wonyoung collected herself. "Ahem. So. While you were asleep, when we, y'know, set up this plan to go out today, we kinda both agreed that you were cute."

The buzzing in your head stopped. Was that... an admission?

"But Yuna here," continued Wonyoung, furrowing her brows at Yuna, who stuck out her tongue again, "kept hinting you liked someone. And I offered that we'd figure out tonight–,"

"With truth or dare!," Yuna butted in.

"Yeah!," Wonyoung continued. "We would have asked who you were into in the office or if you were dating anyone."

Entertaining your morbid curiosity, you asked, "but both of you knew I liked the other?"

"That's the funniest thing!," Yuna replied. "I didn't know Wony was talking about me!"

"And I didn't know she was hinting at me!," Wonyoung added, "'cause we all we told each other was that we had an idea!"

"I was supposed to confront you about Wony when we got to that point," Yuna whined. "But you're just so frustratingly cute," gesturing at pinching your cheeks with both hands, "because you were trying so hard to pretend!

Wonyoung shot Yuna a glare. "Bitch, that was your plan? I was planning that too!"

"Oh my god, you're such a fucking liar," Yuna playfully pushed Wonyoung. "Says you!," she retorted. The two kept giggling, and you were in the middle of it watching everything... collapse? It didn't quite feel like things were falling apart.

"I–I don't know what to say," you remarked. "My head is spinning and my chest hurts and... fuck, you two are so pretty when you laugh," you blurted. The two grinned.

"I think we figured that out," Wonyoung reassured, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. You felt your skin flush again – no, burn – right where she did.

"You make him blush so bad, Wony," Yuna teased, also giving you a kiss on your other cheek, and laughing at your reactions with Wonyoung.

Before you know it, the two were a giggling mess, planting kiss after kiss all over your face. All you could do, or felt like doing, was keeping your eyes closed as they overwhelmed your senses. Wonyoung still scratched your hair; Yuna held a hand to your cheek. By the end of their onslaught, all you could do was laugh with them – your emotions a mess in your head – until you started tearing up a bit. "Sorry, sorry," you muttered, "it's just–"

Wonyoung fully cupped your head with her other hand. "Aww, don't cry!," she fawned. "God, you're so fucking cute."

"You've been saying that the whole day!," you whined to her, still laughing. "And it keeps making me feel tingly."

"That's what a crush is, dumbass," Wonyoung teased, wiping a stray tear in your eye with her finger.

"I know!," you retorted. "But you can't blame me if this is like, the best day of my life so far. You're both really, really pretty, and I really want to spend more time with you, and–"

You were cut off by Yuna tightly grabbing the side of your body. "Calm down," she reassured, kissing your cheek again. Wonyoung also hugged you from her side. You draped your arms over the two fully wrapping their petite frames, into a warm hug. The two never stopped their laughs for a second.

"Thanks for telling us," Wonyoung said, and you felt the cavity in your chest dissipate; a resolution, of sorts. The two laid their heads on your chest, the three of you breathing in silence.

"This feels nice," Wonyoung said softly, your arms wrapped around their shoulders. Yuna hummed in agreement.

You talked things out a bit more – mostly whens and whys, about moments and reasons. All the while, the two never left your sides, hands still on your abdomen with the occasional prod or slap.

After a few moments of sustained quiet, Yuna broke the silence. "I have an unhinged, very intrusive thought."

She paused for a while, no one daring to urge her. After a good few seconds, Yuna continued.

"I'm like... really horny."

Wonyoung let out a loud laugh. "Fuck, where'd that come from?"

Yuna sat up again, her shoulder on yours, leaning over until her face was mere inches away from yours. "'Cause all day I've wanted to pounce on his cute little face." She giggled, touching the tip of your nose. "And now that I have, I kinda wanna keep doing it."

Wonyoung did the same, both their hands on your chest and their full weight pushing down on your shoulders. "You know, I was just thinking the same thing," she cooed. "You beat me to it."

Underneath the flurry of emotions you just felt in the past minutes, Yuna was right: it's been days since you rubbed one off, and here you were, horny with a pair of girls just as horny for you. The thought alone made blood rush down to your pants.

Yuna pulled your head to face her, saying, "I bet he feels the same way too." She stared at you, her eyes narrowed, half from the drowsiness of alcohol, but definitely half bedroom eyes. Then she licked her lips and winked; you felt your cock twitch, almost involuntarily and without hesitation. Fuck.

Wonyoung then pulled Yuna's face towards her. "Let's make sure, though." The two kissed each other – not a makeout, but a single, slow, sensual one. Your breathing was obviously deeper, and your pants noticeably tighter.

"So," Yuna teased, "do you want this?" She tracing circles on your chest with Wonyoung. "We wanna hear it from you."

Wonyoung's arm, now over your head, started stroking the top of your hair again. "Tell us if you want this, baby boy." Your breath audibly shivered at the pet name.

"I–," you tried to speak up, though the girls wouldn't let up to give you space to breathe and do so.

"What's that, baby boy?," Yuna said right in your ear, causing you to yelp just a bit. "Shiiit, he likes that, doesn't he?"

The two began peppering your face with kisses again, each one leaving the same hot, burning sensation on your skin before turning cold from their saliva. This time, you could tell their lips were coated in drool, the kind one makes when aroused.

"Say it, baby," Wonyoung urged.

"Fuck," you groaned, "you're both so hot."

"We know," Yuna replied, her hand cupping your groin, right over your balls. "This gave that away." Your hips jolted forward, and Wonyoung joined in by pressing a hand down right over your shaft, held down by your pants. You let out a moan, and the girls bit their lips.

"Say you want us, and we're yours," Wonyoung added

"I like you, Wonyoung," you said aloud, "and I like you, Yuna."

"Hmm, nope," Yuna taunted. "Say you want us." The girls didn't let up with their kissing, laughing each time you tried, and failed, to form a coherent sentence.

"Come on, baby boy," said Wonyoung. "You can do it."

You groaned loudly. "Fuck, I want you both, so bad."

The pair began working their lips past your face, nipping at your earlobes, behind your jaw, right on your neck. You hitched your breath, your hips bucking forward when they hit sensitive parts – still resisted by their hands, slowly working your jeans off you. A slow zipper pull here, a slow unbuttoning there, until your underwear was the only thing holding their hands back from you.

As they slid off you, they urged you to remove your shirt, and you obliged; in no time was your abdomen coated in the glistening sheen of spit and kisses, going lower and closer to the garter of your underwear. You tried to stray your hands to the top of their heads, but Yuna caught one of them before you could. "Us first, baby boy," she purred.

Once they reached your cock, they kissed your shaft through your underwear, the feeling of their moist lips only made tantalizingly evident by the warmth of their breath. They paused again, their faces and their quickened breathing looming just over your manhood.

Wonyoung glanced over to Yuna, biting her lip. "I think he has a lot of feelings to release tonight, Yuna."

"All over our faces?," Yuna hummed.

"Mmm, dripping over our pretty little faces, right baby boy?," Wonyong teased. Yuna licked her lips in excitement.

"You're really good at talking dirty, Wony," Yuna remarked. "You make me wanna touch myself."

"Maybe he wants to watch us do that," Wonyoung replied. "Do you wanna watch us?" You nodded.

The pair then let go of you, sitting up straight again. "Watch," Yuna prompted, and she grabbed Wonyoung's face and started making out with her. The two slowly undid each other's clothes: Yuna let Wonyoung take off her crop top and leggings, while she slid off the straps of Wonyoung's dress.

As they started kissing deeply, you could see their tongues wrestle within their mouths; their hands glided towards each others' petite breasts, each grabbing a handful. Watching them, your hand started gliding over your underwear gripping your shaft through them; Yuna caught you in the act.

"Go ahead, touch yourself. Just don't forget to give it to us," she taunted.

You got up on your sofa and threw down to the floor some pillows you had. "If you're gonna stay down there and touch each other," you gasped, "at least make yourselves comfortable."

Wonyoung gave you a warm smile as Yuna fixed the pillows. "You're so thoughtful, baby."

You overheard Yuna whisper to Wonyoung, "Girl, I've never done this before." Wonyoung playfully slapped Yuna's arm. "Trust the process," she reassured. They laid down on the pillows and opened themselves up, layering their arms over each other to allow them to touch each other. In their position, they had to lean forehead to forehead, the pair still giggly with their situation.

You slid your hand into your underwear fully, pushing it down your legs until it pooled by your feet. The feeling of your cold hands on your hard shaft made you throw your head back.

Wonyoung, seeing your move, grabbed Yuna's face and started to make out with her, their moans muffled into each other's mouths. The formerly silent room was now occupied with the heavy air of sweat and sex, and a perfectly coordinated symphony of gasps and profanities echoing up to the ceiling.

The two broke their staring contest to glare at you, mouths agape – not disgusted or angry, but longing and hungry. Yuna's leg was almost fully in the air, grinding against Wonyoung's hand; Wonyoung's hand, free as she laid on the pillows, grabbed a fistful of her breast, Yuna's hand wildly flicking her clit.

"Fuck, Yuna," Wonyoung started, but barely found herself able to continue her thought.

"God, Wony, fuuu...," Yuna continued, groaning from between gnashed teeth. Wonyoung dove into Yuna's neck, releasing all of her growling.

Your already steady stroking was getting faster as you chased your ecstasy. In brief moments you felt your hips buck forward as they moaned together, or felt your abdomen crunch forward under the twitching of your cock. You groaned behind clemched teeth and gasped for air as you neared your climax, yet desperate to keep it at bay.

"Fuck I'm so close," Wonyoung continued, repeating the words over and over. "Please I'm so close, fuck I wanna cum so fucking bad..."

"Together," Yuna begged her, "you finger me so good, just like that, I'm gonna..."

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!," Wonyoung cried out. Yuna's groans turned into squeals, into a silent, breath-held scream. You could hear the already audible squelching get louder as they finished each other off, their faces contorted into lustful agony.

"Fuck that's it, just like that," you muttered. "I'm so fucking close."

Yuna and Wonyoung, though still catching their breaths, knelt in front of you, rubbing their hands up your thighs, tantalizingly close to your cock.

Yuna's attention was completely on your dick. "Fuck, it looks so good," she said under her breath.

"Show him what you wanna do then," Wonyoung urged, offering her still creamy fingers to Yuna. "Tease him."

Yuna held on to Wonyoung's wrist as she licked it on each side, base to fingertip. She used the sides of her tongue like a shovel, guiding the fluids up to the edge, before inserting just the first digits of her fingers in her mouth. She kept her lips tight as she cleaned it up, pooling it all over her tongue.

Without words exchanged, Wonyoung did the same with Wonyoung's drenched fingers. She inserted each finger in her mouth all the way to the end, lapping up all the squirt that coated Yuna's fingers, before also showing off her tongue. A drop of saliva nearly dripped out, which she hastily aimed over your cockhead. You paused your stroking, and the girls spat onto the top. With lubrication for your hand, you felt your load starting to well up at the base of your groin.

"Hey Yuna, let's move a bit closer," Wonyoung invited. The pair moved up closer between your legs, their arms pressing down on your thighs. Their faces were so close to your groin that their breaths could be felt around your balls. Wonyoung made sure to pull Yuna in close, placing an arm around her, such that their cheeks were pressed on each other. The sight of their faces – and their lips – so close to each other was the last nail in the coffin.

"God you're so fucking pretty, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!," was all you could warn before a huge rope shot onto Wonyoung's forehead, another thick rope on Yuna's cheek and lips, alternating pumps between them. You emptied a day's worth of cum all over them, coating their faces with strings of white. The pair grinned and hummed in satisfaction.

Yuna was the first to start lapping up everything from Wonyoung's face, before she did the same. As they cleaned up each other's cheeks, noses, and lips, their mouths were almost full; when Wonyoung began to kiss Yuna again, drops of the mixed spit and cum dripped off the sides of their mouths. They both went up to your cock and spat on it again, taking turns, one at a time, until it was drenched in the slimy mixture. The cold feeling of the spit easily made you erect

"Still so hard for us, huh?," Yuna remarked, making a light slap to your dick and marveling at your erection. "Our turn."

The two climbed up on the sofa, one on each side, wrapping a leg over yours. Yuna began stroking you while Wonyoung watched, mouth agape. Your dick was already sensitive, and you tried – and failed, because they had locked their legs around yours – to stop squirming and bucking.

"Aww, baby boy," Wonyoung jeered, right up in your ear, "so sensitive already? You can do it. Cum again for us." She opened her hand by the side of your cock, prompting Yuna to grab onto it and slowly jerk you off together, their hands forming a tight, slimy grip on your shaft.

Their stroking started getting faster and faster, their hands lubricated by your cum. The feeling of their fingers rubbing around your head, slamming into your hips, left you in shambles. You could barely perk your head up; using their free hands, Yuna stroked your hair, while Wonyoung rubbed your cheek affectionately, running her thumb across your lips.

"You look so cute like this, baby boy," Yuna whispered. "And your dick looks so good."

"Your cum tasted so good, baby boy," Wonyoung teased. "How about you, Yuna?"

"I would love to have more," Yuna replied. "Do it. Cum for us. Feed us."

"If you really want both of us, you have to cum for us again," Wonyoung added. "We know you want to."

By now your groans were more of a desperate, overwhelmed panting, as you ground your teeth hard to resist the urge to retreat from their quickened stroking.

"Agh, fuck, fuck, AHH!," was all you could say as the sensitivity clouded your thoughts, seeing only their faces longingly begging for your cum. You let out a single loud shout as you came a second time, this time less cum and more squirt (men could do that?!) that you could barely control yourself from releasing. The girls laughed as they saw the cum drip all over their hands, still stroking until your legs shook uncontrollably.

Wonyoung took Yuna's hand and lapped up all the fluids dripping along the back of her hand; Yuna did the same. When they had their fill, they leaned over your chest for a final kiss, smiling at each other as they swallowed everything up.

The two wound down back where you started, planting light kisses around your face. Behind your still closed eyes, you could hear your collective heaving as you caught your breaths, still in silence.

"Good boy," she purred in your ear. You felt a tingle climb up your back. "You did so well."

Yuna traced your jaw with a single finger. "You looked so cute a while ago," she teased. "Does my baby like being called cute?

"Our baby boy," Wonyoung clicked her tongue. "Unless you don't wanna share."

"Slip of the tongue, sheesh," Yuna scoffed. "We'll share him as much as he wants."

Wonyoung kissed your forehead. "What do you want to do now, babe?"

You felt a sudden rush in your knees, an urge to do something more. You let go of your hesitations and let your body move on its own. You got off the couch and knelt in front of them.

"Let me eat you out," you said, no niceties added. The two started breathing excitedly and biting their lips.

"You wanna taste us, baby boy?," Wonyoung asked. You nodded.

"You go first, Wony?," Yuna asked.

"Fuck, you first," she laughed, still a bit out of breath. Yuna stretched her legs, still very much wet from your ordeal. You planted a kiss right above her folds, making Yuna gasp.

You dove in and the tang of sweat and squirt fully coated your tongue on the first lick. You weren't quite sure what you were doing, but Yuna grabbed your hair and guided you.

"Higher up," she said, moaning and pulling your head in deeper when you found the right flap of skin. "FUCK, just like that," she affirmed.

You swirled your tongue around at a steady pace, Yuna's moaning a metronome for your licking. You kept going as she shoved your face in more aggressively; you found the right spot as you flicked your tongue on her swollen clit fast enough to start straining your jaw.

"Oh yes, oh yes, just like that, you're so good, baby boy," she squealed. "Fuck I'm so close already!"

"Look at me, Yuna," you mumbled, and she looked up, her mouth still agape. "Cum for me," you said, muffled while your tongue was still stuck inside of her.

Yuna came with a single, loud whine; she arched her body up, trembling as she rode your face, still held tight in her hand. She let out a heavy sigh as she slowly came down from her climax, her whimpers slowly getting softer.

You looked over at Wonyoung, who had been touching herself to Yuna's orgasm – and looked like she was deep into her own climax. "Fuck that was hot," she commented, "I'm already close."

You started crawling towards her. "Cum all over my face too, please," you replied, as you dug your tongue into her folds, making Wonyoung whelp. You made sure to maintain eye contact just like with Yuna, and Wonyoung held it all the same.

Wonyoung whined as she grabbed on to her breasts, occasionally petting your head with the other. She instinctively had bursts where she'd pull away, but you clung on to her tightly. Though slow, you started licking upwards, like digging out her clit, and Wonyoung's moans climbed in intensity.

"Fuck, you're so good, keep doing that, fuck," Wonyoung exclaimed, "I'm gonna cum!" She let out a soft, high-pitched squeal behind pursed lips, squeezing her legs together and trapping your head in between them. You pushed forward against her resistance, making sure you rode her high, until she pushed you with her hands.

"Fuck, that's enough, holy shit," she cried out, her chest heaving from her climax. Yuna lazily watched, a hand playing with her nipples through her shirt.

You grabbed your shirt and wiped your drenched, spit-covered mouth before climbing back on the couch. You outstretched your arms on either side, prompting the two to move in closer and cuddle. Come here," you urged, and once again, you were back where you three started.

You rubbed their shoulders and back, one in each arm, and gave a kiss to each one's forehead. You hesitated immediately after, though; you weren't anything special to them, maybe you shouldn't be so... intimate.

Wonyoung then held your hand when you stopped. "Keep doing that," she reassured, and you resumed what you could only describe was aftercare.

You leaned over to Wonyoung and gave her a slow and tender kiss on the lips. Yuna started kissing your hand, as if calling for attention. You turned to her and gave her a kiss as well. Wonyoung kissed your hand too, rubbing her free hand all over your chest, sometimes intercepting Yuna's and feeling up her forearm.

The three of you repeated this dance of hands and lips for a while, until everyone slowed down significantly. Yuna smiled at you with eyes heavy. "You're so cute, baby boy," she cooed.

"He is, isn't he, Yuna?," Wonyoung added, her voice low. You felt that tingly feeling again, and it felt nice.

"Maybe we should move to an actual bed, ladies?," you asked.

Wonyoung whined a little. "But we're so comfy here," she said. "Aren't you?"

You gave Wonyoung a smile. "Just a second then," you replied. You tried to wipe down Yuna and Wonyoung's legs with your shirt, and in as few big movements as possible, you pulled up a blanket bunched up to the side of Yuna and draped it over all three of you. Even if everyone was still a mess and very much naked, you decided it wasn't worth ruining this moment to fuss over – it didn't take long for everyone to fall asleep.

When morning struck, everyone was still frozen in their positions: Yuna, one arm draped over your chest; Wonyoung, curled up and still barely holding on to your hand; and you, arms still around them, and very much hung over.

You shuffled a bit and the girls moved around as well, though miraculously not waking them up as you stood up. You grabbed some pillows on the floor and got them to lie their heads on them. You finally put your pants back on, and hobbled your way to the kitchen to try and prepare something. There wasn't much: just some oatmeal and frozen waffles, which you prepared regardless of the niceties.

You brought the tray of assorted goods to the couch, before moving back to the kitchen to make some coffee. You could hear groaning and the shifting of weight on the couch.

"Morning, ladies," you called out. No response, but you heard the clinking around of the plates. Your head was pounding less, but still uncomfortable. Still, you pushed on, taking the first coffee for yourself, helping ease the discomfort. Before you showed yourself to them, you ran to your room to grab a shirt.

As you came back, you found them seated up, the blanket neatly covering them up shoulders down. Wonyoung cupped the bowl of warm oatmeal close, and Yuna gingerly hled a waffle in her hands. You put down the coffees and sat in between them again, crawling into the blanket with them.

Everyone ate in silence, probably the hangover, likely the hunger, but definitely still piecing together what happened.

Wonyoung was the first to cave. "Do you really eat your oatmeal plain?"

"Try this," you muttered, getting up to grab the jar of cinnamon sugar on the tray. Wonyoung took a single teaspoon and sprinkled it over the oatmeal. After a spoonful, she grabbed another.

Yuna scooted up closer to you, leaning on your shoulder. "Last night was nice. Thank you," she said.

"Aww, you got Yuna all affectionate again," Wonyoung remarked, "but she's right. I enjoyed last night. Did you?"

You nodded, still at a loss for how to proceed. Wonyoung looped an arm around your hand, still holding on to her oatmeal.

After another quick round of silence, Yuna quipped. "I never would have thought you'd be so good with your tongue." Wonyoung almost spat out her oatmeal, laughing with a nod.

"Would you believe me if I said that was my first time?," you replied. The two audibly gasped.

"No fucking way," Wonyoung replied, slapping your leg. "You're telling me you made me cum like that on your first try?!"

"Second try!," Yuna butted in, correcting her. "But still, what the fuck. How much porn do you watch?!"

"What?! Excuse you! I don't watch that much porn...," you rebutted. "Though... I guess I learned a thing or two. Maybe I can surprise you a second time with... my hands?"

Yuna held her breath and bit her lip. "God, stop making me horny for you," Yuna responded with a light poke to your ribcage. "You're too cute to just be horny around all the time."

There the word was again: cute. With all the lust out of your system, you felt the same bubbling, tingling feeling welling up in your chest in full force.

"Told you she thought you were cute," Wonyoung chided, "and here you were worrying about going on a date with her!"

"I literally told you to go out with me more," Yuna pouted at you. "But no, you wanted to go out with Wony."

"Aww," Wonyoung teased, for the first time sarcastically. "Is someone jealous he might have a favorite?"

"Ugh, says you," Yuna taunted. "Look at you, calling him babe all day yesterday."

"Girls," you tried to interject.

"You started it!," Wonyoung retorted.

"Nah, you just wanna keep him for yourself, don't you?," said Yuna.

"What? No," Wonyoung replied, though the dismissiveness was barely convincing. "But, if you aren't taking him, I will."

You cleared your throat. "Um, ladies! If I may..." you started. Wonyoung now moved closer, wrapping her arm around yours.

"I don't... want things to be awkward," you continued. "And I don't want you guys to like... fight. Over... me?"

Wonyoung held a hand to your cheek, warming it up. "Hey, we're just kidding! We wouldn't fight, most definitely not over you."

"Don't take that the wrong way," Yuna butted in. "I think you're cute, but I wouldn't mind hanging out with you more first. Over drinks, to the mall. Get to know you more."

"I also think you're really nice to be around," Wonyoung added, "and would also love to go out with you. But like... on actual dates, if you get what I mean." She leaned her head on your shoulder.

"Awww," Yuna teased, mocking Wonyoung, who shushed her. "I mean, I don't see a problem with you having him, Wony," Yuna continued. "Though maybe I would like to ask for permission to... borrow him, sometimes."

"I would love to share him with you, Yuna," Wonyoung replied, a little mischievously. Yuna laughed under her breath. "I'm not clingy. Just randomly needy," Wonyoung added.

By now, blood was rushing to your head, your ears still hot with that indescribable feeling, that cavity-on-your-chest sensation on full

blast. But Yuna and Wonyoung simultaneously went up to your cheeks to plant a light peck, and you felt the cavity go away, now just a warm fuzzy feeling again. "See? Peace on earth," Wonyoung reassured.

"Don't get too excited now," Yuna remarked, flicking your thigh and drawing attention to the erection you tried to ignore the whole time.

"Oh come on, Yuna," Wonyoung rebutted. "Maybe our baby boy here is just excited with our little arrangement, aren't you?" You groaned at the pet name.

"Can we maybe save that exclusively for the bedroom?," you chided. "It does make me horny, for the record."

"Nope," Wonyoung replied excitedly. "You're my – our – baby boy."

"You really like being called that?," Yuna asked, stroking the top of your head. "You're literally older than us."

You felt yourself physically shrink. "Only by a few months!," you retorted. "But... is it be weird if I said I liked it if you kept patting my head like that?"

"Not at all," Wonyoung replied, kissing your cheek again. "You're so cute."

"Kinky little shit," Yuna slapped your thigh. "But I'm into it."

All conversation ceased when Wonyoung's cellphone rang. She let go of everything to reach for the table. "Hello?," Wonyoung began. After a few thank yous, okays, and will dos, she hung up.

"Well guys, some news," Wonyoung said, everyone's breaths held. "We have another project, a brand shoot."

"When's it due?," you responded.

"End of the week, don't worry, we got time," Wonyoung replied. "But... we get to go to a beach resort!" Yuna clapped her hands excitedly.

"Guess that makes it worth the trouble then," you remarked. "It'll be a nicer place to work."

"With nicer views," Wonyoung added.

"And nicer beds," Yuna sighed.

You all paused, a single shared thought slowly forming between the three of you.

"So... your fingers?," Yuna teased.

"Can't wait, baby boy," Wonyoung cooed.

"Stop," you replied, a smirk plastered on your face.

—————

A/N: for the first time in a few years after lurking and reading, i finally finished something new. hoping i can actually finish a few more ive had drafted for a while now. 加油 or something like that

[bangtanbeom]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends and your ex? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: hi! welcome to another story (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ i had this idea for years and recently i've been reading so many fake dating webtoons and it motivated me to finally start writing this one! and i thought soobin would be a perfect fit for the perfect boyfriend image. i'm excited how this one will turn out! enjoy <3

the cafe buzzed with chatter, the scent of vanilla lattes and fresh pastries filling the air. you stirred your iced coffee absentmindedly, half-listening to your friend's conversation—until mina leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"so," she said, tapping her nails against the table. "i met this amazing guy at the gym last week. tall, sweet, works in finance. you have to meet him."

you sighed, already knowing where this was going. "mina, no."

"oh, come on!" jia chimed in, nudging your arm. "you ghosted every guy after the blind dates and you're rarely out of the house since you got dumped. it's been months!"

"and i'm fine with that," you said, though the words tasted hollow even to you.

mina scoffed. "liar. you've been buried in work, and your idea of fun friday night is rewatching 'reply 1988' alone. again."

you opened your mouth to argue, but jia cut in before you. "just one more blind date. if you hate him, we'll never bring it up again."

a headache was forming between your temples. you loved your friends, but their relentless matchmaking was exhausting, and you knew they would definitely bring it up again. before you could think better of it, the words tumbled out.

"i am seeing someone."

silence.

mina's spoon clattered against her cup. jia's eyes widened.

"what?" they said in unison.

your stomach dropped. you hadn't planned this—there was no name, no face, just the desperate need to make them stop.

jia recovered first. "since when? who is he? why haven't you mentioned him before?"

"it's... new," you hedged, scrambling for details. "we're taking it slow."

they exchanged glances, and you braced yourself for interrogation—but then mina's expression softened. "well... we're happy for you. seriously."

jia nodded. "but you have to bring him to the dinner next week. you know, the one where he might show up."

your ex. the one who'd made you feel small, replaceable. the reason you'd taken a break from dating in the first place.

a cold knot formed in your chest. you couldn't show up alone. you weren't ready to face him, especially when you were still hurt.

"of course," you heard yourself say. "he'll be there."

as your friends cheered, your mind raced.

what have i just done?

you had exactly eight days to find the perfect boyfriend.

and he didn't even exist.

the moment you stepped into your apartment, the weight of your lie crashed down on you.

eight days.

eight days to produce a boyfriend out of thin air—one charming enough to convince your friends everything's going well, impressive enough to make your ex regret everything, and believable enough to not get caught in your own web.

you groaned and face-planted onto the couch.

"this is a disaster."

your phone buzzed. a text from mina.

mina: can't wait to meet your mystery man! tell me everything about him!!

you stared at the screen, your fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. what could you say? that your imaginary boyfriend was tall? kind? had a nice voice? that was all you had—vague traits you'd daydreamed about but had never actually found in real life.

you typed back:

you: haha i'll tell you more later!

and immediately threw your phone across the couch like it had burned you.

the next morning, you dragged yourself to work, dark circles under your eyes from a night spent spiraling. your coworker, yeonjun, took one look at you and whistled.

"wow. who died?"

"my dignity," you muttered, slumping into your chair.

he rolled his chair closer, intrigued. "okay, drama queen. spill."

you hesitated. but yeonjun was the king of bad decisions—if anyone had advice on digging yourself out of a hole, it was him.

so you told him.

his eyebrows shot up. then burst out laughing.

"oh my god. you actually told them you had a boyfriend?"

"shut up." you hissed, glancing around the office. "i panicked!"

yeonjun wiped a tear from his eye. "okay, okay. so just... find a guy to pretend for one night. easy."

you blinked. "easy?"

"yeah! get a friend to do it. or—" his eyes lit up. "oh! rent one."

you stared at him. "a boyfriend?"

"yeah! it's a thing. there are, like, agencies for that. super professional." he pulled out his phone. "look, here's one—'perfect match rentals.' they specialize in fake dates, events, all that."

your stomach twisted. was this really your only option?

yeonjun smirked. "unless you wanna tell them you lied?"

you shuddered. no. absolutely not. they'd never let you live it down. you already dug the hole for yourself—too deep. and let's not start about your ex.

with a deep breath, you nodded.

"fine. let's rent me a boyfriend."

yeonjun swiped through his phone with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. "okay, let's see what we've got here. perfect match rentals—professional, discreet, and way too many good-looking guys."

you leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. the agency's website was sleek, polished and slightly intimidating. rows of profiles stared back at you—smiling, smoldering, some even holding puppies for maximum charm.

"this feels illegal," you muttered.

yeonjun scoffed. "illegal would be if we were hiring a hitman. this is just... strategic dating."

you shot him a look.

he grinned. "relax. think of it like ordering food. you're just picking the perfect dish for the occasion."

you sighed. "fine. let's see the menu."

yeonjun tapped the first profile. "ooh, check out jackson. 29, business man, speaks three languages. his tagline is literally: 'impress your collegues—or your ex.'"

you squinted at the photo of a sharp-jawed man in a tailored suit. "he looks like he owns a yacht."

"exactly! your ex would hate that."

"yeah, but he also looks like he'd side-eye me for using the wrong fork."

yeonjun snorted. "okay, fair. next!" he swiped. "oh! jaeyun. 25, specialty: 'the kind your mom would love to.' look at his smile! he probably bakes cookies."

you tilted your head. "he's cute, but..."

"but what?"

"i don't need a golden retriever in human form. my ex would think i downgraded to a puppy."

yeonjun groaned. "you're impossible." swipe. "alright, how about taehyung? 27, 'mysterious artist' vibe. look at that smolder."

in the photo, a brooding guy in all black stared moodily at the camera, a paintbrush behind his ear.

you deadpanned. "i don't need my fake boyfriend giving me cryptic one-word answers all night."

"ugh, fine." yeonjun scrolled furter, muttering. "sweet but not boring, handsome but not intimidating, confident but not arrogant..." then he froze.

"oh."

you frowned. "what?"

he turned the screen toward you.

the profile photo showed a guy with soft, warm eyes and a dimpled smile that felt like spring. he wasn't posing dramatically—just leaning against a cafe chair, looking at the camera like he already knew you.

name: soobin age: 24 specialty: the boyfriend experience

your breath caught.

yeonjun's voice dropped to a whisper. "damn."

you swallowed. "he's..."

"exactly what you need," yeonjun finished, grinning.

you hesitated. "but what if he's too good? what if my friends think i'm lying because there's no way someone like him would date me?"

yeonjun rolled his eyes. "first of all, rude to yourself. second—that's the point. he's supposed to make it believable." he tapped the screen. "look at his reviews. five star across the board. 'made my parents adore him.' 'had my ex seething with jealousy.' 'felt like a real relationship.'

you bit your lip.

yeonjun smirked. "so... should i book him?"

you took a deep breath.

"do it."

yeonjun's fingers flew across his phone screen with terrifying enthusiasm. "aaand—booked." he grinned at you, satisfied. "you're officially getting a fake boyfriend."

your stomach flipped. "wait, already? what did you even put in the request?"

"relax," he said, waving his phone. "just the basics—dinner with friends, ex will be there, need someone to make you look like the ultimate glow-up." he scrolled through the confirmation email. "oh, and he'll meet you tomorrow at 6 PM to go over details."

you nearly choked. "tomorrow?!"

yeonjun shrugged. "professionalism, baby. this guy doesn't mess around."

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "i can't believe i'm doing this.

"believe it," yeonjun said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "by the time next week, your ex will be crushed, your friends will be shocked, and you—" he poked your cheek. "—will owe me big for saving your ass."

you swatted him away, but a nervous laugh escaped. "this is either going to be the best decision of my life or a spectacular disaster."

yeonjun winked. "best part? either way, it'll be entertaining. for me."

the glow of your phone screen was the only light in the darkened room, casting long shadows across the piled of discarded clothing thrown over your bed. you stared at the text from mina, the words blurring as your eyes burned from lack of sleep.

mina: omg he said yes?? so he's coming? super funn!

you tossed the phone aside with a groan, letting it sink into the sea of fabric surrounding you. the digital clock on your nightstand ticked over to 1:18 AM, the red numbers glowing in the darkness.

"this is ridiculous," you muttered to the empty room, flopping back onto the mattress. a misplaced coat hanger stabbing into your shoulder, and you batted it away with more force than necessary.

the ceiling fan spun lazy circles above you as your mind raced through the same exhausting loop it had been stuck in for hours.

outfit. story. backstory. cancellation.

a nervous laugh bubbled up as you imagines explaining this to someone.

i'll be meeting my fake boyfriend tomorrow to plan our fake relationship for a dinner where my very real ex will be watching.

your phone buzzed again.

yeonjun: stop overthinking and go to sleep. you have a hot date tomorrow.

you scowled at the message.

you: it's NOT a date. it's a business meeting.

yeonjun: sure. whatever helps you sleep at night.

you rolled onto your stomach, burying your face in a pillow that smelled faintly of fabric softener and regret. the scent reminded you of laundry day, which reminded you of chores, which reminded you of all the very normal, very boring things you should be worrying about instead of this elaborate charade.

the sweater you'd tried on earlier—the soft cream one with the delicate embroidery at the collar—laid crumpled near your feet. it had been the frontrunner before the great wardrobe purge of midnight. classy but casual. approachable but put together. the perfect 'i didn't try too hard but still want to make a good impression' outfit.

not that you were trying to impress anyone.

except, well.

you groaned again, louder this time, as if the sound could exorcise the butterflies staging a rebellion in your stomach.

a glance at the clock. 1:37 AM

with a sudden burst of determination, you sat up and grabbed your laptop. the screen flared to life, illuminating your tired face in the dark room.

"backstory," you muttered to yourself, fingers hovering over the keys. "we need a believable backstory."

the blank document stared back at you, cursor blinking expectantly.

how did we meet?

your fingers tapped out possibilities:

coffee shop (cliche)

mutual friends (vague)

work connection (too easy to fact check)

you deleted them all with a frustrated backspace barrage.

the reality of what you were doing settled over you like a heavy blanket. you were about to pay a stranger to pretend care about you. to look at you with affection that wasn't real. to spin lies so convincing your closest friends would believe them.

your fingers stilled on the keyboard.

maybe you should cancel.

the thought brought both relief and a strange pang of disappointment. you could text yeonjun right now, tell him to call it off. you'd face the teasing from your friends, sure, but at least you wouldn't be living this lie.

your phone buzzed again, startling you.

unknown number: hi, this is soobin from perfect match. looking forward to meeting you tomorrow at 6. let me know if you have any special requests for our backstory.

your breath caught.

he texted like a normal person. no corporate speak, no weird formality.

you stared at the message, thumbs hovering over the screen. what did one say to their rented significant other?

looking forward to being fake-dating you?

before you could overthink it, you typed:

you: hi! likewise, no special requests—just need to survive dinner with my ex.

you hit sent before you could second-guess yourself, then immediately cringed.

"survive dinner with my ex?" you muttered. "what are you, twelve?"

the three dots appeared almost immediately.

soobin: ah, the classic revenge fake-dating scenario. don't worry. i've got plenty of experience making exes regret their life choices.

a surprised laugh escaped you

you: that's weirdly comforting.

soobin: that's what i'm here for. see you tomorrow. try to get some sleep.

you stared at the message, something warm yet nerve-wrecking feeling unfurling in your chest. maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

closing the laptop, you finally turned off the light. outside the window, the city hummed its nighttime lullaby, and for the first time that evening, your mind grew quiet too.

tomorrow would come, with all its complications and charades. but for now, in the dark, you let yourself imagine—just for a moment—what might feel like to have someone like soobin, just someone in general, look at you like you were the only person in the room.

even if it was all pretend.

the cafe was too bright.

that was your first thought as you hovered outside the entrance, fingers nervously adjusting the strap of your bag for the twelfth time in two minutes. the afternoon sun glinted off the glass windows, making the entire establishment look like it was under a spotlight—which, of course, only amplified your growing sense of dread.

this was a mistake.

you checked your phone again. 5:58 PM. two minutes early.

your stomach twisted.

you could still leave. you should leave. this whole thing was absurd. who hired a boyfriend? who pretended to be in a relationship just to save face in front of their ex?

you... apparently.

with a deep breath, you pushed open the door.

the scent of roasted coffee beans and warm pastries wrapped around you as you stepped inside. it was cozy—wooden tables, soft jazz playing in the background, the low hum of conversations. a few people glanced up as you entered, and you immediately stiffened, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you felt.

was it obvious why you were here?

you swallowed hard and scanned the room.

then you saw him.

soobin.

he was sitting near the back, one hand curled around a coffee cup, the other tapping idly on his phone. he looked... normal.

not in a bad way. just—human?

no flashy suit, no over-the-top charm oozing from his posture. just a guy in a soft-looking sweater, his hair slightly messy like he'd run a hand through it one too many times.

and then he looked up.

your breath hitched.

his eyes—warm, brown, kind—met yours, and for a second, you forgot how to move.

then he smiled.

not a practiced, customer-service smile. not a smirk. just a small, genuine tilt of his lips, like he was happy to see you.

it threw you off completely.

you forced your legs to work, weaving through the tables until you stood awkwardly in front of him.

"hi," you said, voice slightly too high. "you're soobin, right?"

he nodded, setting his phone down. "yeah. and you must be my date for next weekend."

his voice was deeper than you expected. calm. steady.

you nodded, then realized you were just standing there like an idiot.

"right. yeah. should i—" you gestured awkwardly at the chair across from him.

"please," he said, motioning for you to sit.

you did, gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

it lasted approximately three seconds.

three agonizing seconds where you stared at your hands, at the table, at the wall behind him—anywhere but at him—while he just... waited. patient. unfazed.

finally, you blurted out:

"this is weird."

soobin blinked. then, to your surprise, he laughed—a soft, warm sound.

"yeah," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "it kind of is."

the honestly caught you off guard.

"you're not going to pretend this is totally normal?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he shrugged. "would you believe me if i did?"

"...no."

"exactly." he took a sip of his coffee. "so. let's just acknowledge it's weird, and then move on."

you exhaled, shoulders loosening slightly. "okay. yeah. that helps."

another silence.

"so," you tried again, "how long have you been, uh, doing this?"

"renting myself out as a fake boyfriend?"

you cringed. "when you say it like that, it sounds bad."

he grinned. "about a year. mostly for events like this—dinners, parties, the occasional family gathering."

"do you... like it?"

"it pays well," he said simply. then, after a pause, "and sometimes, it's nice. helping people out, i mean."

you studied him. there was something in his tone—not quite sadness, but... understanding. like he got why someone would do this.

"so," he said, setting his cup down, "tell me about this dinner."

you sighed, rubbing your temples. "right. okay. so my ex is going to be there—"

"right, yes. revenge."

you shot him a look. "it's not revenge. it's just... a lie that got out of hand." you trailed off.

"sounds like revenge." he supplied, smirking.

you groaned. "fine. maybe a little."

he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "i'm listening."

and so you explained—the lie, your friends, the never-ending blind dates, the way your stomach churned at the thought of showing up alone while he got to parade around with his new girlfriend—the same girl he had cheated on you with.

soobin nodded along, his expression shifting between amusement and something softer—sympathy, maybe.

when you finished, he hummed. "okay. so we need a backstory."

"right."

"how did we meet?"

you hesitated. "i was thinking... coffees shop?"

he raised an eyebrow. "like this?"

"too obvious?"

"a little." he tapped his fingers against the table. "what about... a bookstore? you were reaching for the same book, we got to talking..."

you blinked. "that's... actually kind of cute."

"i have my moments," he said dryly, but there was a playful glint in his eyes.

"okay, bookstore it is," you agreed, "and we've been dating for...?"

"two months. long enough to be serious, not so long that it's weird they haven't met me yet."

you nodded, scribbling notes in your phone like this was some kind of bizarre business meeting.

"what do i do for work?" he asked.

"something impressive but not too impressive," you mused. "graphic designer?"

"perfect. and you?"

"same as real life. marketing."

he grinned. for the first time since you'd walked in, your shoulders loosened. maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

as you wrapped up the details—favorite foods, pet peeves, how you like your coffee—you caught yourself laughing at something he said.

laughing.

with your fake boyfriend.

the absurdity of it all hit you again, but this time, it didn't feel like panic. it felt like... fun.

soobin leaned back in his chair, studying you with an amused expression. "you're not as nervous anymore."

you blinked. "i'm not?"

"nope. your shoulders dropped about ten minutes ago."

you hadn't even noticed.

"guess you're just that good at your job," you muttered.

he smiled—not the polite one from earlier but something warmer. "or maybe you're just not as awkward as you think you are."

you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but smile.

"so," he said, finishing the last of his coffee, "we good for next week?"

you took a deep breath. "yeah. we're good."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[theamberparadise]

MASKY THIRSTS

includes three NSFW drabbles/mini-fics. read at your own risk.

TWs; gun fucking, loooooooots of bl00d and bl00d play, gun play, degradation, choking, mentions of fistfight, slapping k1nk, mentions of masky m45turb4t1ng to snuff, hoodie being an asshole lmao

A/N; my fingers are on the keyboard again.... my fingers are on the keyboard again......

DISCLAIMER! these are very badly written as I have little grasp on what I want Masky's character to be in my AU. please forgive me for this!! i genuinely did not know where to go for these. PS; i hope you dont mind the new divider!

After hearing rumors of you having sex with Hoodie for extra "perks" around the mansion, Masky pulls you inside his personal liquor room with a gun to your head. Out of pure pettiness and annoyance, you unbutton your polo shirt and guide his revolver down inside your pants before you start grinding your clothed clit against the muzzle.

"You fucking bitch," he slams the opening of the gun against your temple. He has your collar pulling towards him, his pointer finger threatening to curl against the trigger.

The cold, hard edge of his makeshift bar table presses against the back of your thighs as you tried to pull away-- the yellow overhead lights flashing your sight in the process.

It was all a harmless rumor.

Not to Masky, it wasn't.

It all started with Hoodie trying to get you into bed with him. Of course you wouldn't be so gullible as to actually get through a night with a cocky asshole who repeatedly tries to install secret cameras inside your bathroom to watch you shower.

So after you rejected him, he retaliated. By the forms of rumors.

You, apparently, made out with him in a closet just to get the good pods of coffee hidden in the drawers. You also gave him a blowjob so he can provide you with extra protection during missions. And finally, the most ridiculous one of all-- you fucked him last night so you could get by breaking a few rules in the mansion without being reprimanded.

At first, you laughed at the stories. You didn't even bother correcting them, because you really can't change what people think of you. This was a lesson you learned long before you arrived in The Operator's domain.

But when Masky started bumping into you while in the halls, staring you down during meetings, scoffing whenever you try to speak about something, and giving shallow "compliments" about your clothes, you start getting frustrated with him.

You tried to tell him you never really made out with Hoodie, or even came close to giving him a blowjob, but he never really budged. You started wondering if him and Hoodie were an item, and yet you never got a clear answer.

That is, until the latest rumor.

You were peacefully walking towards the mansion library to return a few books you used as a step-stool to fix a light in your bedroom before Masky started storming towards you. You stopped in your steps, before dropping the books due to him dragging you by the collar inside the room beside you.

Everything happened in such little time. You wince in pain after feeling the back of your hips hit against the wooden bar table, and before you knew it he was shoving a gun in front of your face.

Your feet were hanging off the floor as you sat on the hard wood you unwillingly were shoved on. You could feel Masky's breath take in heaps of air as if he was trying to breathe in any fear you had to offer, but all you can give is pure hatred-- and maybe a little bit of adrenaline. And a tiny smidge of arousal.

"Do you even know of anything that I have done for you?" he hissed. The sound of his voice being muffled by the mask was nothing but an open barrier that couldn't hold back the venom that his voice was soaked in.

The opening of the gun was so firm against your skull you were sure it was bruised beyond hell.

"Do you know how many vicious little shits I've almost died from the effort of saving your ass?"

"You didn't even-- hck!-- have to do that, you fucking-- unck!-- asshole!" You choked out. You can remember all the times he "saved" you without even needing to, hurling at targets that weren't even close to harming you, restraining frail victims even when he knows they can't even land a scratch on you.

You thought it was funny. You didn't know if he was trying to show off in front of you or just being concerningly twitchy.

The thought of this brings a slight smile to your face. "What were you even trying to do anyway? Showing off or-- ack!-- what?"

Masky growled. You can hear his gloves almost break against the grip of his gun. "I was protecting you. Saving you. And for once, you couldn't even say thank you, let alone fuck my co-worker!"

His screams flood your ears. Then he laughs.

"So it's just like that, huh? Use me as a human shield, then run along and sit on some unworthy dick that doesn't even come close to making you cum." his voice was low and deadly.

You spit on his mask, earning a hard jolt from him. "That isn't even fucking true! He made that shit up just to spite me!" he stayed silent.

"You just keep jumping on conclusions don't you!?" you attempt to kick him but he doesn't budge. "Thinking I'm in danger then proceed to steal my kills, you really are fucking delusional!" you chided.

He doesn't peep a word. Just his breathing. His cold, ragged breathing. His eyes look like they're trying to hold something back.

Something that escapes its bars, and turn into a famished, hungry animal.

Then, a voice.

"You don't know how much effort I've put in for you." he muttered. A confused expression washes over your face.

"How much effort-- how much shit I had to do so I can get your fucking attention." his grip on the gun tightened at each syllable.

"How many kills, how many missions, how much blood do I have to spill just to get a simple 'Good morning Masky', or maybe even just a smile from you?" you felt your spine shiver at his sick impression of you saying good morning to him.

Suddenly, something clicked. It all made sense now. The way he gets extra filthy in blood after missions, insisting to team up with you, your stolen kills...

Fucking hell.

You don't know whether to feel terrified or flattered, though you find yourself leaning onto the latter.

A smile creeps onto your face once again, your canines shining at him.

"You want attention?" you chided. "I'll give you attention, you fucking bastard," with a swift motion, your hands shoot upon the first button of your polo shirt, looping the white circle out of the small hole before moving down and unbuttoning another one.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Masky rasped, his grip on the gun slowly lightening up as a full view of your pink, lacy bra greets him.

"Paying you some attention," by this time your shirt was fully open, your torso doing a little dance for him. "Am I doing a good job, sir?" you purred, giving him you sickly-sweet doe-eyes as your fingers grazed over his leather belt.

With a steady hand, you gently reach up to were he was holding the gun. And for a second, you feel him seize his grip, before letting up just slightly-- once again.

Ever so slowly, you pull the gun down, deeper, further, until it's inside your waistband.

Masky breathed. You can feel his adrenaline radiating off of you as his gaze traveled down to the gun-- his gun-- in your pants.

You let him take the sight in before starting to rut your hips, making him jolt. He moves closer, before rubbing his boner against the little space of the table in between your thighs. You snicker.

"You better shut the fuck up before I pull the trigger, brat," he hissed, instinctively pushing the gun further in, and when you feel the deepened, contact, you moan.

"Fuck, you like that, don't you?" he mocked. "You like my fucking revolver inside your cunt?"

You nod, keeping eye contact with him. "Yes sir, yes sir," you babbled.

You keep grinding your clit against the cold metal. You can feel yourself dripping, you were sure you created a puddle by now.

A minute goes by with you just desperately tribbing your needy hole against a weapon that killed many. You don't know when Masky's other hand pulled down the waistband by your belt loops to get a better view-- revealing your very soaked laced panties, with some of the slick seeping out and onto the gun.

The sight turned you on even more, you can feel your nipples hardening under the padded fabric you still had on.

Soon enough, you feel your head throw back as you welcomed your orgasm. Your mouth dropped open and your eyes closed shut, screaming his name and babbling about how you were so close to cumming.

You hear a chuckle, before feeling the gun ramming inside your still-clothed hole, making you shriek in ecstasy.

Your legs shake like a deadly earthquake. And he didn't stop there-- no. Masky kept on furthering the gun in, earning short bursts of gasps from you.

"Fuck-- fuck, ah!--" you writhed against him. "Masky! Fuck--"

"That isn't my name." he threatened like a curse. "That isn't what you should call me." you could practically sense his grin. "I'm better than that playboy motherfucker, aren't I?"

You can't think straight. "Amma--mgonna--ungh!---"

"Say it right, sweetheart, or else I might just pull the trigger." the sound of his finger squeezing the metal sent delicious goosebumps up your spine.

Your lips trembled. "Y-yes-- yes, sir. Yes, sir."

Drunken bickering gone wrong has you slapping Masky out of anger after a bloody fist fight between you two, inside an abandoned shed, but when he slaps your face back, you moan.

It's hot. Everything is hot.

Your ribs ache. Your arms ache. Your legs ache.

You're pretty sure you're covered in bruises by now, but it definitely isn't only you.

You could only remember what led up to this point, a small, snarky comment from him was countered by one of yours after an almost jeopardized mission. Then, one after another, insults were hurled between you and him until you slap his face after having a gnarly punching match, knocking his mask off onto the floor.

He froze, his figure hunched over while his fists tightened while his eyes remain fixed on the fallen mask. You stepped back, mustering up an apology and a back up move.

You choose the first option.

"Shit. Look I didn't mean to--" you were interrupted by his meaty hands on your neck, plummeting you to the cement wall behind you, a pained grunt escaping your busted lips.

You look up against the bright, mellow ceiling light, a shadow of Masky's raised arm blocking the off-white glow. Your eyes pressed firmly shut, the pain striking your cheek sharply.

When the strike hit, your cunt flutters so suddenly, a small pool of wet staining your panties. Your breath hitches, then you inhale, and you moan.

"Oh, fuck," you breathed. You can feel your thighs rub together while your eyes clamp shut-- unaware that another pair was looking right down at you. Your hips unconsciously rut up and down, desperately grinding on nothing.

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" Masky spat. His grip on your neck curls tighter, making you cough against the restriction of air.

You open your eyes to find him staring you down in angry shock. Before you could respond, he speaks again. "Are you that much of a dirty whore in heat to be turned on by me slapping the shit outta your face?"

Your eyes furrowed in returned frustration. "Says the one who jacks off to snuff films in the bathroom," you pique.

That statement earns you another slap from him, making you moan once more-- except this time, it's more drawn out.

"Fucking masochist," he chuckles darkly. "That's sexy as fuck." he leans in closer to your face, studying your turned on expression.

With a rough pull, he drags your neck and tosses you on the floor as he watched you gasp and cough, before caging your body with his.

He reaches to his side, grabbing his discarded mask and putting it on once again, earning a scoff from you.

"You always looked so fucking dumb with that shit on," you hissed, giggling a bit while your mind hazed out by the second.

"Shut the fuck up, brat," the nickname was barbed with spikes before both of his hands reached down to rip your shirt open while he forces his knee to your crotch. He's breathing heavily, like a coyote finally catching its meal.

"Y'know, I might actually think we're meant for each other, baby," his voice stings like alcohol. "I like pain, you like pain..." his hand strikes at you again, making you howl in pure bliss.

"We're fucking perfect together."

After managing to slaughter a cult against The Operator, you make out with Masky in the middle of the corpses both of you just murdered, all the while both of you are unapologetically soaked in red blood. After you two are naked, he brands his name onto your body in the red that you both had spilled.

You knew he couldn't hold back much longer when he started sucking your tongue like it was candy in the midst of an after-mission ritual.

After a few one-night stands with him here and there, you learned that it was his way of relaxing after committing manslaughter, a much preferred method of his over masturbating.

The sounds both of your lips made was nothing short of unholy.

And you were soaked in blood. Your clothes, parts of your face, hell, even your hair is soaked.

He was no different, chunks of his brown hair were also damp with red, his jacket, his mask...

It did nothing but turn you on even more.

He pulled away from your lips to get some air, his mask only slightly tilted to the side to reveal his lips but so he can still see. And before you say anything, you were interrupted by him pushing you onto the floor before he kneels down.

You grin at him while you felt your jacket being torn off of you, uncovering your white sports bra-- now also stained with splotches of blood, and your bare torso.

The floor was a sickening red because of how much blood your victims let out, and by the time you laid down, your hair is completely soaked.

You're laying on a floor, inch deep with blood.

The back of your sports bra and your shorts were already wet, crimson leaking up to the side of the fabrics. Masky's pants were no different.

You reach up and undress Masky too, leaving him shirtless in the cold air. Then, you dip your hand in the deep red puddle beside you and smeared him in red. You moan at the sight, giggling shortly after seeing a silhouette of your hand imprinted on his chest.

Masky raises his hand off the floor and swipes across your abdomen, leaving behind a trail of red. He reaches down and starts kissing you once again, the sounds of your tongues squelching together was enough to make your cunt flutter.

You moan against him, feeling his blood-soaked hand cup your tit through your bra.

He raises his other hand and reaches down your shorts, fingers slithering inside your panties until they enter your sopping hole.

Masky took his fingers out after breaking the messy kiss, before bringing his slick-covered fingers to your mouth.

"Suck." he commands.

You reach your tongue out and lick his two fingers, a tang of metal from the blood that was already on his fingers laying onto your tongue before you take his digits into your mouth, before bobbing your head up slowly, making a loud pop that reverberated inside the room.

"Good girl," he coos. You and him were covered in a disgusting amount of blood that wasn't either of yours. Suddenly, he lifts up your thigh, slightly turning it to the side to get a better view. One hand was holding the bend between your knee and calf while the other reaches down.

Then, he dips his pointer finger into the crimson puddle, raising the dripping red to your thigh, firmly pressing on what felt like... letters?

He draws an M, then an A. He dips his fingers again, then an S, a K, an a final dip, before a Y makes an imprint on your thigh.

You breathed, both in amusement and attraction.

"You want everybody to see that?" you purred. Masky clicks his tongue before responding.

"Mine," he rasps.

You grin. "Yours."

[anything-pov]

Can you write Emily helping Reader with a clogged milk duct

(had a baby a week ago?)

The Clogged Duct 😬

The night was quiet, for once. Their daughter, Grace, had finally gone down for more than an hour, swaddled, fed, and with that tiny fist curled against her cheek.

Emily Prentiss had never known silence could feel so delicate. Like any sudden sound might shatter the illusion of peace. She was halfway through brushing her teeth when she heard the soft, broken call from their bedroom.

"Em..."

The tremble in Y/N's voice pulled her instantly. She dropped her toothbrush into the sink and padded barefoot across the hall. The room was dim, only the soft flow of the nightlight painting the room.

Y/N was sitting upright on the bed, one hand curled protectively around her left breast, the other bracing her against the mattress. Her eyes were damp.

"It hurts," she whispered, "It's so blocked... I've tried massaging, pumping. Nothing's working." Emily crossed the room in three quick strides, settling beside her without hesitation.

She gently touched Y/N's knee, grounding her first. "Okay," she said softly, "Let me help, baby." Y/N gave a shaky nod, blinking against fresh tears.

"It's hot and it's sore... and I-I feel like I've failed already. It's only been a week." Y/N whimpered, tears pooling and gently falling. "Hey. No," Emily said immediately, brushing a piece of damp hair from her partner's cheek.

“You’re feeding our baby with your body. You’re doing something incredible. This is just… a bump. One we’ll handle together.” Emily kissed her forehead, then her temple, “Let’s fix this.”

Y/N let out a breath and leaned into her for just a moment. They moved to the bathroom where Emily ran a clean towel under warm water, wrung it out, then carefully folded it.

When she pressed it to Y/N's breast, she watched her partner flinch, then relax slightly into the warmth. “You’re sure?” Emily asked. “I read I can try to help manually if you’re okay with that."

Y/N nodded, cheeks flushed. “I trust you. I just… I really need this to stop hurting.” Emily sat on the edge of the tub, focused and gentle as she worked.

Her touch was clinical, but laced with the kind of care only someone madly in love could offer. She used her knuckles and thumbs just like the guides had said, working slowly from behind the clog toward the nipple, in tiny, steady circles.

She could feel the tension in Y/N's thighs, the tremble in her legs. “I’m here,” Emily whispered. “Just breathe. You’re safe.” Tears pricked Y/N's eyes again, but for a different reason now.

Minutes passed. The warmth of the compress, the firm and loving massage, and eventually, finally, a sudden release. A slow, startling flow.

Y/N let out a noise somewhere between relief and disbelief, her shoulders collapsing forward. “Oh my god,” she murmured, laughing and crying all at once. “It’s working. Emily... it’s working.”

Emily smiled, brushing a kiss to her partner’s shoulder. “Of course it is. I’ve got you.” When it was done, when Y/N had cleaned up and nestled back under the covers, Emily returned with a fresh glass of water, a new towel, and a heating pad.

“You are,” she said, brushing her fingers over Y/N's hair, “the strongest person I’ve ever known. You don’t have to do this alone. Not ever.” Y/N blinked slowly, already half-asleep.

“I know,” she whispered, “I married you.”

Emily climbed in beside her, pulling her close, one hand resting protectively over Y/N's belly, the other brushing against her healing chest.

Outside, the world kept turning. But here, in this quiet room with a sleeping baby in the next, love looked like warm compresses and whispered comfort in the dark.

And Emily wouldn’t have it any other way.

[pomefioredove]

Can I have a sugar cookie, #5, with chocolate chips, whipped cream and powdered sugar?

thank you for waiting so patiently! <3

order #5, sugar with whipped cream, chocolate chips, powdered sugar

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ an easy solution

summary: accidentally chosen as kalim's spouse-to-be tropes: royalty au, coffee shop au (barely), fake dating characters: kalim additional info: romantic or platonic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu

"This is not good. Not good. Very, very not good. Would anyone like a date cookie?"

After explaining everything, each mistake, each misstep taken, each panicked, poorly timed-and-placed response, that's all Jamil has to say. "Would anyone like a date cookie?"

"What?" he asks. "I'm not going to eat them."

Kalim almost reaches out to the golden tray of treats, but you grab his hand and pull him back.

"Jamil, were you even listening?"

He scoffs, setting the sweets on the table and taking a seat across from you. The pillows in the palace are soft, of the finest silks- and yet nothing sounds more comfortable now than those of your own bed.

At home.

Far, far away from here.

"I heard you," Jamil says. "When Kalim's father, that's the Sultan, mind you, said he was going to arrange a marriage for him, Kalim panicked and claimed that he couldn't, because he was already in love. There's lie number one- then, in another panic of poor decisions, he pointed out the first person he saw. Which happened to be you, a coffeemaker. A peasant. A stranger. There's lie number two- and then you, you go along with it. There's lie number three- and now you're getting married. Have I covered everything?"

You nod. Kalim nods after, following your lead. He likely wasn't listening to him.

Jamil sighs. "...I'll be honest, I'm not coming up with an easy solution for this,"

"But you have to!" you exclaim. "I can't be a monarch! I can barely remember to clock in after I've gotten to work! I can't even stand up to my manager!"

"I'm very aware you're unfit for this position," he glares. "Kalim's father is too soft on him. He just lets him have anything he wants... you, in this case."

Kalim makes a muffled Mhm! sound, his mouth stuffed with cookies. You massage your temples.

"I feel sick,"

Jamil sighs, standing and taking the sweets away from Kalim before he can make himself sick.

"Not on the carpet, please, the craftsman who wove it is retired,"

You glare. "Does this mean nothing to you?!"

He spins on his heels faster than you can follow, and he points a finger right at your face, nearly poking between your eyes.

"Obviously, it means something to me. It means I have another mess to clean up- a big one. Honestly, Kalim! What if the person you pointed at had been married? The scandal!"

"Sorry," he pouts. You frown.

He's depressingly pathetic- and that's worse is that, despite your own exasperation, you can tell he really is- sorry, that is. And he's perfectly pitiful about it.

"It's not his fault. Anyone would have done the same thing,"

Jamll scoffs. "Some of us know our place. Kalim, stop eating, you'll spoil your appetite,"

"Sorry,"

"Don't apologize," you tell him. Taking a commanding tone with the king's son raises some eyebrows, but no one objects. Jamil just bites his lip in thought.

"...I suppose we could... no, no, calling off the engagement so suddenly would turn heads. And that's not even saying what could happen to you- you can't just go back to being a private persons after this,"

"I know," you murmur, crossing your arms and slumping into the perfectly fluffed pillows.

"You life very well may be in danger, whether you go through with this or not," Jamil says. "...And if you call everything off, that leaves Kalim right where he started- an arranged marriage he doesn't want. Then who knows what he'll come up with?"

"What're you saying?"

He sighs. "I just don't see any other way out of it. It'll be a nice wedding,"

You stand before he can finish, and you bolt out of the lavish lounging room.

Kalim's family palace is bigger than any building you've ever seen, let alone been inside of. There are countless libraries, lounges, bedrooms, kitchens, studies, and so on, you could spend one day in each of them and still not have visited them all until you were old and gray.

You suppose you'll have plenty of opportunities to do that, now.

Except- right. You'll have to rule by Kalim's side. You won't have time to partake in the ten pools or twenty playrooms, you'll be running a country.

Might as well familiarize yourself with the family home while you can.

You grab the first doorknob you feel, cold metal (gold, probably, like everything else) under your fingertips, and you find yourself in some sort of game room. Tables and cushions, pillows of every shape and size and thread count, chess and checkers and mahjong and any board game you could possibly picture. You're sure this is only one room of many, but it's still one of the nicest places you've ever cried in.

You curl up by a mancala board, crying your eyes out for as long as you can manage, or at least until you've had enough hiccupping and hacking and coughing for the night. You dry your eyes on the silk sleeves of whatever million-thaumark robe you'd been stuffed in for the occasion, and the door opens.

"Go away, Jamil," you snap. But there's no biting reply.

"It's me,"

You look up, and,

"Kalim?"

He stands in the doorway, hands behind his back, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. But he isn't. He's here.

"...Did Jamil-"

"No, he doesn't know I'm here," he says. "I-I have something to say."

Oh, great. Now he's going to lecture you, too? As if Jamil wasn't enough...

"I'm going to tell everyone the truth,"

Oh.

OH!

"What?" you ask, standing, though your legs are stiff and numb. "But that means- the marriage-"

"I know," he says. "I'll tell everyone it was all my fault, and that I'm a liar and you had nothing to do with it. You'll be left alone and I'll get married to a princess... it'll probably be fun, I don't know what I was so worried about."

He's doing a really good job at making you feel guilty while trying not to make you feel guilty.

"There are lots of really nice princesses, and the wedding will be beautiful..."

You bite your lip. "Kalim,"

"And my father will be really happy..."

"Kalim,"

"And it'll be really fun, I'm sure! I'll ask Jamil to make those date cookies again, those were really good!"

"Alright, I get it!" you say, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him. "I-I'm really thankful that you'd do that for me!"

Kalim's eyes go big at your outburst, and then he giggles. "Haha, that was fun! Shake me again!"

You hesitate, wondering if he'd heard a word of what you'd just said, but you shake him at his behest, anyway. He beams with laughter, and you can't help but smile, too.

"Listen," you say, holding him still.

"I want a solution for both of us. Anything but that is a bad answer- I'm not going to let you take the fall for this."

Kalim's smile falters, and a small shadow of doubt falls over his face. "But Jamil said-"

"Jamil said he didn't have an easy solution. So, we'll come up with one ourselves,"

"Ourselves?" he asks. "But- I dunno, Jamil is really smart. I'm not so sure... it'd take a while for me to think of something good."

You smile slightly, your hand slipping down to take his and tug him out of the room.

"We've got time. Luckily, weddings take forever to plan,"

[logansdoll]

Heyyy it would be awesome if you wrote a third part for “37” where Charles gives Logan’s memories back and we go through flashbacks of some of his best memories, his wedding, the day his kids were born…something like that, it would be very heartwarming 🥰🥰🥰 or even maybe coming back from the past and seeing his kids again

sunflower

part three of "37"

CW: fluffy fluff, all the feels, suggestive, profanity, takes place after the events of Days Future Past, very bittersweet, your daughter's a lil menace, your son's a lil cutie pie, angst if you squint, i never know how to end these things, etc.

"Logan, the mind is a fickle thing," Charles sighed, resting his hands on his desk with a solemn look. "I can't possibly guarantee that this will work, much less in one session—" "I don't care how long it takes."

Logan's face drew tight with the statement, his patience visibly wearing thin.

He'd been listening to the same bullshit for twenty minutes...

"I don't care if I need a hundred different fuckin' sessions. I'm gettin' these memories back," he spelled out, leaning forward in his seat and roughly tapping his finger on the desk. "It doesn't make any damn sense. This body's been in this timeline for fifty-fuckin'-years and it doesn't remember shit."

"Because it is your consciousness that is the problem, Logan," Charles groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That is what I've been trying to tell you."

Logan piped down for a moment, brows knitting together as he leaned back in his seat, taking an annoyed drag of his cigar.

"Your psyche is from a completely different timeline, and now resides in a completely different body. It's like asking to recall the memories of a random person walking down the street," the professor explained, again.

Sadly, he hung his head, greatly sorry for the misfortune of his friend.

"I wish there was something I could do, Logan. Truly. But I'm afraid it just can't be done."

But Logan didn't buy it.

Huffing a small plume of smoke out his nose, he glanced out the window, catching sight of you teaching a class on the lawn.

Using your powers, you grew a large sunflower out from the ground, the younger kids marveling at the sight as you began pointing out its anatomy, most of them enamored by the huge petals—which were bigger than their little six year-old frames.

And in a small pause in time, your eyes flitted up to meet his through the window, that heart-stopping smile finding its way onto your lips as you gave him a tiny wave.

It warmed him, experiencing your light for the first time in years without the threat of annihilation on the horizon.

Domesticity like this is something he'd craved all his life, and now that he had it in his grasp, he wasn't going to settle for anything less.

A stilling chill descended on his chest at the thought of your smile, and the countless others he'd missed.

Your tears of joy when he proposed.

Your frazzled excitement with the wedding planning.

Your radiance as you walked down the aisle.

He missed it all.

And he'd be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to try and get it back.

"Charles..." Logan started, stamping out his cigar in a nearby ashtray. "My whole life is standin' out there under that tree... and I can't remember a goddamn thing about her after 1973."

His tone turned cold, eyes sharp as he stared the professor down.

"I don't care if you have to rip my head in half... I'm gettin' those memories back."

The old man let out a sigh, accepting that going on like this would bring no other outcome.

He'd have to give the man what he wanted... consequences be damned.

'Let's hope he survives...'

"This will be violent," Charles stated off-rip, wheeling himself out from behind his desk. "I am essentially hammering your mind like a dam, making cracks in its defenses until it eventually gives way."

Logan nodded, watching as the man settled in front of him, raising his two fingers to his temple.

"Now... try not to move."

Logan shut his eyes, and in an instant, it felt as if his head was struck by a speeding train.

He let out a growl of pain as images began to flash behind his eyes, the next one always coming quicker than the last.

"Hon, which color do you think would go best with my complexion? Eggshell or Porcelain?" you asked, eagerly holding up two different swatches against your skin.

"You look beautiful in anything, baby," he stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Either one is fine."

"As sweet as that is... it doesn't help," you huffed, playfully attempting to scold him.

"Fine then. Eggshell," he answered, quickly.

You raised a brow, an amused smile playing at your lips as you leaned in closer, "Are you just saying that to get me to shut up?"

He let out a chuckle, resting his forehead against yours, "Never."

Yes...

"Can't wait 'til this damn reception is over," he growled in your ear, lips dragging down your neck as you both hid in a nearby hallway. "First time I've been alone with you since I do."

"Logan..." you gasped, tucking your lip between your teeth in an attempt to muffle yourself as he tightly grasped your hips. "Someone'll hear..."

"Then I guess you better keep quiet," he smirked against your skin, giving your collarbone a soft nip.

It's all coming back...

"Logan..." you started, nervously, hands held firmly behind your back. "I have something to tell you... and I'm open to talk about it if you're upset..."

His brows furrowed as he turned away from his dresser, looking toward you with an air of concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his protective instinct spiking at the sight of your fearful expression. "What happened?"

Unable to say it, you slowly held up your hand, revealing a positive pregnancy test.

His eyes widened like saucers, throat drying at the tiny piece of plastic.

"You're... pregnant?"

You nodded, silently, his reaction not soothing your anxiety one bit.

But, as if on cue, he moved toward you, striding across the room and pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

"I'm gonna be a father..." he muttered into your hair, the phrase not one he thought he'd ever hear. "I'm gonna be a father..."

Wait...

"Logan!" you cried, tears welling in your eyes as you glanced up at him, scared. "I can't...mmmph fuck!... I can't do it! Hurts too much!"

"C'mon, baby, keep pushin'. You're doin' so good," he cooed, swiping stray strands of hair out your face as the nurse on the other side of the bed helped cheer you on. "Just a little bit more. You're right there."

With a grunt, you squeezed his hand tight, letting out a growl of pain as you gave another push.

Pop!

Logan's eyes shot wide, the man nearly biting through his tongue as he glanced down at his hand.

You dislocated his finger.

Though it seemed to be worth it as that final push was what did it.

"It's a girl!" the doctor smiled, carefully holding up the newborn.

Looking upon her small, chubbed face, Logan felt a sense of protectiveness sink into his chest—one that he only felt when things came to you.

In that moment, and every moment after that, he knew he would lay his life down for her, no question.

And she wasn't even a minute old yet.

I have—

"James! Get back here!" a little girl squealed with laughter, bursting into the office after a little boy, who looked terrified.

Logan snapped out his head with a gasp, shooting up from his seat and unsheathing his claws out of muscle memory.

'James...'

Quickly, Logan retracted his claws as the boy ducked behind his leg, gripping tightly onto his jeans as the girl stormed over.

She looked just like you, save for a few small details, and had a small snaggle-tooth poking out on her right side, only adding to her adorableness.

Not to mention the bone claws she had protruding from her knuckles.

"No fair! You can't hide behind Dad every time you're scared!" she furrowed her brows, upset.

"Mommy told you about your claws, Laura..." James mumbled, voice barely above a whisper as he shyly peeked out from behind his human shield.

'Laura...'

The boy was Logan's mirror image, looking almost exactly like he did at that age..

Apple doesn't fall too far from the tree...

Charles could sense the pieces clicking in Logan's mind, and figured lending a hand would be best after what he'd been through.

"Logan, these are your—" "Laura Marie Howlett!" your voice cut in, the little girl flinching at the sound.

Quickly, she retracted her claws, whipping around with a guilty smile, which was met by your less-than-approving glare.

"What have I told you about chasing your brother inside? And what have I told you about using your claws to do it?" you scolded, walking into the office. "You two are interrupting your father and Professor Xavier."

Logan let out a soft sigh, taking the moment to finally look over his family.

Like a slow moving stream, things were coming back to him, the feeling like a fog clearing from the recesses of his mind.

Every birthday.

Every boo-boo.

Every first.

Slowly but surely, they were all returning.

Without warning, Logan dropped to his knees, pulling the two kids into a tight hug, fiercely fighting off the emotion swelling in his chest.

"Daddy?" James squeaked, concerned.

"Are you okay?" Laura asked, confused.

He nodded, silently, the sight making your heart both burst and ache.

After all this time, your husband was truly whole.

Fifty years of suffering and agony had finally come to an end.

taglist !!

@catiwinky @seamlessepiphany @vinaluvsu @kellyxo1 @amandarobertsboyce  @captainloki1 @qveendiorsworld @sarahskywalker-amidala @mei-simp @oatmilkriver @br3nt-12 @bimboshaggy @lightsgore @edszn @couturewinx @sunroxic @notanotheroldman @bontensbabygirl @buckleysg1rl @marvelgirlie-4 @eljaynosine-triphosphate @nickf1 @pinkisokay @mercurysjoy

[vainvenus]

mind games. | ln4 | pt.3

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: The race debrief and the after party are both some of your favorite parts after a good race but it seems like Lando your mind is ruining it for you.

Includings: Dark!Lando Norris, gaslighting to the max, distorted reality, anxiety/stress, power dynamics, tension, hinting towards a panic attack near the end, paranoia ( what's new lol )

An: I think this is my fave chapter I've written so far @slutforvoldy

The debrief room, like always was very lively. Multiple reporters and journalists trying to get a question or two in for the podium winners. You were sat between Max and Lando, tapping your nails against your microphone as you tried to pay attention to any questions that were specifically towards you or for all of you.

"[Y/n] how do you feel about that race? Going from P13 to P2 must have been exhilarating." One of the journalists commented and you nodded your head with a warm smile, a genuine one that you hadn't felt in a while.

"Yeah, yeah, it feels amazing. I was really worried I wasn't gonna be able to pick it up but thanks to my amazing strategist and engineers, I'm sitting here with these guys." You giggled. "Which is kind of a punishment."

"Hey!" Max laughed, playfully shoving your shoulder and Lando nudged you with his shoulder as the three of you laughed together.

And for once, you felt at ease—like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, the tight knot in your chest finally unraveling. The heavy rock that had sat in your stomach for so long was gone, leaving behind a lightness you almost didn’t recognize.

Maybe you were just stressed lately and this win and debrief was just what you needed.

But just as you began to settle into that rare sense of peace, a singular question circled in your mind like a shark in the water, lurking beneath the surface—waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"Lando, why did you back off on Lap twenty-three instead of defending?"

He had stopped laughing, he now looked confused as he made eye contact with the interviewer who asked the question. "What?"

"You barely put up a fight. She came up the inside and you.." He had gestured. "Just let her through?"

Lando tilted his head. "Did I?"

You froze, your grip tightening around your microphone.

A few murmurs passed through the room, giving each other glances of confusion. Everyone in that room had seen the race and even if they didn't there was a replay of the moment as one of the journalists had it on their phone already to show.

The three of you leaned forward to watch the footage and sure enough, there it was. Your car driving down the inside, Lando's car holding steady before easing back just enough to let you slip by.

It was quiet for a bit before Max spoke up to try and ease the slight tension in the room. "Yeah, mate what was up with that."

He shrugged. "That's not how I remember it."

The air felt tight again. Like there wasn't enough for you to inhale and exhale. You turned to him, searching his face, but there was nothing. No flicker of uncertainty. No nervous twitch. Just an easy, unreadable calm.

"Lando." The interviewer sighed, rubbing his temples. "We're literally rewatching it right now."

Lando leaned forward, studying the footage like he was seeing it for the first time and hadn't done it about an hour ago. He hummed. "I don't know, it looks like I covered the inside pretty well."

The room fell silent again, hushed whispered and mumbles spreading throughout before your voice cut through it with clear denial. "That's not what happened."

He turned his gaze to you, slow, careful. His eyes bored into yours and he tilted his head, similar to how he had done earlier like he was testing you. "Are you sure?"

Something cold curled in your blood.

"Lando." You said his name slowly, like coaxing a confession from a liar who wasn't ready to break. "We were in that fight. I know you didn't defend, it's so clear."

He held your stare for a second too long before his lips curled into a smirk.

He smirked.

To anyone else it was playful but you knew it was deliberate, calculated even because it was the exact same one you recalled seeing in your rearview mirrors when you passed him.

"Funny how memories work, huh?" He chuckled, raising his brows. "One of us must be misremembering, shame it's you."

His words landed like a gut punch—sharp and undeniable. How he chuckled right after made it settle in like a twist of a knife, slow and deliberate.

Murmurs of amusement rippled through the room. Someone even laughed and the interviewer that brought it up mumbled something about watching it incorrectly then. His PR manager let out a sigh of relief from the side.

You swallowed hard.

They didn't see it. They didn't see him. They didn't see how he was so clearly lying through his teeth.

But now he wasn't only just lying to you. He was lying to Max. To the media. To anyone who would end up hearing this interview.

And worst of all.

He was doing it with that fucking smirk.

★

The after party was everything that it always was. Loud from all the yelling and singing, glittering, a swirling mess of neon lights and dancing bodies brushing against each other or pressed too close. Music throbbed through the air, bass heavy enough to shake beneath everyone who was dancing.

You should have been enjoying yourself. You had an amazing race, going from P13 to P2, points for the team and a 1-2 podium you should have been walking around like you owned the place.

But instead you were leaning against the wall with your drink cold in your hand, condensation slipping between your fingers as you tried to focus on anything else besides that feeling that you hadn't been able to shake off since the race debrief.

You shifted your weight, exhaling softly. You needed to stay calm and you needed to at least try and look like you were enjoying yourself. You needed to ignore the thoughts creeping in, the ones whispering that something was wrong, that nothing was making sense.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, jolting you from your overbearing thoughts.

"Alright enough brooding." Max urged, tugging you towards the dance floor. "You look like you're trying to solve world hunger over here."

You opened your mouth to protest but before you could Max had waved his hand at you dismissively, a clear sign that he didn't want to hear any excuse you were about to come up with. "You need to loosen up."

"I'm fine." You nearly spat for what felt like the millionth time today.

Max rolled his eyes. "No you're not. You're standing there like you just saw a ghost or something. We just won, remember? Try acting like it."

You wanted to. You really did.

The Redbull driver pulled you onto the dance floor before you could argue any further, laughter and music surrounding you almost instantly. The bass pounding beneath your feet, vibrations travelling up your spine. Max was grinning, smiling and spinning you around a few times as you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

Eventually you let yourself move with the rhythm despite your nerves working against you. You let the energy of the room take over your nerves.

Max pointed to your almost empty drink, offering to get another order of what you had and gin and tonic for himself. You nodded, giving him a thumbs up before you watched as he moved through the crowd and made a B-line to the bar.

You continued to sway along to the music, sipping on what was left in your cup. For a few fleeting moments you almost believed that you could down out the unease curling in your gut

And then you felt a hand on your waist.

Smelt a scent that was close to familiar but not quite.

And heard a voice too close to your ear.

"Couldn't let you dance alone now could I?"

You stiffened before you even turned.

His grip was light, gentle even but the way he pressed against her and leaned a little too close for comfort made her stomach turn.

"Breathe." He murmured, his voice barely audible over the music and the sound of your own heart beating against your chest. His fingers tapped against your waist. "Though I'm not sure you really can in this dress."

"Yeah..not really." You mumbled, a nervous giggle leaving your lips. You were fine. You were okay. Until your gaze dropped down to his hands which were comfortably situated on your hips. But then you saw it.

Your ring.

The one you swore up and down you lost.

It was just there on his ring finger like it belonged there. Like it was his.

Your stomach had dropped.

Lando must have noticed the small shift in your body language because he leaned a little bit closer, his fingers brushing against your waist in slow, comforting circles. "Something wrong?" He questioned, tilting his head slightly.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The words tangled somewhere between your lungs and throat, suffocating under the weight of realization.

The music swelled around you two, bass-heavy and relentless, as if mocking your silence. Laughter rang from the bar. Glasses clinked. The world kept spinning, oblivious to the way yours had just tilted off its axis. No one noticed the way your body had gone rigid in Lando’s grasp. No one saw the way your fingers twitched, hovering between fight and flight.

But Lando noticed.

His grip remained steady, fingers pressing against your waist in a way that felt both grounding and suffocating at once. Not tight enough to trap you, but firm enough to remind you he was there.

The ring glinted again under the strobe lights, a flicker of silver that felt like a slap to the face. The same ring you had lost. No, the same ring that had gone missing. It hadn’t been misplaced. It wasn't hiding somewhere in your home or purse. You had searched for it, turned your place upside down, convinced it was your own mistake.

But it wasn’t.

Lando shifted slightly, just enough for his breath to ghost against the shell of your ear. He was waiting for you to react, waiting to see how you would play this. The smirk on his lips wasn’t just amusement—it was knowledge. Confirmation.

You swallowed, trying to force your lungs to work properly, but it was useless. The walls of the club felt like they were pressing in, the air too thick, the lights too bright. Your heart wasn’t beating right—it was stumbling over itself, struggling to keep up with the panic clawing its way up your throat.

Lando’s hold on you didn’t falter.

The smirk didn’t waver.

And for the first time all night, you couldn’t breathe.

[softestqueeen]

incredibly adorable

request: and if it’s not a bother I’d like to see prompt 5. “Please, look at me. Breathe, god please, breathe” with JJ saying the line after reader gets severely injured during a case. A happy little fluffy ending where reader is doped up on meds in the hospital and starts telling JJ that’s she’s really pretty and being an absolute flirt a/n: hey anon, thank you sm for requesting this! i've decided to write both fics, you can find the other request here! i hope you like it! enjoy <3 warnings: angsty, reader gets shot, fluff, reader is high on pain meds pairing: jennifer "jj" jareau x reader I 1222 words special prompts I special masterlist

This should have been just a regular take down. It was a bit risky, the unsub had barricaded himself into an old warehouse witha currently missing woman, but nothing the BAU hasn't done before.

Well, it should have been.

It all went smooth, you and Derek went in through the back, Hotch and JJ thrugh the front and the rest of the team either covered or went to a side entrance.

The moment you stepped into that warehouse you had a weird feeling. It seemed to be not just completely empty, but also completely clean. The walls were white, the floors were smooth and there wasn't any trash laying around like you'd expect it in an empty warehouse.

You and Derek started to check out every room, never splitting up in the never ending maze of the warehouse. Thankfully, it didn't have too many stories, the three floors being managable to cover for you and your team.

The further you went in, the more you felt that weird pit in your stomach. The two of you went up the stairs, telling the others over your ear piece that your part of the first floor had been clear.

Where the first floor was an endless maze of rooms and corridors, the second floor was completely empty.

No walls, no rooms, no corridors, only a chair with the unsub and his next victim tied to it.

Derek immediately demanded the unsub to drop his weapon, the gun that he was holding against the victim visibly glistening in the cold light from the lamp obove them.

The unsub didn't seem to back down though, the evil sparkle in his eye now falling onto you.

The way his eyes raked over your body, halting at the curve of your hip and the swell of your breasts made the hairs on your body stand up uncomfortably.

Derek and you took another step towards the two, the unsub pressing the gun harder into her temple.

It all happened in a flash, suddenly the gun wasn't pointed at the victim anymore but at you.

The sound of the shot still rang in your ears when you fell down to the floor. There was immediately another shot, probably Derek shooting the unsub, though you couldn't pin-point anything at the moment.

You could hear shouting around you, though your mind was too hazy to think clear. After a moment you could feel a hand on your shoulder slightly shaking you, a hand on your cheek mirroring the movement shortly after.

Even though you could hear what the person was saying to you, it all felt like it was so far away. In a moment of clarity, your eyes opened and you saw your girlfriend, Jennifer Jareau, leaning over you, pressing against your shoulder.

When JJ and Hotch entered the room and she saw you getting shot, she thought that she died in that moment. Her heart dropped, her mouth went dry and she could feel her knees buckle.

She caught herself though, immediately running to you once Derek had taken down the unsub. If it had taken a moment longer it would have been her who shot that son of a bitch.

Once she reached you, all she saw was blood. It wsa everywhere, in your hair, on your face and covering your vest and clothes. She leaned down and pressed her hands over the wound on your shoulder. Tears were in your eyes when she tried to shake you awake.

She wouldn't know what to do if you died now, her whole world now in your hands.

Suddenly your eyes open, just a little bit, and a groan left your lips.

JJ called your name, trying to get your attention.

"Please look at me. Breathe, god please, breathe."

Your head rolled to the side and finally JJ could hear the paramedics arriving at the scene. Derek had to gently take her by the shoulder, pulling her away from you, so the paramedics could get to you.

The blonde didn't leave you ot of her sight for even one second, insisting on riding in the ambulance with you.

She tried to get information out of the emt's, but they didn't know if you would make it either.

They wheeled you into the operation room and JJ could do nothing but wait if you would ever wake up again.

~~~~

The first thing you notic after waking up, was that you were, in fact, not dead. The second thing was your girlfriend - who was currently sporting a very worried expression - looking at her phone, sitting by your bedside. A frown was evident on her face, her eyebrows drawn together and her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

You had to admit that she looked incredibly adorable. Oh? Did you say that out loud?

Suddenly her attention went to you, the worried expression on her face not faltering for a second.

"Baby, are you alright? Can you hear me?" The dazed expression and loopsided smile on your face did nothing to calm JJ's nerves. She looked at you expectedly, waiting for an answer.

"You look so pretty right now, JJ," was all you said before continuing to smile at her again.

"Well, thank you. But I wanted to know if you are in any pain or need anything." JJ still tried to get at least some kind of real answer out of you, but you were still pretty out of it. It made sense after what happened that they gave you some pretty intense pain killers. If she was being honest with herself, JJ was just releived that you didn't seem to be in too much pain at the moment.

The blonde leaned forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Your gaze followed the movement, tears gathering in your eyes with all the love you were feeling for your girlfriend at that simple gesture.

Seeing the tears in your eyes, JJ panicked. "Oh no, why are you crying? Are you hurting? Do you want me to call a nurse?" JJ was rattling off questions while the tears slowly started to make their way down your cheeks. Her hands immediately went to cup them, her thumbs gently wiping away your tears.

"Baby, please talk to me. What's wrong?" JJ was close to calling the nurse when she heard your quiet voice. Almost sheepishly you admit.

"I just love you so much JJ. Thank you for taking care of me and just... being there for me i guess. I really appreciate that."

At that JJ almost broke out in tears herself. Just 12 hours before you were shot, almost dying and now you were so out of it that the only thing on your mind was babbling about how much you loved her and how thankful you were for her.

"I love you too, baby. How about you get some more sleep, huh?" Your girlfriend suggested, slowly stroking your hair in an effort to get you to sleep.

"M'kay, but only if you lay down with me." You were already scooting over and holding up the blanket so she could slide in next to you, all while making the biggest puppy dog eyes at her.

She couldn't help but comply, having grown way too soft since you first started dating.

"Of course baby, anything."

the requests for this event are OPEN! here are the prompts!

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated! i’d like to write more with criminal minds characters, so if you have any ideas/requests lmk!!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

requests open!

taglist: @silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@bigbananaa

[unknownati]

x. bonnet

a/n: lost my bonnet (rip to my braids) and it inspired me

*a lil sum from my drafts while i force this christmas fic into existence and slooowly chip away at these reqs 😪 and i have since found it if you are wondering

warnings/tags: black!gn!reader, bonnet can be switched out for a durag, silk scarf, etc i js didnt know how to type that lol, ekko's kinda sassy 🤔, bickering but not arguing, fluff...question mark, what is this kind of thing called, rochelle and julius from everybody hates chris kinda relationship, shitty ending idc wrote this at 1am with a t-shirt on my head,

_______________________________________________

a cabinet door slams shut a few rooms over from ekko's workbench, his body jolting at the suddenness of the sound.

"where is this bonnet!?" you shout, clad in your nighttime attire of a t-shirt and sweatpants. this isn't a question new to ekko, you have this problem once every couple of months.

to say you were tired was an understatement. but you'd be damned if you spent hours in that chair getting your hair done just to have it get messed up in one night just because you couldn't protect it. and you've been searching for this thing for 30 whole minutes.

your footsteps stomped around the place, items clattering as you toss them around in wild abandonment in search of this godforsaken bonnet.

"did you check the bathroom?" ekko calls, raising his glass of water to his lips as you pace by his room.

"yes! three times. and even then, i never leave it in there, i always leave it in the same—" a pillow gets thrown off of your bed. nothing. "—exact—" you toss the sheets up. nothing. "—place. i don't get it!"

"then i don't know, baby."

"well, i know i didn't just grow two legs and walk on up out of here!"

ekko scoffs, making a weak attempt at showing empathy. "you have so many bonnets, just wear a different one."

"i can't. that's the only one that doesn't fly off my head while i'm sleeping."

he's amazed at your ability to be so stubborn at the smallest situation. to him, this is nothing but a 'throw something else on your head and call it a day' type of solution.

"can you check your workroom?"

"do you sleep in my workroom?" words full of sarcasm that make your brows somehow furrow even deeper.

"ekko, don't get smart with me."

he sighs, making a half hearted peek around his area. nothing. a shrug. "nothing here."

you keep searching around, looking in the most nonsensical areas for this piece of fabric. under the kitchen sink, IN the kitchen sink, in the shower, in your shoes, ekko's laundry basket, nothing.

you're beginning to just accept defeat, sighing in frustration as you trudge your way back to bed. you pass by ekko's workroom, eyes peeking between the small crack in the door.

pink satin.

atop ekko's head.

"i know you fuckin' lying—"

you swing open the door, snatching it off of his head. white locs fall loose, framing his face. your hand clutches your hip as you wave the bonnet in his face. "ekko, what is this?" you interrogated, an obvious rhetorical question that he didn't have an answer to.

ekko bares his teeth, shoulders pulling into a shrug. he completely forgot that he just...threw it on his head a few hours ago before he started working since he couldn't find a hair tie. "...damn, how'd that get there?"

you close your eyes. two deep breaths. in, out. in out. the second one steadier than the first.

now, usually you were very patient. you understood; things happen. but this? this was your breaking point for the week.

your fingers find the shell of his ear. the sting shoots through the cartilage, skin at his temple pulled taut. he's wincing, sucking air in through his teeth.

"it's like you're trying to test me, huh?

"baby, i'm sorry—" he unintentionally tries giving you his signature puppy-dog eyes. you only tug harder.

"sorry does not cut it. i've been looking for this for 30 minutes, 30! i'm tired as hell, i'm tryna sleep, and here you are playing like shit is sweet!"

...ekko didn't touch that bonnet after that.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Cornflower Blue

SPOOKTOBER SPECIAL

❥Yandere Outlaw Song Mingi x fem reader

✃The moonlight seeps in through the sheer curtains and paints your skin in a haze of blue. The bruise on your temple like a water color bloom.

♡'･ᴗ･'♡ genre: plot heavy smut, yandere, angst

♫ "You love me 'till you wear me out, then you love me more." -Cornflower Blue, Flower Face ♫"Love's never been more than pain, so Baby, show me how bad you hurt." -Dog Days, Ethel Cain ♫

➯a/n: this is my darkest fic yet imo, be sure to read the contents and take care of yourself! also im super proud of this, it took like three months tbh and i still didn't get to fit in everything i wanted to. enjoy some yandere minki 💙➯a/n 6/23/25 i finally edited this lmao

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: GOOD LORD WHAT HAVE I DONE ??? wild west au, HEAVY yandere themes, murder, reader near death experience, mingi is CRAZY, bribery, manipulation, threatening, gun violence/shoot-out, injuries, invasion of privacy, 'off-screen' death of main characters, kidnapping, NSFW; multiple sex scenes, masturbation (jorkin it), unprotected(BOO), corruption kink, virginity loss, head(reader receiving), size difference, spit, breeding kink, overstim, biiiiiig dick mingi (i'm a sucker😞), praise, dirty talk, soft sex turned rough, extreme possessiveness

♫"My Babe would never fret about what my hands and my body done- if The Lord don't forgive me, I'd still have my Baby." -Work Song, Hozier ♫"I just wanted to be yours. Can I be yours? Just tell me I'm yours." - Strangers, Ethel Cain ♫

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

"Ellis~" Your sing song tone echoes out through the alleyway, crates of stored food blocking your view. "Oh, my! Is that a corn snake?" You yell out dramatically, crouching down behind a crate.

"Where?!" The young boys voice gets closer by the second until he runs up to you and you snatch him up.

"Wraa! I got you!" He laughs loudly, an heart-full sound that rings out in the dead town.

Everyone has gone besides very few to a new market up North.

"I've caught you, and I'll eat you up!" You pull him up as he yells and laughs; swinging him around as you twirl to the main road. "I'll have ye for supper," you laugh with your best witch-like voice.

"No, I'm not tasty!"

"No? Well... I guess I shouldn't do this then!" You playfully nom at his sweatered shoulder, tickling his ribs.

"Auntie, please, I'll do it! I'll sweep!"

You stand up like nothing ever happened and smile, "great, Miss Carmen will be most pleased."

You had recruited multiple of the youngsters left behind to help you maintain the vacant homes while the market took place, and some off them were less than happy to have been roped in. "Would you like me to carry you?"

"Ye' , please!" His smile is missing a tooth, and it makes you chuckle.

You place him over your hip and begin the short walk, planning out the rest of the days chores in your head when he screams, "horsie!"

You follow the path his chubby finger points to, and find a large figure riding in past the town sign on a similarly large white horse. His face is obscured by his large droopy hat, but that isn't what makes you suspicious at first.

The man riding into town has multiple guns on his figure.

You scramble to the side of the dirt path and hold Ellis' head to your shoulder, looking up at the stranger as he slows his horse to come to a stop right infront of you.

   "Hello, Si-"

  "Auntie, I'm scared." Despite your best efforts, the young boy had caught a glimpse of the towering and dangerous-looking man, shivering in your hold.

     You crouch and set him down carefully, rubbing his back for a moment before you turn him in the direction you want him to go, "run off to the schoolhouse, tell Maria to come and cook up our guest a meal. You can do that, right?"

     He rubs his eyes and peeks at the man before looking back to you, nodding quickly. "Go on and get, then." You pat his shoulder and watch him run before turning to the man.

       "Room and board, Sir?" You ask the hidden man formally.

    "Yes." He speaks simply, swinging his leg over and jumping down from the horse.

    He's no less intimidating now that he's technically level with you. He looms over you like a shadow and places a chill in your bones. "Is this place a ghost town?"

He has an accent that you can't place, but you lock onto it anyhow because it's quite clear he isn't from around here. You look away from him, trying to hide your nerves at the fact that he's the first real stranger you've ever met.

    "No, Sir. Most are away to sell our spring crops."

He hums shortly in response, watching you closely from under the shadow his hat casts over his eyes as you grab his horses reigns. You can feel the way his eyes bore into your every move as you begin waking, "follow me, then."

    It's a silent and most awkward walk down the deserted main street, and you can still feel his gaze burning into your back as you lead his horse into the stables.

"So, where are you from, stranger?"

     "Away." Your feeble attempt at small talk is shut down by the man immediately as he stands in the large doorway, broad shoulders nearly touching its sides.

"Very well," you step back out of the horse's temporary home, and are put in the shadow his large frame casts. "Uhm, my name is (Y/n)," you extend your hand, trying to remember your manners despite the fear in your gut.

     He takes your hand, roughly. You can't tell if he means to- or if he's just that strong. "Mingi."

     His hand is cold. It shocks you. You pull away from his grip and push past him, head lowered. You've quickly found that you don't enjoy strangers.

"Miss Maria can help you get settled, show you around if you like. Nothin' much to do 'round here besides drink or play pool." You ramble on as you head to the bar, just down the road. You don't have to look behind you to know he's following. You can feel his gaze locked in on your back, that same feeling you get when men at the bar have one too many drinks or that time when a wild boar cornered you.

      The bar isn't anything special, though — nothing in the town is really. He looks around, silently. A few wooden booths and rickety tables. A pool table. A small island that separates the main floor and the bartenders area. Beyond that, he can see a kitchen.

He almost thought his luck had run out when he rode into the seemingly deserted town — and then he saw you twirling the young boy into the main road.

     He nods his head, maybe subconsciously, to say he's pleased enough to stay.

"Up this way," your voice echoes in the empty space, and you touch his arm ever so lightly to get his attention. The staircase is hidden by the corner, and he has to crouch to ascend them. When he does, he's pleasantly surprised.

     The room has a homey, lived in feel to it. Well — most of it. It's a large space, walls decorated with dried flowers and boxed in dead insects, chalk drawings of all kinds of things on the dark oak walls. There's a slanted shelf that's adorned with carved wooden trinkets and toys, most of which have a small layer of dust if he looks hard enough. A large open window is on the back wall, facing the town, and a dresser that fits perfectly under it. The bed on the left side of the dresser is messy, a large fur blanket that's bundled up to expose pristine white sheets.

     The part that doesn't look as lived in is on the right side of the dresser. An fresh lantern candle placed neatly on the made bed, dark red sheets and grey comforter.

     "I hope you don't mind a roommate... I'm not here for the most part, I won't be in your hair." You're shuffling around quickly, hiding a few things that he didn't get to inspect into the left side of the dresser. "You can," you gulp, clearly uncomfortable with the silent man, "you can put your things away in these drawers if you like."

He stands, like a scarecrow, holding his rucksack tightly. When he moves; you flinch, sliding closer to what he's now placed together is your bed. He chooses to ignore that, sitting down on the other bed and feeling the soft fabric. "You own this place?"

You're taken aback by his unprovoked speaking, gathering you thoughts as you sit across from him on your own bed. "Uh, no. A man named Louis owns this and the bar."

"Hm. And you?"

"I work down in the bar, bartending and such. So he lets me stay."

A small smirk plays at his lips, hidden by his hat as he looks around again. You've clearly lived here a long while. There's more to your story than just working downstairs. "Kind of him."

    "Very. You may be able to thank him for his hospitality, he gets back in a few days." You pause for a moment before you ask tentatively, "how long will you be staying?"

     He stands and turns his back to you as he takes off his hat, beginning to unpack his bag. "Few weeks maybe."

    "Ah," you draw quietly, anxiety growing in your gut. The very few visitors you could remember stayed for only days, if that. Even then, they weren't total strangers. They were people that others in town knew from the market or city.

    "Hope you don't mind a roommate," he turns back around and tosses a look your way as he starts to fold his clothing into the unoccupied drawers. And if the air wasn't gone from your lungs by now, it certainly is as you get a good look at his face.

This stranger, Mingi, is the most handsome being you've ever laid your eyes upon.

     His eyebrows are softly arched, beautifully curved nose and lips. And his eyes — oh, his eyes. You swear you could get lost in them.

And it seems you do, staring at the man despite the fact your intuition is telling you to look away. "Handsome, I know."

    A heat flushes your face and you force yourself to look away as he smirks at your flustered state, "w-well, you know, uh- let me go and fetch Miss Maria, you must be famished!"

     With that, you're down the stairs and out the bar. He watches as you speed walk away through the window, blissfully unaware that he's opened up your drawers to have a deeper look into his roommate.

༄

You dodged the handsome stranger until you no longer could, the sun was setting and there were no more excuses to be found to avoid going back home.

He wasn't in the room when you returned, but the bathroom door was closed and you could see the flickering of a candle from the cracks.

    You lit a few candles on the dresser before the sun fully set, taking some deep breaths as you heard him moving around. You remove your boots, a groan of relief settling behind your lips as you wiggle your toes.

    As you're unfolding your night gown, the door to the bathroom creaks open. "Hello, Miss," he greets, much warmer than his earlier aura.

     "Mingi," you greet back with a small smile, "have you found your way around well?" You shift your weight uncomfortably as he tilts his head; as if he's trying to read you.

    "Mhm, this ghost town isn't as bad as I thought," he sits down on his bed, rolling his head with a groan.

     "Very good, maybe when the other return you'll find it even better." You can't wait for the day. His presence makes you... uneasy, might be best way to put it. You know he could easily over power you and the others.

Elderly, young, and women who don't have a single idea of self defense. Maybe that was stupid on your towns part — but you needed all of the hands on deck to sell the bountiful harvest.

      You excuse yourself and lock the bathroom door behind you, double checking before you begin to remove your day clothes. As you change, you start to wonder if maybe Mingi was just uncomfortable around strangers as well. He's seemed to have warmed up quite a bit to you. You'll have to ask Maria in the morning about their encounter.

     Perhaps he won't be as bad as you expected —

"Oh, dear me!" You stumble as you re-enter the room, covering your eyes with your hands. "Uhm, Mingi?"

    "I'm just cleaning my wound," he chuckles, watching you with a glint in his eyes.

      You peek through your fingers, keeping your hands to your face to hide.

    Indeed, he's shirtless. Your eyes hadn't played a trick on you.

      You swallow the gathering wetness in your mouth as you peer at his naked torso. He's slim — toned in all the right places. His arms are something of a dream to you, and you have to force yourself to look away from them as sinful thoughts begin growing in your mind.

    Instead, you take a look at the injury he referred to.  A shallow gash going from his hip around and up to his back. The edges of it are already scarring, leaving only the middle of it as a wound.

You slowly approach the end of his bed, hands resting on the metal bed frame. "May I ask?"

"Every man his enemies. Mine happen to be good with throwing knives."

"Is that why you carry all those weapons?" The question has been nagging you. He has so many. And you don't like them. You don't like that they are in your home. He's left them on his side of the dresser.

"Perhaps." He groans as he tries to reach around and clean the part of the cut that stretches onto his back. "Would... would you be so kind, (Y/n)?"

It's your turn to be the silent type. You move to sit beside him, taking the damp rag and jar of salve with shaking hands. You haven't been this close to him until now. You haven't been this close to any man, really.

He smells shockingly good.

He shivers as you begin cleaning up his wound, and you apologize under your breath.

Unbeknownst to you — that was not a shiver of pain.

He's always been the nosy type. He couldn't help himself but try to get to know you through your belongings while you were gone. And he struck a pot of gold when he found your diary.

The entries dated back seven years. And he read through all seven of them. With every word, he became more and more infatuated with you.

And your touch on his body solidified that infatuation. It felt right. Your innocent, helping touch turned his infatuation into something more sinister.

So, no. It was not a shiver of pain.

"There you go," you can't help but stroke the large expanse of his back once you've finished; it's a work of art. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice.

But, oh, does he. He has to bite his lip to hold back a moan, looking down at his lap. His member is twitching from the smallest, most pure of your touches. "Thank you kindly." He forces out, breathily.

You're in your own bed much to quickly for his liking, hiding under your blanket. "Goodnight, Mingi. I shall see you in the morning."

༄

     "Hello, stranger," you smile at him as he steps out of the building, earning one back. "Slept well, I hope?"

    "Very, thank you." He takes a seat on the steps of the bar next to you and watches the sun grow higher in the sky. "May I ask you a personal question, (Y/n)?"

     "I suppose so," you shift slightly, toying with the strings on your boots. While your feet rest on the step just below your bottom, his stretch all the way off of the steps and onto the dirt.

    "Where is your family?"

    "I'm sorry?"

   "Well it's just — you're a beautiful young woman. Don't you have a husband and a couple of rug-rats?"

    "Rug-rats," you repeat with a chuckle, shaking your head. "No, no rug-rats."

"And... a husband?"

"The closest I have to a husband is Castle... my mutt." You look to him with a bigger smile, your nerves and anxiety around him unwinding. When he laughs, you feel a flutter in your stomach that makes them disappear completely.

You turn back to the sun as it rises, trying to convince yourself that the heat you feel on your cheeks is from the warmness of it. "Why do you ask?"

He hums, leaning back on his elbows and allowing his eyes to flick up and down as they observe you. "Wanted to know my chances."

"Oh!" You look back at him, his eyes shining with that glint once more, "the cow boy is a flirt? I see."

"I'm not a cowboy."

"No?" You lean back and join him, crossing your legs. Maria had told you just earlier that he was strange, that she sensed a darkness about him. But you only felt warmth and light. "What are you then, Mingi?"

"An outlaw." The smirk on his lips makes you think he's joking, and you let out a laugh.

If only you knew that Mingi was being truthful.

༄

      The wagons roll into town the next morning, bright and early. You're still asleep when the first one comes, but the happy hollering from Maria wakes you and Mingi both with a start.

    He's dazed and confused, rolling around and glaring at at ceiling above him. While you — well, you nearly jump out of your skin to run downstairs.

     Still in your nightgown and soft socks, you almost slip and fall as you jump off of the last stair and slide into the main area. "Lou!" You collide into him and sway happily as the older man lifts you up in his arms.

"There's my girl! You been holdin' us down?" He sets you down carefully and inspects you, making sure you've been kept safe in his time away.

"You know I have," you give him a wide and toothy smile, "how was the new market?"

"Oh, it was wonderful, dear! Next time I should take you both with me, so many new things," he reaches into his satchel, handing his wife something small and shiny.

Mingi, in his own sleep clothes — just a loose pair of pants, slowly descends the stairs; silent as a mouse as he watches the three of you.

Miss Maria, the older woman with a scarf permanently affixed to her head, looks down at the ring with a teary smile. "Oh, Louis, you shouldn't have."

You lift yourself up and sit on one of the tables, watching the two kiss with a small smile.

"Why shouldn't I? A man is meant to spoil his wife, isn't that what I always say? Besides, we made quite the profit this time around." His wrinkled hand cups her cheek, and you can't help but coo at their affection.

"Y'all are too stinkin' cute." Maria looks away bashfully, admiring the ring on her hand. While Louis turns to you with a smile, which fades as quickly as it came.

"And who is this?" His hand is on his belt, twitching at his pistol as he spots Mingi coming up behind you. You turn, and then back, moving his hand away from his weapon.

"That's Mingi, he got here a few days ago. A traveler." You don't know if that last part is necessarily true. Mingi never did tell you why he was passing by your isolated town. "He's quite alright."

"He's half naked — and so are you! Young lady-"

"Lou!" Maria is flabbergasted by what he seems to be implying, while you don't seem to see the innuendo.

Of course you are? You just awoke.

Mingi stays silent, and simply extends his hand to Louis. When he doesn't take it, he puts it back to his side, joining you at the table.

It seems to you that Mingi is indeed weary of strangers. He seems only comfortable with you. Yesterday, he followed you around; almost like a lost dog. Insisting that he wanted to help you with your daily chores.

His eyes flick down to your chest. Sure, he's seen you in your nightgown. But that was in the moon or candle light. The sunlight from the many bar windows exposes just how sheer it is. He can see your nipples if he looks hard enough. And have no doubt — he's looking.

And Louis notices, ears flushing red with anger as the strange traveler looks you up and down. "Alright, dear, go get dressed."

"Oh, but I wish to hear of the market! Unc-"

"Now, (Y/n)."

With a sigh, you slide off of the table, patting Mingis exposed shoulder as you pass him. He goes to follow you back upstairs when Louis grips his wrist. Hard.

Maria is fiddling with her new ring, almost cowering behind her husband as she feels Mingis aura once again. She can't seem to pinpoint why; but she doesn't like this man one bit. He's done nothing to her, to anyone for that matter. But she feels an evilness seep from his gaze.

"Have a seat, Mingi." Louis doesn't seem to like him either. Maybe because of his silent demeanor or the way he was ogling you.

He does so, with a bored expression, plopping down on one of the wooden booths. Louis slides into the long seat seat across from him, waving Maria off. She doesn't need to be told twice. She doesn't want to be near that man for one second more than necessary.

Alone in the seating area, the two men stare silently at one another. As if sizing each other up.

Louis is the first one to break, reaching into his pocket. A rusted old locket is slid across the scratched table top, and Mingi catches it before it falls into his lap.

As he opens it up, he sees a picture of two people in either of the oval locket. One, a woman with a wide smile. The other, a man looking down at the baby held to his chest. Their features seem... familiar.

"Her parents."

He looks up slowly, and sees the older man leaning back, "I'm sorry?"

"Those are her parents. My little sister and her husband. Died seven years ago, train crash. Hit a cow on the tracks. Hate those damned things. They can't slow down quick enough to avoid hittin' something."

It's silent again, save for the sounds of Maria cooking up a storm in the back.

He looks down at the pictures again. Seven years ago... that's when your diary entries start. But you never mentioned the crash. Did you just decide to forget about it? Move on?

Louis can almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he looks at the worn photo. Before Mingi can ask, Louis is answering. "I seen the way you looked at my little girl. The same way I look at my Maria. So I'mma tell you," he points to the locket, "I made a promise the day that train crashed. You know what that promise was?"

"No?"

"That I'd gut anyone who ever laid an evil finger on that girl."

"Maria!" They hear you coming back down, and Louis snatches up the locket from Mingis hands as he stands. You stop briefly and look at them, but move on when you see Louis smiling down at him. "Have you seen my vest?" Your voice grows distant as you join your aunt in the kitchen, unaware that the smile was followed by a threat.

"Don't make me gut you, boy."

༄

"You're so soft," you mutter as you brush the white mare with your fingers, stood just outside of her stable. She neighs loudly at you. "Oh, I know. So many strange horses, you must be frightened."

The once empty stable house was now filled again, everyone was back in town by high-noon. She seems like her owner; and like you. She doesn't like strangers. She nearly kicked the short door down when you approached with a handful of hay.

A few minutes later; she's letting you pet her. You're stood on a stool, bent over the edge of the door to dust the dirt off of her white coat. "You're a sweet girl, huh?" You smile at the animal, receiving more neighs in response.

"Who're you talking to?"

The abrupt interruption makes you stumble, nearly falling off of the wobbly stool. You steady yourself on the door and look back, throwing a smile his way when you see it's Mingi. "Your horse."

He joins your side at the door, holding his hand out to his mare. "You know she can't talk back, right?"

"Don't mean she can't listen."

He smiles at your response. You really are a kind soul; giving affection to an animal that can't give you anything in return.

"Busy, Miss (Y/n)?"

You shake your head. Nobody has come by the bar yet, and you don't think anyone will for a while. They're all spending time with their families.

"How about a ride, then?" He's opening up the door before you can respond, making your upper body follow it, legs outstretched to stay on the stool.

"Oh- I don't... I don't know how."

He keeps putting the saddle on the horse despite your words, a smile playing at his lips. By the way you're smiling as well, he knows you want to. "I can teach you. Are you afraid?"

     "I must admit... a bit."

    "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

    "Really?"

    "Mhm."

      You hop down from the stool and move it out of the way as Mingi walks the mare out of her stable, following close behind him with a wide smile. You get a few strange looks from townspeople as you and the towering stranger stop in the middle of the main dirt road.

     One pair of eyes watches you even closer — Louis stands from his rocking chair on the porch of the bar, staring dumbfounded as Mingi picks you up and helps you onto the animal. Jaw dropped as he hops up and sits in the saddle right behind you, hands guiding yours to hold the reigns. Before he can even get off of the porch, the both of you are galloping out of town.

     The cool October air against your face as you slowly gain speed feels freeing, like it's washing your very soul. Your nerves are still shaking a bit, and you lean your back into Mingis chest, holding onto the reigns tightly. You jump ever so slightly when one of his hands rests over your stomach, gently holding you.

     "Don't worry," he says, "I've been riding since I was a child."

And so, you don't worry. You let the freeing feeling wash over you, relaxing into him and letting the mare take you where ever she pleases. Which just so happens to be the furthest you can ever remember being from town. You nearly forget that Mingi is even with you until you feel his hand move away from your stomach.

He grabs the reigns, his hand over yours as he pulls her head back carefully, slowing her to a stop in the middle of a field. He pulls your hands back with his and settles them in your lap, atop of your bundled up skirts.

She lowers her head and starts chewing on some of the green grass. You look up at the sky, clear and bright.

"Not so scary, right?" Mingi speaks up gently, his hands never leaving your own as he looks up at the baby blue with you.

"Not at all, though maybe it's because you did all of the work," you let out a small laugh, turning your hands palms up and letting him weave his fingers into yours, enveloping you in warmth. "Is this what your life is like?"

The endless expanse of nature staring back at you, birds chirping their lovely songs.

"For the most part." He doesn't want to tell you about the other parts of his life. The bloody and harsh parts. You don't need to hear about that. Not when you're so pure and soft in comparison.

"I like it. I can see why you don't settle, cowboy."

"I'm not a cowboy."

A grin on both your faces, a comfortable silence overcomes you for a moment. He leans and slowly, almost nervously, rests his forehead on your shoulder. When you don't make a move to lean away, he absolutely melts into you. His heart beating in his ears, he's shocked you haven't looked back to search for a marching band with how loud it is.

"I think I may stay a little while longer," he whispers tenderly into your shoulder.

"I think I may like that." You whisper right back.

You revel in each others touch for a few more moments before he moves, scooting back away from your backside. "Let's stretch our legs." Before you can complain, he's jumped off the horse and is holding out his arms for you. Deciding 'why not', you lean over and let him essentially pull you off her back.

You stretch your arms over your head as you wander, smiling back at him.

Oh, he could easily get addicted to that smile.

Directed at him — and him alone.

He watches with a flicker in his eyes as you start gathering wild flowers, folding up the rim of his hat to get a better look.

You start braiding them together, fingers working nimbly. The song of nature overcoming you as you work, and he admires from a few feet away.

You look like an angel, the sun beaming down and shining from behind you like a halo as you turn and face him. "Crouch down, big boy," you tease him softly, a heat creeping up your face as you see him blushing.

He leans down, letting you affix the flowers around his hat. When he comes back up, he does a small twirl, "how do I look?"

"Pretty!" It slips your lips before you have the chance to think, and it makes him blush all the harder.

"Let me see," he takes his hat off, short hair wild and blowing with the breeze.

He pulls the hat over your head in the next second, and the large accessory falls over your eyes. He laughs, hand over his mouth as you tilt your head up and peek at him from under the rim. "How do I look?"

"Like a doll," he exclaims breathlessly, eyes not leaving you for a single second as he takes in the sight of you in his hat. The wind blowing your loose hairs and skirts. A shy smile stretching your lips as you look away, admiring the sky as he admires you.

"Oh, hush."

"It's only true." He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders loosely.

You have to remember how to breath as he looks over your shoulder at you, shit-eating-grin on his lips. "Doll~"

"We should head back!" You squeal, ducking out of his arms as warmth overwhelms your body. He only laughs, and the melodic sound echoes in the field.

"Alright then, up you get," he hoists you back onto the saddle, hands lingering on your exposed thighs as your skirt pools around your hips while he hooks his boot into the stirrup.

And you're off again, this time slowly. Like he knows that you crave to spend time with him as much as he does you.

༄

It's a few days later when he awakes in the night. The moon his only source of light. His breaths uneven and heavy.

Why did he have to wake up? That dream was ethereal, it nearly made him ascend to the heavens.

He groans as he flips onto his stomach, not a atom of shock in his being as he feels his hardness pressing into the mattress. Not after he just experienced the wettest dream of his life.

You looked like a Goddess below him, head tossed to the side and exposing all of the marks he left on your neck. The bed rocked in time with the yells of his names that left your bruised lips. Over and over. Louder and louder. Your eyes rolled back, your chest rising and falling as you tried desperately to keep up with his pace.

He's certain that's your rightful place; taking his cock and calling his name, soul intertwined with his.

"Fuck..." Just six days and you have him wrapped around your little finger. He's never felt like this. You must be the one.

    He can't help but look over at your bed across the room as his hand travels into his pants. His eyes nearly flutter shut, but he forces them open once again.

You're a restless sleeper, he's discovered. Your torso is pressed into the mattress while your hips are rotated slightly up, one leg bent and making your nightgown slip past the round of your ass.

God, your subconscious must know what he's doing.

That's the only 'reasonable' conclusion Mingis lustful mind can come to as you moan in your sleep, rolling onto your back and spreading your legs to get comfortable. It takes every fiber of self control in him not to pounce on you and take you right there.

He's content to fuck himself silly for the moment, and he's almost ashamed at how fast his release comes — but he can't help it. You look so fucking delectable and he hasn't touched himself since before he rolled into town.

He bites into his pillow with a low groan, eyes never leaving your peaceful form until he's overstimulated himself into oblivion. His arm sore and cock even sorer, he finally lets up, breathing heavily into the quiet night.

As he slinks to the bathroom and cleans himself up, he wonders what it would be like to feel your body close to him after such a release. Well —

Why not find out?

He leans over your bed with tears in his eyes, gently grabbing your arm and calling out to you.

"Min?" The nickname that you utter while half asleep almost has him ready to go again, but he pushes it away as you sit up groggily and look at him with concern written on your face.

"I don't feel too well, Doll... Can I sleep with you? Keep me warm?"

You feel his head with the back of your hand, a frown on your face as you feel his heated flesh — unknowing of the true cause.

"Mh, come on, big boy," you scoot to the wall and lift your fur blanket, a sleepy smile on your features as he dives into the bed. The metal frame creaks under both of your weight but neither of you pay it any mind.

He melts into your body heat, wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you close.

It's so much better than he imagined.

༄

That's the best sleep you've ever had. You felt so safe and warm. And Mingi doesn't feel any different, he hasn't had a restful sleep like that since he was only a boy. You seem to have kept his reoccurring nightmares of his past away.

All the damage he's done and all the pain he's endured, wiped away as you rested your head on his shoulder.

Your legs are tangled together, arms wrapped around one another. Your head in his neck and his chin resting gently on top of it. Soft, gentle breaths as the both of you wake.

Rain beats down on the roof, creating a soft and steady melody.

Neither of you can tell how much time has elapsed, but it doesn't seem like it's ever enough. So when you finally sit up, a pout forms on his features.

You feel his forehead, smiling softly. "No fever."

"Hm, maybe a night bug." He sits up and swings his legs over the bed, facing into the room to hide his growing blush as the memories of his dream flood his mind.

He feels the bed shift under your weight as you crawl up behind him. "I had a dream last night," you whisper as you gently rub up his back.

"Mh?"

"Mhm." Your heart flutters as you muster up the courage to continue speaking, "a dream of you and I."

"Oh, do tell."

And tell, you do.

"Well... it began with you and I, sat in the bar. A few too many drinks in our bodies. A few kisses... A few touches... and then we came up here." His breath hitches in his throat, surely he's still dreaming. This is an elaborate trick of the brain. "Mingi?"

"Y-yes?" He wants to both explode with joy and collapse with embarrassment.

"Will you touch me? Will you kiss me? I'm sorry if that's wildly inappropriate — oh it is, I'm so ter-"

Your rambling is cut off as his lips collide with yours ever so softly. One of his hands cups your cheek, the other finds purchase on the small of your back.

He slowly pushes his weight onto you, laying you down on your back as you meld together. A curse falls past his lips as you ghost your fingertips over his abs.

He kisses down your jaw, savoring every inch of your skin until he reaches your covered breasts. He looks up, and the look in his eyes makes the heat in your belly grow ten-fold. "Can I see you?"

With the slightest nod of your head, he's slipped the straps of your nightgown down and tugged it down past your chest. His mind is racing. His heart is about to beat out of his chest. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He whispers, voice rough and barely heard over the storm raging outside.

His calloused hands trail down your chest, ghosting over the pebbled flesh on your breast and down to your skirt. You can't help the gasp that escapes you when he lifts it up, letting your entire nightdress rest in a bunch on your stomach. He's already panting, and he hasn't even touched you.

You're just so beautiful. You're a Goddess in his eyes.

He smiles up at you as he lowers himself, your legs spread by his wide shoulders. "I'm going to make you cum your brains out, Doll~"

Before you can even question what he means, his tongue is darting out and swiping up the length of your cunt. "Ah!" Your back is arched off the bed at the simple motion, and it solidifies his theory that you're a virgin. Your keening at the littlest bit of attention — your poor neglected pussy is begging for more.

You slap your hand over your mouth at the noise, looking shocked that it even came from you. He can't help the chuckle that vibrates in his throat — that is, before his taste buds register the most delicious, mind-blowing juice he's ever had the pleasure of putting in his mouth. "Oh, fuck..." Then he's just as flustered as you are, diving back in between your thighs like a man starved.

     The little noises that manage to slip past your hand urge him on even more than the way that your wetness just keeps coming and coming and coming as he slurps it all up. His tongue darts and licks and rolls all over you, and you can't even register all of the pleasure you're getting from it — it feels that good.

     He slips his arms under your thighs and grips them tightly to ground himself as he allows himself to drown in you. He lets his instincts do all of the work; enjoying himself more than he ever has. His nose nudges against your clit as he slurps noisily.

     The way you taste. The way you smell. The way you sound. The way you feel.

     All of it. All of you. He's going mad with lust. With love. He's going to explode — he truly believes it. And then you call his name.

      "Mingi—"

    So sweet and desperate, absolute music to his red hot ears as he sucks the bundle of nerves above your sopping wet heat. He doesn't even register that you've cum all over his chin until you're tugging at his hair roughly and forcing him away from your throbbing pussy.

     He moans out loudly as you harshly pull him away, jaw dropped as he pants. "You taste so good, Doll," he slurs drunkenly. Your arousal has gotten him drunker than any alcohol ever could.

     You're panting even heavier, chest rising and falling quickly as you tremble in the aftershocks of your first orgasm that's come from another person. 

     He rubs his finger tips over your thighs gently, luring you back down to Earth as he gawks at you. You swear that there's hearts in his shining eyes.

     "W-" your attempt at words comes out as jumbled whine, and you let yourself fall back into the pillow.

     "It's okay, baby," he coos, licking his lips as he sits up, folding his legs under him and pulling your limp hips into his lap.

     The new nickname makes your cunt twitch, and he catches it. "Oh, you like that, hm?" His index and middle finger spread your pussy lips wide, and he purses his lips — spitting directly onto your sensitive hole. "C'mon, talk to me, pretty baby."

      "G-god!" You cry out embarrassedly, forever thankful for the angry storm outside that hides your sounds from any neighbors. "Yes, I do, I really do," you draw out, grabbing the sides of his thighs as he teases your entrance. You're still hyper sensitive, twitching with every small movement he makes.

    And he absolutely revels in it.

    "Yeah? I bet no one ever made you feel that good before," he smirks, letting another wad of spit hit your hole.

     "Nuh-uh," you shake your head, peering up at him, and your next words make it hard for him to keep his composure. "Stay. Stay here and- and fuck me."

     Little do you know, after that first night, that first little touch — he lost any plans he had of ever leaving.

"I will never leave you," and he means it. He has no plans of ever letting you go. And he's about to let you know that.

       He slides you back off his lap and lays over you, holding your head with one hand as the other guides his leaking tip into you. "Oh, ngh," you whine, holding onto his shoulder tightly. He bites his lips as he feels your walls for the first time. So warm and tight around him. So soft. "M-min, be gentle," you whimper, leaning up and hiding in his chest.

     "Don't worry, Doll, we'll go slow," he strokes your head gently and slowly — oh, so slowly — sinking into your core. "Such a pretty thing, so fuckin' tight for me," he growls, and again as the noise makes you clench around him. "Gonna have to stretch your little pussy out before I can even move, you've got me in a fucking vice, baby."

       "Mingi, d-don't talk like that, it's dirty," you pant into his chest, the warm air making goosebumps form on his skin.

     "Well, look at you," he nearly purrs, pulling your head back from his chest gently, "look." You blink a few times, taking in the sinful scene.

    Your legs spread around his slowly moving hips. His thick monster of a cock gradually disappearing into your stretched folds.

     "Can't not be dirty while we're breaking in this little cunt," he says matter-of-factly, looking down at said cunt while it clenches around the half of his cock that's he's managed to sink into you. A lewd moan leaves his parted lips, looking back to you as you whimper and fidget. "Hey, hey," he coos, cupping your face in his palms. "Half way there, Doll. How's it feel?"

     "Like you're gonna split me in half," you ramble out, looking up at him with the softest eyes he's ever seen. "Please, c-can we take a break? You're jus' so big..."

     "Of course, sweet girl," he leans down, careful to keep his hips locked in place despite how badly he just wants to slam into your welcoming heat, and kisses you. Stroking your cheek bones with his thumbs. "You feel so good, like heaven." 

    The praise makes your rapidly beating heart skip a beat. "Mingi?"

    "Yes," he moans in response, looking deep into your eyes.

    "I think I'm falling in love with you." The sudden confession makes his cock twitch, his heart jumping into his throat. "Is that silly?"

     He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, which are admittedly a chaotic mess.

    "If it is, we would be silly together."

     "You mean-"

    "Yes."

    You grip his shoulders and lean up, pressing your lips to his in an act of pure desire. The both of you get lost in each other, tongues darting out and lapping at one another like a lifeline.

    Sufficiently covered in each others spit, you pull back. "Keep going, I want to take all of you." You have a newfound confidence after your short trade of admissions, demanding that he go on and fuck you.

      A few more moments of excruciating stretching pass when you suddenly feel his pelvis flush with your clit, both of you panting like wild animals as you feel each other completely.

     "Holy shit," he sneers, resting his face in the crook of your neck, taking in deep breaths of your scent to keep himself from jack hammering into you. You are truly the best thing to ever happen to him, and your cunt molding into the shape of him is just a bonus.

      There are no words that you can find in your brain. All if it is wiped away as you feel his rock hard cock stretching you out, filling you wall to wall. When he breaths out, a content sigh into your neck, you feel the veins on his length pressing into your gummy walls. "Hah~" Is all you can manage, thoughts turned into mush as he begins to slowly pull back out —just a fraction of an inch. Before sliding back in quickly. "Fuck!"

     "Doll, please, please," he whimpers, holding onto your waist tightly as he rolls his hips, "please say you're ready, I don't know how long I can take it."

    "Y-" the second the first syllable is utter from your lips, he's already pulled out half way, "yes!" He thrust back in, steady and slow at first.

Words are lost between you — minds absolutely flooding with hormones as he begins thrusting harder, faster. Moans, groans, loud whimpers. The slapping of your skin is so loud that even the rain pounding at the window can't drown it out.

He's stuffing you beyond your wildest imagination. His cock was made to stretch you so deliciously, and your pussy was made to take it.

It's his dream coming to life, quite literally, as your eyes roll back in your head and you clench around him tighter than before. It's almost impossible for him to keep thrusting, but he finds a way.

He grips your hips tight and is making you bounce on his cock effortlessly, all the while pounding his hips into yours. He's so deep inside of you — it feels like he can feel the same coil in your gut that you do. And it's about shatter.

He slips a hand down and begins swirling his fingers over your clit, pushing you off the edge roughly; making you cream over his member with a broken yell of his name. He leans in, all of his weight on you as fucks you through it harshly. His lips right next to your ear.

"You. Are. Mine."

And with that, a warmth like no other spreads inside of you.

༄

Nearly two months passed like they were nothing, days seemed to fly with you by his side.

     He felt he finally had a place where he belonged.

    He found himself work cleaning peoples guns in the bar, even selling and trading some.

    He had a bed to go to at the end of the day. After that first time together, you both rearranged the room. Pushing your beds together under the window and putting the dresser on the wall.

     He had the other half of his soul. You. He knew everything there was to know about you, and you knew everything there was to know about him. Well — all he was willing to tell.

Sometimes, there was a dark glint in his eyes that made you feel like you didn't know the full story of the man you shared your life with. But all doubt faded away when he smiled at you.

     All was well. It was more than well. It was perfect.

      Until a group of strangers rode into town. Strangers to the town. But strangers to Mingi, they were not.

     He walked into the bar and Mingis heart stopped. He saw all of his hard work to get you, to settle, to make a life — it all vanishes.

     "Fuck me," he groans, keeping his head low and cursing himself for not wearing his hat today. He hopes that he'll go unnoticed. But that hope is squashed when the man slides into the booth across from him.

     "Well, slap my ass and call me Pamela. Song Mingi!" The rowdy man immediately catches Louis' attention from behind the bar.

     "Why are you here, Buck?" Mingi keeps his tone low, hostile.

   "You know why I'm here. You want in?" The man, Buck, has a smirk playing mischievously on his lips.

     "No. You, and whoever else you drug here are leaving. This town is off limits."

     Buck lets out a shrill chuckle, "says who?"

     "Says me. This is my town. Get the fuck out before I shoot you." Mingi growls, placing his pistol on the table, finger twitching at the trigger.

      That gets Louis' full attention, his hand immediately unlocking the safety on his gun as he makes his way over. "Mingi, who's your friend?" He hates to admit, but he's grown fond of Mingi over these long winter days.

     "He's leaving. Ain't that right?" Mingi tilts his head at Buck, who takes a look around. Multiple patrons of the bar have their hands on their guns, ready to draw.

     He isn't stupid. Mingi is one of these people now and they'll protect him.

    "Yeah, that's right." He slides out of the booth, giving Mingi a seemingly innocent smile. But Mingi knows him all too well. "I'm glad you finally found yourself a nice girl to settle down with."

      With that finally threatening congratulations, he's back out the bar the way he came. Mingi watches from the window with wide eyes as he joins the posse of men outside. As soon as they start wandering away, looking into shops and other such buildings Mingi has come to be so fond of, he snaps into action.

    He runs up the stairs, nearly bumping his head. They've been casing the town, that's the only way he'd know about you.

      "Mingi!" Louis follows after him, slowed by age.

     He finds him reaching under the bed, staring bamboozled as he places gun after gun after gun into the mattress. "Mingi!"

      He ignores the panicking man, loading all of them up. "Son!" His head snaps up, tears threatening his waterline.

      "Louis, they're going to raid the town."

"What...?"

"I don't have time to explain, I have to go- go get (Y/n). You need to gather everyone who knows how to shoot. I n-"

"Boy, I don't care much for nonsense."

"Listen to me, Louis!" He clearly panicked, an expression he's never seen from him before. "What reason do I have to lie? This is my home too! This is my home and my woman, and I'll be damned if I let Buckey fuck-face and his thugs ruin it!" In his panic, Mingi doesn't notice the ring that falls from his bag as he gets out more ammunition.

Louis bends down next to Mingi and picks it up, puzzle pieces falling together in his mind.

Mingi snatches it back and shoves it in the bag.

"You're gonna propose to my little girl?"

"Not if we all die," Mingi responds shortly, shoving an armful of guns into Louis.

   They share a look.

    It seems Mingi made a similar promise to himself about you.

"Go and fetch her, don't raise any suspicion. If the townspeople know what's coming, it'll start a panic."

Mingi gives him a short nod. To say yes, sir. To say thank you.

He keeps his head down, hat covering his face as he weaves his way to the very back of the town. Trying his damnedest to avoid everyone from his past.

When he successfully makes it to the river, he spots you and is filled with relief.

    You hum quietly to yourself, bundled up in his large poncho to protect yourself from the frigid January weather as you clean both of your clothes.

    The harsh winds whip your loose hairs around, makes the clothes on the line flap loudly.

"(Y/n)!"

"Hey, darlin-" He pulls you up, holding you close to his side as he drags you away, "what're you doing?"

"Just keep your head down, when we get back to the bar, go to our room, lock yourself in the bathroom. Okay?"

"Min, you're scarin' me..."

"Do you understand?" He asks firmly, stopping at the edge of town, turning you to face him.

He looks deadly serious. You haven't seen this kind of look since the first day you met. So you nod, committing what he said to memory.

"I love you," he kisses you deeply, shortly.

And then he drags you through town, and into the bar. But he pushes you right behind him when you walk in.

Buck has Maria and Louis tied up, pushed to the floor. The few patrons are gone, and the yelling outside tells him Louis' plan to keep things calm has failed. Multiple men are rummaging around the bar, cleaning out the register. He can't hear any noise above them, and he's thankful that the entrance to your small home is so well hidden by the corner. 

     He feels you grip the back of his leather jacket, and he's about to turn and tell you to run when he feels you get ripped away.

     Your scream echos in the building as one of Bucks men tears you away, and Mingi has to stop himself from shooting the man the second he puts his hands on you. Doing that will just get you all killed.

He's deadly silent as he watches the man toss you to the floor. His gun was drawn the second you got tore away, and he's itching to use it.

You try to scramble away, but Buck comes up behind you and places his boot on your back, shoving you back down with a thud. Maria is sobbing uncontrollably into her hands, Louis' jaw is locked in anger as he looks away.

He bends down, putting more pressure on your spine. He grips your hair and turns your face to the side. "Well, well," he smirks, "you're even prettier up close, ain't you?"

Everyone stops in their tracks as you spit in his face. "Fuck you!" One of the men closest to you has a gun to your head in the next second, but you refuse to break.

"Feisty, I like that," he shoves your head to the floor, hitting it against the wood roughly. Mingi is seeing red as the world around him resumes, men ransacking the bar and chortling at your family. His family.

      "Buck."

   "Oh?" He turns, leaving you on the floor, "got something to say, pansy?"

     "Yeah." His eyes flick to yours as you push yourself up dizzily, and over to one of the booths before Buck even realizes he's looked away. "You need a key for the safe. I gonna give it to you, and you're gonna take it and leave."

     "Is that so? That's what's gonna happen?"

   "That's what's gonna happen."

   "You really lost your guts, aye? Found a nice girl and a cozy town and decided you're too good for this life, I see."

    Mingi slips his pistol back into its holster on his hip, sauntering over to the bar with all eyes on him. He stands infront of Maria and Louis, shielding them from what's about to come. "You see it how it is, then." He lifts up the pot of dying chrysanthemums in the middle of the wooden island and scoops up the key. His eyes spot you curling up under the booth he glanced at. Thank goodness you got the message.

      Because shit is about to hit the fan.

    He tosses the key to Buck, and as his hands raise up to catch it-

     Mingi puts a bullet in his brain.

     You can't help the scream that rips past your lips, covering your ears and hiding your face in your knees.

    As the men behind the bar start shooting at him, he ducks, shielding the older couple as the men infront of them begin firing. But he's too quick. Only one of them gets close, grazing his shoulder and stunning him briefly. He drops his pistol and takes the larger gun off of his back, propping it up over the island blindly and spraying the rest of the men in a hail of bullets.

     And then all is silent.

    With a heavy heart, you look up from your lap. The building is covered in blood, light seeps in from the holes in the walls caused by stray bullets. Maria is crying silently. Louis is looking at Mingi in shock as he falls onto his backside, holding his bleeding shoulder. 

     "What the hell was that, boy?"

     "That was me saving your ass."

༄

    Mingi and Louis, with the help of a few good samaritans, cleared the bodies out of the bar and drug them to the outskirts of town. Leaving them for the coyotes and bears. If it were up to him, Mingi would have hung them up as an example.

     Maria, seemingly in shock, scrubs the floor with a blank face as you fix up the register and dig out all of the bars belongings from the bandits bags.

     You feel a roll of papers at the bottom of one of the bag. A silent hum of amusement leaves you as you see what it is. They kept their own wanted posters. Proud of what they've done. You flip through them. Maybe out of morbid curiosity of who your boyfriend just gunned down.  And then you get to one who you know wasn't a victim.

     Because he was the gunner.

    Mingis face in a sketch stares up at you.

    WANTED.

    DO NOT APPROACH. ALERT THE AUTHORITIES.

 DANGEROUS FUGITIVE. SONG MINGI.

    The door to the bar swings open.

   The world spins around you as you look up from the drawing. And come face to face with it, brought to life.

    "Mingi..."

    "Are you okay, Doll?"

   You can't seem to find any words that describe the way your heart is breaking. Louis approaches you first, his own heart stopping as he sees what's held in your trembling hands. He tears it from you, glaring down like it's a hallucination.

    "Who are you?" Is all you can manage to whisper, backing away with a grip on your uncles sleeve as Mingi steps forward.

     "What is that?" He nods to the paper, although deep down he has an idea of what it is.

   Maria snaps out of her trance, joining your side, a gasp leaving her lips as she looks back and forth from the paper to Mingi.

     "You get out of here, you never show your face in this town again," Louis grips the man's collar and pulls him to his level, "You're lucky my girls are watching or I'd hold true to my promise."

     Mingi shoves him away and grabs the paper from Maria, his worst thoughts come true as he sees himself staring back at him.

     "Wh..." He trails off in a whisper, heart breaking into a million pieces as you look at him fearfully. Like you did the first time you met. He thought he'd never have to see that look again. "(Y/n), please, hear me out."

     Maria holds you to her chest as he approaches. "I knew I sensed evil in you, boy." She bares her teeth at him as she seethes, like a wild mother bear.

"Leave," your voice trembles, raw with all of the emotions that are flooding you. You lean further into your aunts arms as he reaches out for you. "You lied to me! I never want to see you again! I ought to turn you in!"

    "You have to believe me, I'm not like that anymore. Baby, listen! I only did what I had to do to survive, you don't understand. I'm not like them!" He fights against Louis as he drags him to the door. "Please, I love you!" He's thrown off the porch, only getting a glimpse of you as you crumble to the floor before the door is slammed in his face.

༄

Mingi drapes his mare's reigns over a poll, trudging through the snow until he's at a familiar door.

He doesn't bother knocking. He barges in and stares down at the man at the desk.

"Mingi, long time no s-"

"I have a job for you." He slaps down a wad of cash, "more where this came from when you're done."

The man sighs, but takes the cash, thumbing through it. "And why don't you do it?"

Mingi ignores the question. "Louis and Maria Donelley. Shoot them, make it quick. (Y/n) (L/n). Tie her up on the tracks."

He hesitates for a moment. But in the end, "More where this came from, huh?"

༄

     It's been three days since Mingi has gone away. Rather, since he was forced away by his past and your reaction to it.

     You've slept for most of that time. Cried the rest. You barely eat. Barely talk. You hardly even move off your side of the once-shared bed.

    Maria, Louis, all of your friends tried to comfort you. Telling you that he was just a fling. That the one for you will come around and make all of the pain Mingi left disappear.

     They don't know that Mingi was the one.

     He made you so happy. Happier than you'd ever been. He made everything seem... right.

     "Hey, dear," Louis knocks at the wall, slowly coming ascending into the room.

     "I don't want the soup, Uncle Lou..."

     "Auntie!" Ellis comes barreling past Louis and jumps onto the bed, hugging you tightly.

     "Ellis? Hey, buddy!" You force a smile as you hug him back, sitting up with a groan and holding the child in your lap. "How you been?"

      Ellis goes on and on about what the new teacher from the city is teaching his class, a big smile on his face. Louis sees the smile pulling at your lips in the slightest, and he excuses himself silently.

     He, admittedly, is a very good distraction from your heartache.

You spend quite a few hours playing with him, catching up on the things that are going on in town. He drops the ball onto the jacks and giggles loudly as it rolls away, under the bed. "I'll get it, set us up another round."

You bend down and feel around for it blinding, heart skipping a beat as you feel Mingis bag. You haven't found the courage to touch any of his things, even if to throw them away.

You move away from it and grip the ball, rolling it back to Ellis. "El, I'm feeling a bit tired, why don't you come back tomorrow."

"Aw... okay! I'll bring Violet and we can play outside!"

"See you then, kiddo," you ruffle his hair as he passes you to leave.

It was a nice break from your sorrows while it lasted.

You crawl back into your half of the bed as the sun sets in the window above it, pulling Mingis pillow into your arms as you sob yourself to sleep once again.

Deep into the night, you feel the bed dip. You open your eyes with the littlest inkling of hope that Mingi has returned despite your harsh words his way.

But you're only met with a stranger.

You open your mouth to scream, but only get a small squeak out before you are met with a hit on the head.

༄

You awake as your body is tossed into the air, a loud groan leaving you as you collide with something hard. Through your blurry vision, you can see the moon high above you.

You look to the side, and you put two and two together that you're in a wooden cart as you see the stranger from above your bed riding on a horse that's got you attached to it. "Hey-" You croak out, getting his attention.

"Morning!" He yells, making you wince. You have a splitting headache. "Just in time for the show," he mumbles under his breath, pulling the horse to a stop.

You can hear him shuffling around in the snow, and you try to sit up before you realize you can't. Your entire body is tied in a thick rope.

The back of the cart opens up, and you try — you try so hard — to shimmy away as he reaches in and grabs your foot. But to no avail.

      He pulls you from the cart and lets you fall into the snow. It wets the back of your nightgown and hair; soaks your thin socks and makes you shiver. You don't think you've ever been this scared. Even during the shootout, Mingi was there to protect you.

      You watch with a fresh set of tears brewing in your eyes as you watch the man double knot some ropes onto the tracks. "Oh my god..."

      He ignores as you begin to beg for your life, telling him all sorts of things about yourself to try and make him sympathetic. "- and his name is Louis, he took me in when my parents died! Uncle Lou and Aunt Maria, please! She'd die of heartbreak!" He scoffs, knowing she's already dead. So is Uncle Lou.

    He followed Mingis request and made it quick.

       He pulls you by your binds to the tracks, the metal on the tracks is the coldest thing you've ever felt and it makes you yelp. You cry out into the night as he begins tying the ropes on the tracks to the ropes on your body.

    "Please, why are you doing this?!" Your voice shakes with pure horror, tugging at the ropes that are wrapped around your entire body and tied to the tracks by the bandit. He crouches down at your feet and smirks, his simple answer making you cry all the harder.

     "Why not?"

   All of your pleas and prayers fall to deaf ears as the man turns away and to his cart, rummaging in his chest. The tracks begins to shake and you begin to except your fate. You turn your head to the side and watch the pebbles rumble, your sobs visible in puffs of air as you exhale into the harsh winter air.

    A loud thud and a groan makes you look back, and you see a tall figure on a familiar white horse.

    "Mingi!" He drops the crowbar he used to whack the man as he rode past.

    He looks back at you briefly — his face hidden by his droopy hat. But you can tell he's pissed. His jaw clenched and shoulders tense before a gunshot rings out and he ducks and rolls off of his mare, slapping her to make her run away as he draws his own gun.

    Between the rattling of the tracks and the thrumming of your heart, you can barely force yourself to watch as he approaches the man bravely, your eyes flicking from them to the horizon repeatedly. A sob of his name makes him pause for a split second before he comes back to his body.

    "Too close," Mingi scowls at the man, using his gun to smack his hand and make him drop his, kicking it away as he scrambles for it.

    "Aye, man, I did what yo-"

    "Too close."

    "Just give me my mon-"

       His gun smokes by his side in the next second as the man drops to the snow dead. He takes a moment to bask in the way the blood pools in the pure white before the steam whistle catches his attention.

      "Mingi, please!" He drops everything and runs to the tracks, crawling over your body and looking at your binds frantically. "Mingi, oh my god, please- I'm so sorry! Please untie me, hurry," you babble on in a panic as the train appears just over the horizon, sobs wracking your body under his as he tugs at the ropes.

     Your terror breaks his heart, but he knows it's necessary. He knows he has a knife strapped to his thigh, but he plays the panic card and 'forgets' as he forces a false worry onto his face. He won't let anything happen to his Doll, but you're too caught up in your fight or flight to remember that.

    "I got you, I got you," he murmurs as he pulls the ropes on one of your sides undone, taking his sweet time with the other as he watches the train grow ever closer — the conductor blaring the horn.

     Your free hand grasps at him, clawing at his leather jacket, eyes wide and soaked with tears as you stare down your death as it barrels towards you. Just a few feet away.

    Mingi yanks you up and falls to the ground besides the tracks with you on top of him, hands roughly holding you to his chest as his hat blows away with the wind that the train creates. You willingly slump into him, sobbing into his warm chest as the tracks rattle loudly besides you, drowning out your cries.

     He relishes in the way you cling to him well after the train passes, not daring move away from your savior as you cry your heart out and ramble on to him about how you're so sorry and how you never would have really turned him in and on and on until he silences you with a tender hug.

    He knows all of this. His girl would never betray him. But it's best that he get a subconscious message through your thick, naive, skull early on.

   The message being: the attempt to leave him has failed miserably. Why even try to leave when he's so clearly your fate?

༄

Mingi locks the bar door behind him as he carries you into the building. He kicks off his boots. He knows you hate the mess.

    It was silent the entire way back to town.

And it remains that way as he carries you up the stairs and to bed. He doesn't even acknowledge you as he gets you some clean, dry clothes.

"Mingi..."

He sighs, shoulders dropping.

"I'm s-"

"I thought you hated me?"

"Min... I was just- just in shock! Why didn't you tell me you were... an outlaw?"

He kneels at the bed and slips your socks off, replacing them with a warm, thick pair.

The moonlight seeps in through the sheer curtains and paints your skin in a haze of blue. The bruise on your temple like a water color bloom.

"Because I was afraid." He bites his lip as it trembles. That's the plain truth. He was afraid you'd leave if you found out all the things he'd done. But now that you know, he still doesn't plan on letting you leave. "Please forgive me, Doll."

He lowers his head into your lap and smirks as he feels your hand rest on his hair.

"Come back home, Mingi."

"Really?" He looks up with the most puppy like gaze you've ever seen.

You nod, wiping your tears away, "I don't care what the others have to say. We can leave this place if we have to, I just need to be with you, M-" His lips collide onto yours as he pounces on you, pushing you onto the bed and nipping at your lips like he's starved. And he is, because —

"I missed you so fucking much, Doll," he growls into your lips, melting into you as you wrap your arms around him. It feels like it's the first time in forever; and it is to him.

"I love you, Mingi," you whisper as you look up at him, chasing after him as he sits up on his knees.

     He lifts your ruined nightgown, looking down at you as if you're a work of art as he tosses it away. "I love you," he whispers back, cupping your breast in his big, warm hands. "I love you so much it hurts."

You lay back with a moan, arching into his touch. Your mind is so fried from this weeks events, all you want to do is disappear into him.

     And you let it be know. "Take your clothes off." You tug at his buckled belt with an utterance, licking your lips at the sight of his happy trail. "Show me how much you missed me. Show me how much you love me."

     Your sultry words have him undressing in a hurry,  slamming his pistol down on the nightstand he made and kissing you deeply as he removes his belt, heart beating rapidly as you cup his cheeks to bring him closer.

     You're the closest to heaven he's ever been. Kissing down his neck and stroking his back. He doesn't know how or why this infatuation grew into something wild and untamable. And frankly, he doesn't care.

       You work to undress his top half while he kicks his pants away, letting his larger gun clatter to the floor. You no longer care if he leaves them out. You just want him home.

      "I was so worried about you, baby," he pants, "I know I hurt you. I'm so sorry," he places kiss after kiss after kiss on your face, rubbing your thighs as he slides between them. "I love you. I adore you. I want you. I'm yours. You're mine." Every statement is accompanied by a kiss.

      "I'm so sorry, Min," you look deep into his eyes as he rubs his member on your wetness, "you're my one and only. I don't care what you've done to get here. As long as I have you in my arms. As long as I'm in yours."

     He hugs you tightly, forehead against yours as he slips inside of you. "I will never leave you," he moans out, settling deep inside of you as you pant and whine.

    You've taken him quite a few times at this point, but never like this.

    He always takes his time sinking into you, reveling in the slow stretch.

    But not tonight. Not after what you've been through. He needs to feel you, and now.

     He needs to feel your emotional connection on a physical plane. And so do you. That's why you don't stop him or push him away as he lowers into you quickly.

     You ground yourself by wrapping your arms under his and gripping his shoulders, careful of his healing wound.

     His chest against yours, heart beats drumming together as you try to disappear into each others being.

    Affectionate touches are left all over the both of your bodies. Tender kisses and promises of love.

    "You're all I ever wanted," you whisper into his chest as he starts a languid pace. "I want to be yours, tell me I'm yours."

"You're mine, Doll, all mine." He speaks ever so softly, cradling your head to his chest. He can't believe how lucky he's gotten.

"Make me believe you, show me I'm yours."

And he does.

     God knows how or why Song Mingi has so much stamina, but no amount of time passed stops him from pounding into you, he stops when he thinks you've had enough.

     He's made you cum seven times through the night, and with the sun beginning to rise out the window, he's still at it.

     It's been hours, and his pace hasn't slowed one bit. If anything, your pants and whines stir him on and he almost hammers into you. The quick in and out rhythm makes him moan. Your heat encasing him as the cold winter air seeps in through the walls makes him want to bury himself in your body and never leave.

    He knows he's big. He's so big and you're small compared to him. But he doesn't care when he's balls deep in your sore and swollen pussy. He makes you take it to the base and chuckles deeply when you try and crawl away.

    "Min- can't take it," you sob, but that doesn't stop him.

    He grips your hips roughly and pulls your clit flush to his pelvis, holding you there as you squeal out, banging your fists onto your shared bed.

     "Fuck you can't, your pussy was made for me to stretch it out." His next thrust sends your hips into the mattress, finally able to rest your exhausted body as he plunges into you from behind.

      Each rough thrust wipes away every thought from your mind until it's all Mingi.

   Mingi is so deep.

   Mingi is so thick.

   Mingi fucks you so good.

   Mingi treats you so good.

   Mingi loves you.

   Mingi.

   Mingi.

      "Mingi!" You moan out loudly into the pillows as you seize up, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you cum all over him. Vision dark and blurry, drooling all over the place, barely conscious after your eighth orgasm around his massive girth.

     He's panting and growling into your ear, continuing to thrust. He's relentless. He's really out to break you.

      "Please," you slur, wracking your slush of a brain for a way to get him to cum. You love him, and you love fucking him. But he just won't stop until he cums. And he won't cum until you essentially force him. He's so hell bent on making you get there, he forgets about himself, like he's outside of his own body. And he's extra determined after almost losing you. Your usual tricks haven't worked. So you pull out the big guns.

"Please, Min... put a baby in me." Oh, you know him all too well. He's made multiple comments about how good you are with children. How pretty you'd look with that pregnancy glow, your belly round with his baby.

    "F-fuck, Doll," it seems as if that is enough to satisfy his hunger, slamming his tip into your womb and filling you with his warm and sticky seed so much that it splashes back on him and makes a mess of his lower stomach.

Still buried deep inside of you, uncaring of the mess, he lays ontop of your back gently and wraps his arms around your shoulders, his head next to yours. Your shaking breaths and trembling legs calmed by his warmth over your entire body.

     "Holy fucking shit," you whimper, making him chuckle quietly.

     He places a gently kiss to your shoulder, "I didn't go to hard, did I?"

    "You did... but I liked it."

    He smiles as he rests his head, hands rubbing up your arms and to your hands, intertwining yours fingers. "I love you." He states. Loud and proud. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to share everything with you and I don't want to keep anything from you. I want you all to myself. Will you marry me?"

    The words almost get lost in translation on their way to your endorphin flooded mind, and your silence makes him nervous. That is until- he sees the giant smile spreading on your lips. "Yes."

"Oh, thank goodness," he sighs a breath of relief followed by a soft laugh.

    "But you'd better get me a ring," you joke, groaning out as he slowly pulls out of your abused core. There's a smirk on his lips that you can't quite place as he gently turns you on your back and helps you get comfortable.

     He reaches under the bed and grabs his bag. "You didn't-"

    "I did," he has his signature shit-eating-grin on his face as he takes it out. A dainty, pretty, thing. Much like he sees you.

      He cuddles into your side, fur blanket draped over your lower halves. Calloused and rough hands take yours. Gently and loving with you. Their past of violence is lost as he slides the ring onto your finger tenderly.

     "Mrs. Song."

༄

[takes1]

I NEED MORE GYM BROS KIRISHIMA AND READER

thank you so much!! this is a fav of mine. i've had like half of this written for a whole year and lost motivation for it. picked it back up a few days ago and i'm rlly excited to post! soft end, so if anyone has suggestions for continuation, i can keep it going.

warnings. nsfw, safe sex, f! receiving oral, big fingers, sharp teeth, size kink

details. nsfw / rough sex / gymbros with benefits / aged up!kiri / fem!reader / mentions of f! masturbation / f! rec oral / clumsy kiri / aftercare, cuddling / mutual size kink / shy reader / support course student!reader / scars thirst / sharp teeth thirst / 2.8k words

🤍 scenario series. part one thru three + more here / kiri headcanons

more links. my ao3. request box is: open!

As soon as the door clicked shut, a calloused hand first draped your thigh over his other leg, then wasted no time to palm your cunt.

"Fuck," He sighed against your mouth to look down at his soaked hand.

It was totally his fault with the leg thing-- embarrassed, you pushed his hand back down and felt warm at his chuckle.

He slid his fingers under your useless panties, eliciting a very sharp, closed-mouth moan and another squirm. He locked you back into his chest.

No guy had spent so much time on you before. Kirishima seemed to get his kicks by pleasing you instead. His habit of waiting around to pull his dick out was a new concept, but you really liked it.

Still, that empty feeling in you was only heightened by his careful attention to your clit, and messy smattering of kisses over the side of your face and neck.

Your hand was already shaking on the back of his hand as he pushed his middle and ring finger into you, smooth and slow with the help of your own lubrication.

"Mmmh- Aah," You scratched on his already heavily scarred knuckles, breathless at how much bigger his fingers were than yours.

"That feel okay?"

His breath brushed by your cheek before he pressed a soft kiss to it. You gave a whimpery, 'Mhm' and completely missed his mouth when you tried to kiss him.

Thankfully, he had no problem holding you by the back of the neck to help -and to keep you still when you tried to pull away-. He lapped up every choked sound and broken phrase that left your lips.

"You're so cute," He muttered, done with keeping you hostage in more drawn-out, clumsy kisses, and pressed his forehead hard into your temple.

The compliment went straight to the tightness forming in your stomach. You squeezed around him, goosebumps formed in your skin.

"Please, just fuck me already," You struggled to get out.

Your head hit his shoulder with the focus it took to not cum around his hand.

The laughter of the man under you made your entire body shake with him. Based on his reaction, you thought he might say no, but were relieved to hear a smiley:

"Yes, ma'am."

Ma'am? He was full of funny names and habits for you.

Once again, that terrible, empty sensation came back tenfold when he took his fingers out in order to carry you over to his bed. He would've rather fucked you on the desk, but the height difference would've made it incredibly inconvenient.

Your back was still to him when he set you down. You slid your arms up so your chest was pressed on his already fucked up sheets. He hiked his shirt up to give your ass a few lovetaps but stopped all too soon.

"You just sit there, nice and pretty for me."

When he saw you poke your head up to watch him root around in his bedside table drawer, he bit the inside of his cheek and palmed a painful throb away.

The sight of a few condoms made you feel a little ashamed that it had completely slipped your mind.

You slid so you could lay on your stomach, heels locked together in the air, and watch him start to tug on his waistband, finally.

A straight-up monster bounced up from his sweatpants, so heavy it looked like it weighed itself away from where it would usually sit closer to his stomach.

You blinked at the slight bend in it and what looked like a scar underneath, then lowered your open mouth to bite your forearm.

He acted like he wasn't looking at your reaction while he plucked a condom from the drawer, but would sometimes glance and never fail to see you still gawking.

"How big is that...?" You whispered. Your eyes were starting to burn from not blinking. Maybe you should've let him stretch you out more.

Kirishima stroked his tortured cock again with a bashful smile, "I-I'm not sure, I've never measured."

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows and sat on your heels to make grabby hands at him.

"Let me hold it."

It was only right to let you feel on him, he concluded after a moment's hesitation.

He was such a beautiful man-- that was all you could think as you took his warm cock in your hands, his entire body bare before your eyes.

"You have a scar--?"

"Yeah,"  He choked, tummy flexing, face twisting at your slow pumps, "Yeah, it's- uh--ha, from my Quirk. I was- 13."

That must've been an insane hospital trip. It was a long scar, too. Poor thing.

You pressed a long, slow kiss to the tip, but it was cut short by his flinch away. He played it off before you could dwell on it with a replacement kiss on the mouth, instead.

He put his knee on the mattress, which brought you into the throws of your ignored ache and inspired you to hook your legs over his bulky thighs.

"Anyways, where were we--?"

Kirishima grinned through a playful groan, seizing the back of your thighs to smush into your chest instead, muffling your delighted laughter with another round of deep, albeit rushed, kisses.

His body was extraordinarily heavy; he was squeezing all of the air out of your lungs in this position.

The gasp you took when he shifted his weight off was one of immense relief- yet full of longing for him to return.

There was a smile so distracting in his crimson eyes when he looked up at you that you didn't notice the one giant arm snaked around your hip, the tongue darting out of his mouth to wet his lips, nor the hook of his fingers under your panties.

"I'll be real careful," He lulled.

Your face grew hot, your heartbeat hastened, at the brief sensation of cold air on your sex. Being the object of intense attention never did get easier, even if he had the goofiest, sharp-toothed smile plastered across his face.

A sharp pang of pleasure hit you like a brick wall. With the messy kisser he was, you should've anticipated his pussy-eating to be just as inconveniently skilled.

"Mm-m, Ah!" You bit the heel of your hand but were robbed of it almost right away.

His free hand trapped your wrist like it was nothing and you felt a smile spreading once more at your useless attempts to free it.

You settled for fixing his long hair up and out of the way, since he had absolutely no intention of helping the cause, and let him slide his rough, heavy hands onto the back of your thighs.

"Mm-mmn," You whimpered at the mercy of his tongue and resolve to get you as slippery as he possibly could, with what little patience you both had left.

He was so good that you didn't care if he'd practiced on a million other girls before you, as long as he just kept edging his tongue around your clit like that.

The man used little to no force to press your thighs up further. His big, warm palms engulfed your hamstrings like they were nothing. Your heart fluttered at the sight.

It was only embarrassing for a moment, because the way he kept lapping at you was downright sinful.

One hand slid down your thigh- you watched as he slicked up two of his middlemost fingers down to the knuckle. Given that his fingers were so long and thick, it was strangely hot watching that happen. He really did keep surprising you.

"I knew you'd taste s'fuckin sweet," He mumbled against your cunt before getting a good position with his hand and sucking at your skin once more.

An uncontrollable whine caught in your throat at the slur in his speech and how easily you took his fingers. Your thighs flexed and twitched as he pumped, nice and slow, filling you up as far as he could reach.

"Oh my- god," Your moans were just noise to you at this point- catching your breath was difficult when your body was in such a state of bliss.

He seethed with a boyish laugh against your bitten-up thigh, "You're takin' me so well- That feel good?"

No man could compare to Kirishima's methodical, yet passionate care around your pleasure.

You gasped as he slipped a third finger in- just as you got accustomed to the stretch of the other two. It's like he could feel for himself when you needed more. And he always had more.

No coherent words that could escape your mouth. He made eye contact with you that you couldn't seem to look away from. He wore a sympathetic grin, understanding that you couldn't tell him just how good you felt with just how far gone you looked.

The tension in your belly was growing all too quickly- you'd be useless if you came now.

But he was so lost in it. You had to tug pretty hard on him to get him to yield. He stalled and you finally found your breath.

"Eij- I," You gasped at his quick grin that gave way to a long, gentle kiss to your clit, "a-Ah-Ha- okay-mm, stop, sto-op-,"

He sighed and slowly earned his pruny fingers back- he made sure to lick every bit of you off of them before he rose to meet you for a tender, but still very messy, kiss.

His cock weighed heavy between you, but it felt much more achievable of a goal now.

If you weren't ready for him now, you'd never be. What was this? Like at least an hour of foreplay?

You were shaky and weak as he lined himself up with your sex after sliding on a condom.

"Let me know if it's too much-," He used his free hand to hold your face, not giving you anywhere else to stare but his attentive gaze, "I don't wanna hurt you."

It helped that you were feeling so empty prior- because as he pushed past your entrance, the realization hit you that you never felt so stretched past your limits before.

A couple taps kept you in the land of the living. You blinked slowly up at him with a bitten lip, practically drunk on the feeling of being split on his cock.

"Y'don't talk much, d'ya?" He huffed, swallowing his own pleasure to keep responsible for yours.

It goes without saying the guy couldn't bottom out without hitting your cervix- and that was a drastically different endeavor depending on the woman, so he didn't attempt it.

You didn't notice.

Lines blurred between discomfort and acute pleasure as soon as he felt you relaxed enough to stuff his thick shaft further into your tight body.

"Can't've fucked ya dumb already," He drawled with a feverish, dirty look in his eyes.

He seethed as your body responded, your thighs tightening around him, tummy stirring at the stretch and that probe of a comment.

You gave a playful grin at how he easily spread your thighs apart, his cock able to stuff you better without your unnecessary flexing.

A gasp racked you at the sensation and you leaned your head back with a whine.

He gave your hip a pinch when you kept trying to make him do it again. He was intrigued at your reactions, and more than willing to oblige with how good you were at taking him.

"Mm-mm, you've gotta open up for me, pretty girl," He lowered himself to drown you in a rough kiss.

You just couldn't catch your breath with him inside of you- like there was no room for air in your lungs when your entire body felt like it was filled with him. A sleepy smile roused at his occasional force.

Soon, with your mouth as a distraction, his pace grew to a less kind speed.

"Mmn-Ah! God-," You yelped, sounds soon to be covered by a firm, calloused hand.

"Shhh," He grinned just briefly- it was overshadowed by a grimace of intense pleasure, "A-ah, you're way too loud."

The incredulous look on his face explained that he clocked exactly how you liked to be fucked as soon as he put it in. There was a reason you went for big guys.

"nd' way too tight for me," He added with an honest groan.

He was slowly sinking into you. All 290 pounds of him. You felt lightheaded, like you were getting pounded to Cloud 9 with the most handsome, blurry face as all you could see.

The hand he used to keep you silent slipped. His hips stalled for a moment.

He asked you something but you couldn't hear it. All you gave was another whimper at his hesitation when you were just getting there. You didn't realize you had been crying until he wiped one away with the rough pad of his thumb.

You blinked away the sting.

"'M fine," You mumbled, smiling at his concern, "You jus'feel so good..."

Another surprised expression could be briefly seen in his eyes, while an excited smile still remained plastered to his jaw.

You were the little freak of his dreams. A match made in heaven.

It was the final confirmation he needed to really put his dick to good use.

Nice and pliable now, you reveled in his slick, heavy body crushing you into his mattress. His hands slid under your ass, a brutal grasp as he picked up pace and force to how you preferred.

No room to move, hardly enough air to keep you intelligible, and fucked senseless under him. Exactly how you fantasized in your own bed right after you first met him.

His grunts and groans at the mercy of your tight cunt were so clear against your ear, his forehead against the sheets.

He kept your adorable sounds muffled with his hulking shoulder in your useless bite.

"Fuck-- a-h, f-uck," A subtle, clipped whine at the end of his curse stroked your ego a bit.

One hand came up to support his weight and fist a section of hair, forcing your head to one side.

"A-h!" You whined again, but this time he smiled at it.

His bottom hand slid to one hip with a brutish squeeze as he brought you down on his cock. The grip on your scalp was electrifying and reassuring all in one.

"Feels so fucking good," He groan-laughed, "God, you--Mmn-! Got such a good pussy,"

You were swimming in the buzz of your climbing orgasm. Drunken, whimpery sounds were coming out of you, but you couldn't register them. His shaky affirmations served as stepping stones towards the strongest build-up you've had in a long, long time.

It crashed over you without more than a mere second's warning-- your nails dug deep trenches down his well-muscled back, as you came hard around his cock.

Your loud mouth was no longer muffled or of his concern other than wanting everyone in the building to hear how fucking good he made you feel.

He watched your body squirm and tremble under him in adulation; he fucked you to completion, but no more.

Tired, weak, and shaky, you had no room to respond to him pulling out of you, his lack of orgasm, or his cuddly shushing. He brought you back down gently, with no pressure, or judgement.

Your head was pressed to his oversized chest, a grounding hand scratching lightly in your hair.

A light, soft blanket over your prickly skin settled you at last. His big, puppy dog eyes met yours with enthusiasm as you peered up at him.

"You're so cool."

Somehow, that compliment stunned you the most out of all his endearing habits and sayings.

His bitten-lip smile matched your embarrassed giggle. "What're you talking about?"

"Just, aah," He showed off those pointy teeth you just couldn't get enough of. You watched them in a delightful and soft daze, "You're so-o good! I've just..."

A bashful sigh, though the graceless palm on your bruising hip didn't express such modesty, "Never been with someone who... could..."

He trailed off. It could've meant many things.

He was a master at keeping his experiences vague, though you could tell it wasn't intentional.

The softness behind his lashes, the speed in which he let up on your hip at your subtle wince, and the hesitancy that characterized him this whole night helped you understand.

The partners he must've been with before-- he probably hurt them. Badly enough to carry that guilt with him to now.

"You made it easy," You slid up to give him a peck on his stubbly chin. "You...take good care of me."

Your body raised as his chest swelled with pride. It threw you a bit off balance, so you slid to lay yourself on top of him, slow and steady. The comfort of his big, warm body was unparalleled.

"We're," Kirishima's rumbly voice tugged you out of a light slumber, "Totally dating now, right?"

His voice didn't sound entirely sure.

You chuckled and rubbed an eye, "Mmm, you still--," A big yawn made him giggle, "Gotta take me to dinner."

He squished a big kiss to the top of your head. Hulking arms linked back over you for extra warmth to let you sleep a while longer.

taglist:

@dough-yo-bu @yellowflowerbub @fairywriter-oracle @kirismoon

@kwiwin @cringingmemeries @leo6472 @nijha2tact @lotusstarr @straows

[dinogoofymutated]

I absolutely adore how you write Kurt,

Could you write something for Kurt being concerned for an overworked reader?

And or a reader that struggles with sleep?

SFW!Nightcrawler/GN! Reader The amount of comfort that this man gives me UGH! He's just so caring and sweet, but I worry about him :( He's been the therapist friend in basically every episode in 97' and he deserves some comfort too so I added basically the reverse version of these headcannons at the end as well! Sorry I didn't end up writing anything for sleep, I've written a fic with some sleep struggle themes here but I might end up writing some seperate headcannons for that later! TWs: Themes of burnout/exhaustion. Mentions of the Genosha attack and Remy's death/funeral, religious themes. As always, reader written while picturing Fem! But no pronouns mentioned. I'm doing my best with adding German dialect while Kurt speaks but I'm not super knowledgeable, so let me know if there's something I need to change!

Kurt makes it his absolute mission to make sure you're always taken care of. Food, emotional support, laundry, dishes, Hell, he'd give you the sun and stars if you needed them. He just cares about you so much, and he never wants you to feel like you're alone in this world.

This being said, when he feels that you're overworking yourself, he's not afraid to let you know.

When he first starts to notice it, He'll check in on you more often. He'll pull you into a hug and give you kisses and he'll only leave when you reassure him that you're perfectly fine.

If you're still overworking yourself after this, he will outright tell you that he loves you, but you need a break. You can't go on like this and he's concerned about you. He doesn't purposely give you the sad puppy eyes, but seriously, how could you think about saying no to that face?

He really likes to brush his hands through your hair when he's trying to help you relax. He'll move your head into his lap on the couch and hum you softly to sleep. He might take you to bed, but he won't wake you up unless he absolutely has to. He won't go as far as to turn off your alarms, but he just wants you to rest.

However, if you know you're overworking yourself but still refuse to let yourself stop, or take a break, he's going to be a little more "aggressive".

    Your computer screen is giving you a migraine, you feel like you want to tear your brain out of your head, and plainly? You just can’t sit still. You had been in this spot for about six hours straight. The last time you actually got up was to eat dinner, and even then you had only relaxed for what, thirty minutes? You can’t really remember.

    You sigh deeply, leaning back in your chair as you massage your temples. Working for the budding country of Genosha was certainly not for the weak. You needed to have this paperwork finished and faxed before the end of the week so that talks of Genosha entering the U.N. could continue. It was such a hefty amount, but it was necessary. Everyone else had done their part, and all you had to do was make corrections, edit, and make sure everything was in top shape. You’d been working on it for about three days straight, and with the finish line in sight, you didn’t want to stop now. 

    Oh, but your head hurts so bad, and you feel like you're starving. You look from your computer to your copy machine and the huge stack of mostly finished paperwork on your desk. You just want it to be over with, you decide it’s best if you just push through.

    “You haven’t moved from that spot since lunch,” You hear Kurt state. He comes around the side of your chair to brush some stray locks away from your forehead, and you do your best to give him a smile, although it’s obvious the expression is pained.

    “I didn’t hear you come in.” Your voice comes out a little gravelly from being silent most of the day. Kurt’s hands begin to gather your hair and caress the back of your neck lovingly. His hands feel good, grounding. You close your eyes to appreciate the feeling and miss the sight of Kurt’s frown.

    “Let’s get you to bed, Liebchen. I can tell your head hurts.” Kurt’s tone is gentle, although displeased, and it makes you feel guilty when you shake your head and pull away, leaning forward as you restack the paperwork on your desk.

    “I can’t. I’m almost done with this whole U.N. thing and the sooner it’s over, the better.” You mumble stubbornly. Kurt shakes his head at you, pulling your rolling chair away from the desk before you can get your hands on something else. You don’t even have the energy to express your shock as Kurt takes the papers out of your hands, using the table to straighten them before placing them in their proper place. He tuts at you as he does so, and continues to save your files and power down the computer despite your protests.

    “My apologies, love, but I won’t let you rot in this room for another moment. I understand how important this work is to you. Giving Genosia a voice that the world can hear is a very noble cause, and yet it is still a cause that can wait till tomorrow, Ja?” You open your mouth to attempt to protest again, but your head hurts so bad, and you are so tired. Kurt takes your hands to help you out of your chair, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulls you into a gentle hug.

    “Okay. But-” You don’t finish your sentence before Kurt is tucking your face into his shoulder, sparing you the view as he Bamfs you away. When he lets you go, you’re standing in your bedroom. You’re thankful that he spared you the sights, knowing that it would have just made your head worse- but it didn’t change the fact that you hadn’t been remotely done in the office.

    “-I still need to lock up, Kurt.” You start to say, but he’s gone in a puff of smoke before you can even finish the sentence. When he makes it back a few minutes later, Kurt sends you a cheeky smile, lifting his tail to show you the keys he must’ve snagged from your pocket earlier. 

    “Did you-”

    “Lock the file cabinet? Yes. And I turned off your lamp, and closed the curtains before I locked the door.” Kurt kisses your temple as he sits you down on the bed, beginning to take your shoes off. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you taken care of.” You feel like your heart might explode with the overwhelming fondness you’re feeling right now. When he’s done with your shoes, he carefully helps you undress and change into pajamas, something he knows you struggled with when you were as exhausted as you are now. He makes sure to tuck you into bed before he himself goes to change. It doesn’t matter how much pain you felt at this point, when he crawled into bed you couldn’t stop yourself from curling up close to him, pressing tired kisses to whatever part of him you could reach. Kurt simply chuckles, pulling you into an embrace as he whispers sweet encouragements for you to sleep.

    “Kurt?”

    “Yes, Meine Liebe?”

    “ ‘Think you could Marry me?”

Now just because Kurt will do everything in his power to keep you from reaching the point of burnout, doesn't mean that he himself will stop from reaching that point.

Kurt is a genuinely good person, right to the core. He likes helping people, he likes to care for others, but he doesn't always ask for help when he needs it. It's not that he doesn't have emotional intelligence for his own feelings, he just tends to soothe himself by assisting others. Even then, to an extent, that's not healthy coping. There is only so much someone can carry alone.

After the attack on Genosha, there was a lot of work that had to be done- and Kurt, being a familiar and dependable face in the many religious communities, was needed constantly in a tumultuous time when many turned to religion.

It's been a struggle for the two of you, much of your time together being cut short in one way or another, and the longer you spent away, the more worried you became.

It all came to a head after Remy's funeral.

    Remy’s funeral was… Rough. To say the least. No one was coping very well, especially not Jubilee. You had walked out to the cars with the group after the last of the dirt had been laid, making sure to give her a tight hug. The X-men were the only real family she had ever had, and now she had lost a brother. You had let her sob for a moment, listening to her cries and the sounds of doors, opening and closing. 

    When everyone had loaded up and was ready to head out, you noticed that Kurt wasn’t there. You told everyone that you would catch up. You had a feeling you knew where he would be.

    You find Kurt in an empty church. He’d shed his outermost robes at some point, and was sitting silently on a pew. His eyes are closed and his hands folded, praying. You don’t disturb him as you sit down, simply reaching a hand out and placing it on his knee, squeezing it to let him know you were there. When he finishes, he places his hand over your own, opening his eyes as he looks down. His tears are flowing freely, and he leans into your touch when you wipe them from his cheeks.

    “I’ve been told that there is strength in a man that freely mourns, but… It’s silly. I can’t help but wish that I was stronger.” Kurt’s almost whispering as he speaks. You feel a lump form in your throat, your stinging eyes welling with tears for the countless time today. It hurts so unbelievably to see someone you love hurting so much, knowing that there is so little that you can do to make the pain go away, even if the loss is shared.

    “It’s not silly. I think that a lot of people feel the same- especially right now.” You say. You take hold of his left hand, tracing the cool metal band on his finger. You compare it to the one you wear, and find yourself thankful that the hand that bears his is still warm. You think of Rogue and Remy. The life they could’ve had together, if only they had been given more time. 

    You lean your head on Kurt’s shoulder, and he rests his head on top of your own. 

    “You don’t have to carry it alone.” You whisper eventually. Kurt says nothing, lacing his fingers between yours. “I know we haven't had a lot of time together lately, but as long as I’ve known you, you’ve carried so much on your shoulders- but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I’m here for, remember?” Kurt laughs lightly at your words, squeezing your left hand before lifting it to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

    “You are a gift that I’m not entirely sure I deserve, my love,” Kurt says. You scoff at him, frowning now as you look up to meet his eyes.

    “Lying is a sin, Kurt.” You say playfully. His smile is blinding, and you gasp as Kurt Wagner of all people rolls his eyes at you. 

    “Even if it was a lie, which it isn’t, as long as I have you near, Schatz, Heaven will be in reach.”

[theonottsbxtch]

THE COME DOWN PT 2 | LN4

an: i'd like to preface this by saying this is not everyone's cup of tea and warn you ahead of time this faces the topic of substance abuse and overdose, so if you're not comfy reading this, step back now! if you or anyone you know needs help, please feel free to talk to me or here are links for who to talk to: united kingdom, united states, canada, europe. these are some of the links i've found, if you need help searching for one, my inbox is always open!

wc: 3.8k

warnings: substance abuse, overdose and mentions of death

part one

The flat was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old pipes and the distant hum of traffic outside. She sat cross-legged on Oscar’s bed, wearing one of his oversized hoodies that smelled faintly of cedar and something else distinctly him. Her bag sat untouched in the corner; she hadn’t bothered unpacking, too afraid that settling in even slightly would mean acknowledging the enormity of what she’d done. Leaving Lando. Leaving everything behind.

Oscar was in the kitchen. She could hear the clatter of mugs and the low hiss of the kettle as he made tea, always keeping his hands busy to avoid saying too much. He had a way of filling silence that was considerate, like he understood she needed time and space but couldn’t leave her to drown in her thoughts.

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She ignored it. It wasn’t as though anyone important would be calling her, and she couldn’t stomach the idea of hearing Lando’s voice, slurred or otherwise. The last time still replayed in her mind, a cacophony of anger, confusion, and shame. She pulled the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands and pressed her fists to her temples, willing the memory away.

Oscar appeared in the doorway, balancing two steaming mugs. His face was a study in quiet concern, his dark eyes scanning her as though trying to decipher what she wasn’t saying.

“Chamomile,” he said, setting a mug on the bedside table. “It’s good for relaxing. Not that I think you need it,” he added quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “But, you know, just in case.”

She offered him a small smile. “Thanks, Osc.”

He stood there for a moment, uncertain, before finally retreating to the sofa in the other room. He hadn’t asked her why exactly she called him three nights ago looking like a ghost of herself. He didn’t need to. Oscar had always been like that—a safe harbour. Dependable. Steady. A friend.

She leaned back against the pillows, clutching the mug in her hands and letting the warmth seep into her fingers. The flat was so different from Lando’s. No art on the walls, no clutter, no hint of chaos or indulgence. It was simple and unpretentious, much like Oscar himself. For the first time in what felt like years, she felt like she could breathe.

But the guilt lingered, gnawing at her. She’d left Lando. Not just walked out, but abandoned him when he was at his lowest. The memory of his eyes, wide and red-rimmed, flashed through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to cry again. Not now.

The days at Oscar’s flat passed in a blur of silence and borrowed familiarity. She didn’t do much—couldn’t, really. Her thoughts were too loud, her energy sapped by the constant cycle of guilt, anger, and self-recrimination. Most of her time was spent curled up in Oscar’s bed, surrounded by the faint smell of his laundry detergent, trying not to think too hard about anything. It was a losing battle.

Oscar gave her space, which she appreciated. He didn’t hover or press her for answers, but he was always there, lingering at the edges of her solitude, ready if she needed him. Sometimes she found him at the small dining table in the corner of the living room, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

Tonight was one of those nights. She wandered out of his room with the cup of tea he’d given her. He glanced up when she padded into the living room but didn’t say anything, just offered a small, welcoming smile before returning to his book. She sat down opposite him, curling her legs beneath her, and watched him in the soft glow of the table lamp.

The book must have been gripping because his brow furrowed slightly, and he turned the pages with an almost reverent care. She noticed the way his fingers brushed the edges, like he didn’t want to crease them. She hadn’t seen him this still in years. But then again, she rarely ever saw Oscar now.

“Good book?” she asked eventually, her voice breaking the comfortable quiet.

He looked up, startled for a second, before the smile returned. “Yeah. Bit dense, though. I’m not sure I actually understand half of it.”

She huffed a small laugh, the first real one in days, and it surprised her. He noticed, too. For a moment, he just looked at her, like he wanted to say something, but then he shook his head and glanced back at the page.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t oppressive. She stared at the mug in her hands and her mind wandered—back to Lando, inevitably. To his voice, slurred and sharp; to the way he used to be, before everything went wrong. She wondered if he’d even noticed she was gone.

Oscar’s voice cut through the fog of her thoughts. “You don’t have to stay cooped up in there, you know.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“In the bedroom,” he said, nodding towards the closed door behind her. “You’re welcome out here, anytime. Even if it’s just to sit.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks.”

They sat together like that for a while longer, him reading and her lost in thought. It was strange how easy it was to be with Oscar, even with all the mess she’d brought into his life. She wanted to thank him, to say something to convey just how much it meant that he’d opened his door to her without question. But the words felt too heavy, so she stayed quiet.

Later, when the weight of the day became too much, she retreated to his bed again. She pulled the covers up to her chin, staring at the ceiling, but sleep didn’t come easily. She kept seeing Lando’s face, hearing his voice. Over and over, the same thought clawed at her—I left him.

The phone call came in the early hours of the morning, jolting her awake. She fumbled for the phone on the bedside table, her heart already racing as she answered it.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was barely a whisper, but she recognised it instantly.

“It’s me,” Lando said, his voice cracking.

Her stomach twisted. “Lando? What’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know what to do,” he mumbled, his words slurring together. Then the line went silent.

“Lando?” she said, louder this time, her voice thick with fear. “Lando, are you there?”

Nothing.

She sat up, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. She knew something was wrong. Her body knew it before her mind caught up. She stumbled out of bed and into the living room, where Oscar was sprawled on the sofa, asleep under a thin blanket. She shook him awake, her urgency spilling over.

“Osc, wake up,” she said, her voice shaking.

He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Lando. I think something’s happened. We need to go. Now.”

Oscar blinked himself awake, shaking off the haze of sleep as he sat up on the sofa. The urgency in her voice jolted him fully alert. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low but sharp with concern.

“It’s Lando,” she said, pacing in frantic, uneven steps across the room. Her hands were shaking. “He called me, and something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but we have to go. Now, Osc. Please.”

Oscar frowned, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Wait, slow down. What did he say?”

“He didn’t—he barely said anything. But I know him. Something’s wrong.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she stopped pacing, fixing him with a desperate look. “Please, Osc. We can’t waste time.”

He didn’t ask any more questions. He grabbed his keys from the table and pulled on his jacket. “Let’s go.”

The drive was a blur of adrenaline and recklessness. Oscar’s McLaren roared through the city streets, the tyres screeching as he ignored red lights and zipped through gaps in traffic that barely existed. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, clutching the edge of the seat with white-knuckled hands, her eyes fixed on the road ahead as though willing them to go faster.

“What’s his flat number again?” Oscar asked, his voice tight.

“Four. Top floor.”

When they reached the building, she was out of the car before he’d even fully stopped. She tore up the stairs two at a time, her breath coming in gasps, the blood pounding in her ears. Oscar was right behind her, keeping pace as she reached the fourth floor and darted to Lando’s door. She banged on it with both fists.

“Lando!” she shouted, her voice echoing down the empty hallway. “Open the door! It’s me!”

Nothing.

“Lando!” She banged harder, the sound reverberating through her skull. The silence on the other side of the door was deafening.

Oscar caught her arm gently, his expression grim. “Move,” he said.

Before she could argue, he planted a foot against the doorframe and slammed his shoulder into the wood. The first hit made it shudder; the second sent it crashing open.

The smell hit them first—a sharp, acrid scent that made her stomach turn. She rushed inside, her eyes darting around the dimly lit flat. “Lando?”

The bathroom door was ajar, and she spotted his legs sprawled on the tiled floor. Her heart stopped. “Oh, God.”

She ran to him, dropping to her knees beside his lifeless form. He was slumped against the tub, his head lolling to the side, his skin pale and clammy. An empty syringe lay on the floor next to him, and his breathing was shallow, barely there.

“Lando,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. “Lando, wake up. Please.”

Oscar appeared in the doorway, his face ashen. “Is he—?”

“Call an ambulance!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Right now, Osc!”

Oscar pulled out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he dialled. She turned back to Lando, tears streaming down her face. She shook him gently, her voice rising in desperation. “You don’t get to do this, Lando. You hear me? You don’t get to give up like this.”

The operator’s voice buzzed faintly from Oscar’s phone as he relayed their location. He crouched beside her, his free hand resting on her shoulder, trying to steady her as she broke down.

“Come on,” she pleaded, her forehead pressed against Lando’s. “You’re not allowed to leave me. Not like this.”

The sound of distant sirens filled the air, growing louder with each passing second. Oscar stayed silent, his grip firm but gentle, grounding her as she crumbled.

In that moment, a bitter realisation struck him—a knife twisting in his chest. No matter how much he wanted to, he could never truly have her. Her heart was still tethered to Lando, even in its shattered, battered state. And as he watched her hold the man who had hurt her in so many ways, he knew it would always be that way.

She, meanwhile, was drowning in her own spiral of guilt. She’d left him. She’d abandoned him when he needed her most. And now, seeing him like this, all she could think was, I’m the reason he’s here. I’m the reason this happened.

The paramedics burst through the door, their presence swift and efficient, but she didn’t move until Oscar gently pulled her away to let them work. She stood frozen, clutching the edge of the sink as they checked Lando’s pulse and prepared a stretcher.

“Will he be okay?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

One of the paramedics glanced at her with a professional calm. “We’re stabilising him. He’s got a chance.”

As they wheeled him out, Oscar stayed close to her side, his arm hovering protectively near her back. They followed the stretcher down the stairs, out into the crisp night air. She couldn’t stop trembling, her mind replaying the scene over and over.

For Oscar, the sight of her clinging to Lando’s hand as he was loaded into the ambulance was a final confirmation of what he’d already known deep down. He would always be the one standing on the sidelines, watching as her heart belonged to someone else.

“Come on,” he said gently, guiding her away from the flashing lights. “Let’s go.”

The ambulance doors slammed shut with a finality that echoed in the pit of her stomach. She stood on the pavement, watching as the vehicle sped away into the night, its siren cutting through the heavy silence. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her chest tight with the weight of too many emotions to name.

Oscar stood a step behind her, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, the tension in his body radiating outwards. He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew better. She needed space, and he wasn’t sure he had the words to make this better, even if she’d let him try.

Finally, she turned to him, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the city. “I can’t believe I left him.”

Oscar frowned. “This isn’t your fault.”

Her eyes snapped to his, the raw guilt blazing in them making him wince. “Isn’t it? I walked out, Osc. I left him. I knew he was falling apart, and I still…” Her voice broke, and she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “What kind of person does that?”

“The kind of person who couldn’t set herself on fire to keep someone else warm,” he said softly.

She stared at him, her breath hitching, but the words didn’t seem to sink in. She shook her head, taking a step back. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to see someone you love destroy themselves, to feel like you’re all they have, and then to just… leave.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know?” His voice was quiet but firm. “I’ve been watching you do it. For too long. Staying with him, breaking yourself to pieces trying to save him.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She just looked at him, stunned, as though the weight of what he’d said was pressing down on her all at once.

“I’m not saying it to hurt you,” Oscar continued, his tone gentler now. “But you need to stop blaming yourself. Lando made his choices. You didn’t make him drink, or use, or…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t make him do this.”

She turned away, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold the pieces together. “I just keep thinking… if I’d stayed, maybe—”

“Maybe you’d have ended up in that ambulance too,” Oscar interrupted, stepping closer. He hesitated, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “You did what you had to do. For yourself. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.”

The tears came then, silent and unrelenting. She leaned into his touch, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was something fragile and precious. She buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled by the fabric of his jacket.

For a moment, Oscar allowed himself to close his eyes and just be there for her. It wasn’t enough—not for her, and not for him—but it was all he could offer.

When she finally pulled away, her face was blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed, but there was a flicker of determination in her expression.

“I need to go to the hospital,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

Oscar nodded. “I’ll take you.”

The drive to the hospital was quieter, the urgency replaced by a heavy solemnity. She stared out of the window, her mind miles away, while Oscar focused on the road.

When they arrived, the harsh fluorescent lights of the A&E waiting room made everything feel colder. She checked in with the nurse at the desk, explaining who she was there for, and was told to wait.

Minutes turned into hours, and still, they hadn’t heard anything. Oscar sat beside her, his knee bouncing impatiently. She sat perfectly still, staring at the floor, her hands clenched in her lap.

Finally, a doctor emerged, her expression neutral but kind. “Are you here for Lando?”

She shot to her feet. “Yes. How is he?”

The doctor glanced at the clipboard in her hands. “We’ve stabilised him. He was lucky you got to him when you did. Another half an hour, and we might have been having a very different conversation.”

Her knees nearly gave out, and Oscar steadied her with a hand on her arm. “Can I see him?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“He’s still unconscious,” the doctor said. “But you’re welcome to sit with him.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and followed the doctor down the stark, sterile corridor. Oscar stayed behind, giving her space.

Inside the room, Lando looked small against the backdrop of wires and monitors. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was a stark reminder of how close he’d come to losing the fight. She sank into the chair beside his bed, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from his face.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

But as the words left her mouth, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered something else: You couldn’t have saved him alone.

She sat there for what felt like hours, holding his hand and staring at the fragile rise and fall of his chest. In the doorway, Oscar watched her silently, his face unreadable.

For her, it was a moment of reckoning. For Oscar, it was a moment of heartbreak.

The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence of the hospital room. She sat by Lando’s bedside, her hands trembling as they clutched his limp, lifeless one. He looked fragile under the harsh fluorescent light, a hollow shadow of the man he used to be.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there when his fingers twitched weakly in hers.

“Lando?” she whispered, leaning forward.

He stirred, his eyelids fluttering before slowly cracking open. His eyes were bloodshot, unfocused, but after a moment, they found her. Confusion flitted across his face, followed by something darker. Shame.

“You shouldn’t… be here,” he rasped, his voice thin and raw.

Her breath hitched. “Lando, don’t say that. I was terrified. I thought—” She swallowed hard. “I thought I’d lost you.”

A bitter laugh escaped him, jagged and broken. “Why do you care? You left, remember?” His words cut, even though his voice barely carried above a whisper.

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t find the words. She squeezed his hand instead, her own shaking. “I care because you called me. You called me, Lando. You could’ve called anyone else, but you didn’t.”

He looked away, his expression crumpling. “Should’ve called no one. Let it… end.”

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t get to give up like that. Not when there are people who still care about you.”

Lando’s gaze drifted past her, to the doorway where Oscar leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his stance, a sharpness in his eyes.

Lando scoffed. “Even him? What, are you here for moral support, Oscar? Come to gloat?”

Oscar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for her, not you.”

The venom in Lando’s glare was palpable. “Course you are. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Sweep in like a knight in shining armour, acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

“I don’t have to act,” Oscar replied coolly.

“Stop it, both of you,” she snapped, looking between them. “This isn’t about whatever history you two have. Lando, you’re in a hospital bed because you nearly died. Oscar, I didn’t ask you to be here so you could fight with him. This is bigger than that.”

Lando’s gaze flicked back to her, and the defiance faded, replaced by something brittle. He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling unsteadily. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he murmured. “I didn’t want anyone to.”

“Then stop putting yourself here,” she said, her voice breaking. “Lando, please. You have to get help. You can’t keep doing this.”

He didn’t respond, his face turned away. She felt her throat tighten, but she pushed on, her voice softer now. “I left because I couldn’t keep watching you destroy yourself. I didn’t want to, but I had to. For me. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring. And it doesn’t mean you can’t fix this.”

Lando turned his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes locking with hers. “What if I don’t know how?”

Her heart broke at the quiet, vulnerable question. She squeezed his hand, her tears falling freely now. “Then let someone help you. Let me help you. But you have to try, Lando. Promise me you’ll try.”

Lando’s lips quivered, and after a long moment, he nodded weakly. “I’ll try,” he whispered.

Behind her, Oscar exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. But when Lando’s gaze shifted back to him, the bitterness returned.

“Bet you’ve been waiting for this,” Lando muttered. “The great Oscar Piastri, saving the day again. Must feel nice, huh?”

Oscar stepped forward, his expression hardening. “This isn’t about you, Lando. It stopped being about you the day you threw it all away. The career. The friendship. The team. I stopped caring about you a long time ago. The only reason I’m here is her.”

Lando flinched, and she bristled, turning to Oscar. “That’s enough, Osc.”

But Oscar didn’t back down. “No, he needs to hear it. You’re not my responsibility, Lando. You never were. But you made her yours, and you dragged her down with you. That ends now.”

Lando’s face crumpled, his shoulders shaking as he pressed his hand over his eyes. The sound of his muffled sobs broke something inside her.

“Oscar, stop,” she said firmly, standing. She faced him, her eyes filled with anger and hurt. “I know you’re angry, but this isn’t the time.”

Oscar’s jaw worked, but he nodded curtly, stepping back. “Fine. I’ll be outside.” He walked out without another word.

When she turned back to Lando, his face was wet with tears. “He hates me,” Lando muttered.

She sat down again, taking his hand in hers. “Maybe he does. But I don’t. And that’s why I’m asking you to fight. Not for him. Not even for me. For you.”

Lando didn’t answer, but the faintest nod of his head gave her hope.

In the hallway, Oscar leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the floor. His heart ached with frustration and unspoken words. When she finally emerged, her face pale and drawn, he straightened.

“Is he—”

“He’ll be okay,” she said quietly. “He promised he’d try.”

Oscar nodded, his expression unreadable.

He didn't know how this was going to go, but he wasn't ready to mourn the loss of another friendship because of his old teammate's reckless decisions.

the end.

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