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pearlessance · 4 months ago

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The Hand That Feeds - Idle Threats [iii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Tommy sets Joel up on a date with a lovely, soft spoken, age appropriate woman at the Tipsy Bison. He has a much better time in the restroom with a little girl who can’t keep his fingers out of her mouth.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, jealousy, light angst

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

When Joel wakes up the next morning, several hours later than usual, Tommy’s already sitting at the table beside Ellie. Maria is there too, smiling affectionately at the two of them as they bicker back and forth about one of the horses in the stables.

“She’s crazy,” Tommy says. “Always buckin’ and snappin’ at people. And she goes on hunger strikes, too. As if we don’t already worry about feeding ‘em.”

“Oh my God, dude,” Ellie grumbles. She stands from the table and disappears into the kitchen. When she returns, she acknowledges Joel as he laces up his boots only long enough to place a plate in front of him and say, “Made you a sandwich for lunch.” And then she turns back to Tommy. “She’s not crazy. You just have to be gentle. Approach with caution, isn’t that the saying?”

Joel thinks of you briefly at Ellie’s words. Approach with caution. It’s fitting, considering Joel tends to lose all morality within touching distance of you. But he’s not supposed to be thinking of you at all, and so he shoves the thought from his head as quickly as it appears.

But then he thinks he’s been outed, as if his brother could read his mind. “Speaking of crazy,” Tommy says. “Mike’s back from his run so he’ll be on watch tonight. You’ll be free of her from now on.”

He’s not sure why, but it bothers him a little that you’re being referred to as crazy. Made even worse when he realizes his brother is currently comparing you to the broodmare out in the stables. He wants to say something but doesn’t know the words to speak without making himself look suspicious.

Thankfully, Ellie does it for him. “You know, Tommy, I’m starting to think you’re just a pussy.”

Joel knows he should probably chastise her. Especially in front of Maria—who has always been a little standoffish about Ellie and her lack of discretion. But he doesn’t. Joel laughs to himself instead, comforted when his brother breaks out into chuckles of his own.

“Maybe so,” Tommy says. He stands from the table, and Maria follows him. But when she nudges Tommy with an elbow, he pauses and proceeds to ask, “You got plans tonight? Before your watch?”

Joel shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich. “Not really.”

“So you’ll come have a drink with me then? At the Bison?”

Joel hesitates. He’s not sure why—quality time with his brother sounds like a fine time to him. But there’s something in the tone of his voice that puts Joel on edge. “Why?”

Maria answers for him. “To catch up,” she says. “Been a minute since it was just the two of you. You deserve that, I think.” And then she turns to Tommy and raises her brows, a suspicious smile on her face. “You know what? I’ll take your watch for you. Mike and I have some stuff to discuss anyway. You two can have a guys' night.”

He can sense the bullshit from a mile away. All but solidified with the grin Ellie hides behind her hand.

But Joel isn’t in the mood to argue. It’s obvious they’re doing it for a reason, but whatever it is can’t be that bad. Otherwise, Tommy would’ve told him already. “Alright, then.”

“Come help me move this firewood and I’ll buy the first round,” Tommy offers.

Joel agrees, and after making sure Ellie would be occupied and safe within the walls for the day, they set out towards the edge of the perimeter.

Tommy has the back of his truck bed overflowing with split wood. And truthfully, Joel is happy to see it. Because manual labor is a welcome distraction. Tommy’s incessant talking will occupy his mind and moving the wood from the truck to the stockpile will occupy his hands—both of which have tended to stray towards you as of late.

The only problem is that twenty minutes in, after updating Joel on how domestic his life has become since marrying Maria, Tommy looks over at his brother and asks, “Honestly, I never thought you’d be into the young ones.”

Joel’s chest tightens at the insinuation. He decides to play dumb, even knowing his brother likely sees right through him. “What do you mean?”

He throws an armful of wood onto the pile and puts his hands on his hips. Tommy’s got a light sheen of sweat on his face and a smug expression beneath it. “You had a conversation with her? Seriously, Joel? You think I’m that stupid?”

“Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth,” he shoots back. “And you should be careful—throwin’ accusations around like that.”

Tommy narrows his eyes. “Is it an accusation?”

For a split second, Joel thinks about lying. But he’s never lied to his brother in all his life. Evaded direct questions and neglected the truth a little, sure. But he’s never lied, not to Tommy—and he doesn’t want to start now. So, he stays silent.

It’s answer enough. “Jesus, Joel,” he huffs. “She’s just a kid.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He forces his eyes away from Tommy, unable to face him. He gathers another armful of wood instead.

“No, no. I think you do know. Which makes this whole thing that much worse.”

Joel has half a mind to snap back at him. His brother is far from perfect, despite judging Joel like he’s got no mistakes made under his belt. But what he’s done is wrong. And isn’t this deserved, after all? Tommy’s allowed to be mad, to be disappointed.

So, Joel lets him cut deep.

“She don’t know any better,” he says. “Just an angry little girl, lost and lookin’ for someone to take care of her. And it can’t be you, Joel. Not like this. If you wanna…” Tommy moves his hands, swiping one out in front of him. “If you wanna keep her safe, protect her, that’s…ya know, that’s one thing. But usin’ her?”

Joel stops him, spine straightening as he tosses wood onto the pile. “It ain’t like that.”

“It’s cruel, s’what it is,” Tommy tells him. And Joel makes no argument. “I mean, seriously, what d’you expect is gonna happen? You two will, what? Fall in love, live happily ever after? You’re thirty two years older than her. Best case scenario, you live to be, what? Seventy? Seventy five? And she’ll still be around, left with nothin’ for the second half of her life. That what you want? She’s lost enough.”

He hears him. All of it. But Joel wants to know exactly what his brother means with those last three words. She’s lost enough. But now isn’t the time to ask, and Tommy isn’t the one he wants answers from. Joel lets out a long breath and shakes his head. “I told you, it ain’t like that. You think I’d let it go that far?”

Tommy scoffs. “You’ve already let it get this far. I don’t even know what all has happened and frankly, Joel, I’ve got no interest in findin’ out. I’m just sayin’ that whatever the hell’s goin’ on between you two, you’ve gotta put an end to it.”

Joel picks up more wood from the back of the truck. “I know,” he says, piling it on.

“I’m serious.”

“Goddammit, Tommy, I said I know,” he repeats, a little louder this time. “You gonna let me do all the fuckin’ work today or what?”

Tommy, thankfully, lets the subject go. But that painful ache in Joel’s chest? That stays and gets comfortable, makes a home where it doesn’t belong. They move the split wood in silence, though his mind is anything but.

There wasn’t a word untrue in his brother’s little spiel and Joel knows it. He doesn’t know what he wants from you, what business he has with you at all. It’s wrong to even think of you the way he does, to look at you the way he does…and acting on his impulses has been, perhaps, the worst thing Joel has ever done. Worse than killing. Worse than torturing. Worse than any lie he’s ever told.

Because he doesn’t regret it. Not even a little.

No. If Joel Miller could go back to the first day he met you, he’d still stare at that black lace beneath your wet shirt. He’d still admire the snow clinging to the ends of your hair. He’d still drink you in and eat you up and he’d still find an excuse to touch you, no matter what he tells himself.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t grow, that he can’t change. It doesn’t mean that he can’t be a better man, a man worthy of keeping you safe.

And he will, Joel vows silently. He will keep you safe, no matter what he’s done to you in the past. Someone has to look out for you, to keep you from falling off that edge of decency you like to toe so much.

When they’re tossing the last few logs onto the pile, Tommy wipes his brow with the back of his hand and says, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to find somebody.”

Joel shrugs. “I’ve got you and Ellie and this place. Don’t need much else, Tommy.”

“I know,” he says. And then again, “I know. But, uh…you know what I mean. Like a woman. Not a girl, but a real woman. Any of these other broads catch your eye?”

There’s something a little like hope in his eyes, and Joel knows his brother too well to believe this conversation is anything but a setup. “Why’re we talkin’ about this?”

Tommy squeezes the back of his neck. “That, uh…you know that drink we’d planned on havin’? It was…it was a lie. Kinda. You know Kelly? Works over at the grocer on Fourth Street. She’s real close with Maria.”

“No,” Joel immediately says, seeing right where this is headed. “No, I’m not doin’ that.”

“C’mon, man. What could it hurt? She’s got it real bad for you, ya know. The whole rugged caveman man thing seems to do it for her,” he jokes. Tommy’s laughing, but the joy bleeds from his face when he sees the threat in Joel’s eyes.

“I said no.”

When Joel turns to walk away, deciding to skip any quality time with his brother altogether for the sake of his sanity, Tommy grabs his shoulder and pulls him back. “Joel, look. Just…give it a shot. Kelly’s a real nice girl. Real pretty, too. Real young.”

Joel narrows his eyes. Thinks about clocking his brother in the goddamn nose.

Tommy laughs again and shakes his head. “Alright, I’m sorry. That was a little uncalled for,” he admits. He raises his hands in surrender. “All I’m sayin’ is it could be a good thing to put yourself out there a little. Get her out of your system.”

Joel doesn’t agree. There’s no erasing you, no scrubbing his hands clean. He’d made sure of it because he never wants to forget you. Never wants to wake up beside a lovely, soft spoken, age appropriate woman like Kelly one day and realize the taste of you has faded from his mouth, that the feel of your fingertips pressing into his flesh is nothing but a whisper of a memory.

He’d consumed the forbidden fruit not once but twice, all to ensure he’d always remember the taste of ambrosia.

So, no. Having a drink with Kelly would not get you out of his system.

“Tell you what,” Tommy says. “You go have a drink or two, see where it leads. And if you decide she ain’t worth the effort, come on over and we’ll crack open that bottle of Johnnie Walker that I found from the nineties.”

The scotch sounds like a much better idea than facing the woman currently waiting for him, but the longer Joel thinks about it, the more his brother’s words slot together in his brain. Maybe Tommy’s right. About trying, at least.

You’re too well embedded within him for Joel to ever forget you. But maybe it would help to curb his…urges if he was distracted by someone else. If he wasn’t always so high strung, if he could lose himself within a body that isn’t yours.

Could he protect you better that way? Protect you from him a little easier? Maybe…maybe it would help. Maybe he could somehow keep you safe without it also being cruel, as Tommy had put it.

And, for you…it was worth a shot. For you, he would try.

“You want a ride back to town?”

Joel shakes his head. Tells his brother he needs the walk back. It’s only a couple blocks to the bar and Joel needs the quiet. Needs the time to think, to convince himself that this might actually work.

And it could…right? Kelly isn’t bad looking. She’s got pretty blonde hair and green eyes, and her voice sounds a little like a character from a movie Joel watched once. Some southern belle who made pies and sat them on the window sill to cool.

Even though Joel doesn’t want to convince himself it matters, Kelly is also in her late thirties. Nearly twice your age. Young…but not twenty.

Joel makes his decision as he steps onto Main Street.

The Tipsy Bison is one of the most popular attractions in the commune. It’s a warm little place. The lights are low, and there’s always some blues rock song playing in the background. The walls are covered in framed photos, taxidermied mounts, old-school plaques. Little momentos all courtesy of Jackson’s population. Joel’s been here a couple of times with Tommy, and he can’t deny the nostalgia it brings up in him.

It feels like before. Before the outbreak, before the end of the world.

He thinks of you then, wonders how different you’d be if the two of you had met in that world instead of this one.

And as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Joel begins to wonder if he’s fucking cursed.

Because there, at the end of the round bar, you sit in one of the oak stools. You’ve got one leg folded beneath you, leaning against the bartop with a ballpoint ben clutched between your fingers. You’re writing in that journal you tried so hard to casually hide from him the other day, the one Joel has an insatiable desire to read.

You look beautiful when you think no one’s looking. Lively and youthful, soft and sweet. You’re wearing a pretty black dress with a sparse, white floral pattern printed on it. A jean jacket rests over your shoulders, and it’s a size too big but Joel thinks it fits you just right. Your black socks are bunched down around your ankles, and beneath the barstool there’s a pair of leather boots that sit unoccupied. Your hair falls loosely down your back, and Joel wants to run his hands through it. He knows it’s soft, knows it feels a lot like satin.

But maybe he needs a reminder.

“Joel! I’m so glad you could make it!”

It’s only then he notices Kelly in her yellow blouse. She’s sitting just two seats down from you, sunshiney demeanor grabbing the attention of the rest of the patrons as she calls out for him.

Your whole body goes rigid at the sound of his name. And Joel’s blood ignites in his veins as you turn your head slowly and glance at him over your shoulder.

It’s a simple look, but it feels far from innocent.

Kelly approaches him, and Joel forces himself to look at her instead of you. Forces a smile onto his face, too, despite the obvious sway of her hips. He tries not to think about how her subtle charm isn’t nearly as enticing as your foul mouth. “Saved you a seat,” she tells him.

He lets her take his hand and pull him to the bar. Kelly smells like patchouli and Joel doesn’t hate it. It’s just…not quite right. Too earthy, too warm. He can’t explain it.

The desire to leave already rises in him. This is too much, too uncomfortable. Even though you’re not looking at him anymore, turned back to that leatherbound journal and scribbling intently, Joel cannot take his attention off of you.

Kelly notices. She sits between the two of you, and her head pivots from him to you, and then back to him. Her voice is lower as she suggests, “I know this isn’t the most secluded of places. Do you want to go somewhere a little more private?”

Joel opens his mouth to answer, but you beat him to it.

“Try the northwestern outpost,” you say without picking your head up. It’s resting casually in your left hand as if you hadn’t just blatantly been listening in on a question very clearly not meant for your ears.

“The outpost?” Kelly laughs, a crease forming between her brows in confusion. “Why would we go there?”

“Ignore her,” Joel says.

It’s then that you finally look up from your journal. Your mouth quirks up at the corners as you look only at Kelly. “You’ll like it there,” you tell her. “Trust me. It’s secluded and private, just like you want. I’m sure you two could get up to all kinds of nefarious activities.”

Kelly flushes, cheeks turning crimson at your insinuation. “O-oh…I didn’t mean…”

“What?” You snicker. “Isn’t that what this is?”

“Stop,” Joel orders. And he means it. Hopes you’ll see the warning on his face and take it seriously. But you don’t even look at him, and Joel wonders if this is how Maria feels. Invisible.

He couldn’t survive it for weeks like Maria has. Thirty seconds of it has his skin crawling.

“No, it’s not,” Kelly says. Her face is still pink, but her shoulders are pulled back all the same. She’s confident as she tells you, “It’s a date.”

Your eyes widen at that, brows rising. Joel can tell you’re holding back a laugh, can sense the impending doom that’s bound to follow whatever the fuck comes out of your mouth. And his assumption is proved correct as you say, “Hm. That’s…real interesting. Didn’t peg him for a man who’d be into someone like you.”

“That’s enough,” Joel says through gritted teeth. He’s been able to see right through you from the very beginning, could see that dog-like fight buried beneath your innocent looking exterior. Joel knows you’re a brat, but he’s beginning to think maybe you’re just simply fuckin’ vicious.

Poor Kelly, for what it’s worth, retains her composure. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Your voice is sickly sweet, sarcasm almost undetectable in your answer. “You’re just so…so nice , Kelly! And so pretty, you know? Like, uhm…hm. How to put it…” You tap your pen against your journal as if you’re real deep in thought. Joel can hear the words before they leave your mouth. “You’re just so lovely and soft spoken. And Joel’s…well, Joel’s Joel.”

Kelly giggles and actually thanks you, completely unaware of the insult in your sugary words. And then she shrugs and says, “You know, sometimes opposites attract. Right, Joel?”

It feels like a kick to the chest when you finally, finally turn your eyes on him. It knocks the air from his lungs, the flicker of spite in your expression more threatening than that of any rabid dog he’s ever encountered. You smirk and repeat Kelly’s words. “Right, Joel?”

His heart is beating so fast he thinks it might explode. Unfortunately, however, it doesn’t, and Joel is left with the two of you staring right at him, expecting an answer. He swallows hard and says, “...Right.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” You stand to your feet, gathering your journal and pen in one hand and your boots in the other.

Joel watches you sit on the other side of the bar, further out of earshot this time. The bar is too small for you to sit anywhere and not hear them, but the effort is there. And Kelly, it seems, is satisfied with it.

“Sorry about that,” she says to Joel, voice lowering to a whisper. “Have you met her before? She’s kind of a recluse. Sticks to herself. Bit of a troublemaker, really.”

He hardly hears her, ears finetuned to pick up the cadence of your voice as you speak to Tara who’s tending the bar. You laugh at some joke she makes, and order ‘that one drink that doesn’t taste bad but has all those different alcohols in it. What’d you call it last time? A long island?’

“Anyway,” Kelly says. “Can I admit something to you?”

Joel, genuinely, could not give a fuck less about whatever she’s going to say. But he forces himself to pay attention to the woman in front of him and not the girl at the other end of the bar. “Sure.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” she says.

Me neither, Joel doesn’t.

“She has a point, you know. I feel like we don’t have much in common. But…I like you, Joel,” Kelly confesses. She sets her hand on his arm, fingers squeezing lightly.

And it’s wrong. It’s all fucking wrong—too soft, too tender. Not enough claws. Not enough you.

But that’s not fair, is it? Joel isn’t hear to compare the two of you. He’s here to try. For you. For your safety.

He tries to give her a warm smile, knows it comes across as more of a grimace. “Yeah,” he sighs.

“So, how do you like Jackson so far?”

The small talk is slowly killing him. “It’s great,” he says honestly. “I think it’ll be good for Ellie.”

She nods. “Of course. I’ve heard a little about what you two went through to get here. It must’ve been hard, a young girl like her.”

“Ellie’s strong,” Joel says.

“Oh, I’m not disagreeing,” Kelly defends. “I just mean girls that age can be a little unruly. Best to have a routine, you know? So they don’t end up like that.”

Joel almost pressures her then, urges her to say exactly what she’s thinking. He can read between the lines, knows she’s referring to you and your bad behavior. Joel wishes he could come to your defense. But he can’t, so he just says quietly, “Yeah.”

He’s not adding much in the way of discussion. He knows he should be asking about Kelly, about her family or her pastimes or anything. But he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t have it in him to pretend he does. He’s thankful when Tara approaches and asks if they want to order anything.

Kelly orders a Coke, and Joel orders a double whiskey neat.

Tara sets them down in less than a minute, and Joel’s already tossing his back before the glass can touch the bartop.

She eyes him suspiciously for a moment and then carefully asks, “Do you…drink a lot, Joel?”

“No.”

You burst into a fit of rambunctious laughter, trying to play it off like a cough at first. But your amusement is loud and obnoxious and you’ve got one hand over your mouth, and you quickly give up pretending to be polite. When you notice they’ve both turned to stare at you, Kelly with her brows knitted together in bewilderment and Joel with that signature scowl on his face, you wave your hand in dismissal. “I’m sorry,” you choke out through your giggles. “I just remembered something funny. Sorry, I’ll be quiet.”

Joel turns back to his date, but sees you stand out of the corner of his eye. Watches you disappear down the hall to the back of the bar.

“Oh, okay. Well that’s…that’s good,” Kelly says. “That you don’t drink. I don’t either.”

He nods once. Clears his throat. Prays silently for this awkward atmosphere to dissipate.

“Maria told me….uhm, she told me you had a daughter.”

Nope.

Joel’s barstool scrapes against the floor noisily as he rises to his feet. “Been a while since I’ve had something so strong,” he says, nodding to his empty glass. “Whiskey went right through me. I’ll be back.”

He finds you right where he expects. You’re in the dimly lit restroom at the back of the bar, standing with your back against the counter, hands braced behind you. Joel catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the sink and thinks he looks a little untamed, a little feral. You’ve got a playful smirk on your face as if this whole situation is just so funny, and it rubs his nerves raw. “You need to leave,” he says, standing as far away from you as possible.

You don't comment on his words. Don't even acknowledge that he’s said them. “Kelly, Joel? Really?”

No, not really. It’ll never be Kelly. Not the one he ends up with, not the one he distracts himself with. Joel knew as much the moment he set foot in this bar. But he doesn’t correct you—he’s too busy trying to get himself under control. Too busy trying to stop staring at your bare thighs, at the space where they disappear beneath the seam of your dress. He’s too busy praying to a God he stopped believing in long ago, begging for strength.

Because he’s all out of options. Nothing he’s tried has worked, and Joel knows now that it’ll take some divine force to keep him from you.

“I didn’t take you for the kinda man to move on so fast,” you continue. “I wonder if Kelly knows where you spent your night.”

“Stop that,” he warns. “That ain’t fair.”

“Fair? And you somehow think you being here, flaunting her like that in front of me is?”

“I’m not flauntin’ anybody.”

This has got you worked up, Joel can tell. So much so that he can see the pulse throbbing in your neck from here. “You’re an asshole, dude. Seriously.”

Joel stiffens at the curse word in your mouth. But he doesn’t do or say anything about it. It’s not his place. Not anymore. He made sure of it. “We can’t do this. It ain’t right.”

“You can’t,” you correct. “Don’t put this on me, Joel. You do what you have to do—but don’t make it my fault.”

“I’m not blamin’ you,” he insists. Anger rises in him, hot and uncontrollable. It’s not your fault and it never has been. Joel hates that he’s somehow put the idea in your head and he aches to set it right. You’re not the problem. He is. Joel and his inability to keep his hands off you.

“Yes, you are.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, the fuck it is.”

“No, I’m—” Joel stops, sighs heavily, presses his fingertips into his throbbing temple. “Will you stop and hear me out for one second?”

“Mm…let me think.” You’re grinning like this is some kind of joke. It only serves to annoy him more. You tap your index finger against your chin in a forgery of contemplation and then say, “Probably not.”

And Joel loses it. He crosses the small room in just two steps, grabs your face in his hand and tilts your chin upwards, forcing your attention to remain only on him. “I’m not askin',” he says darkly. It’s a wretched thing on his part that he enjoys the flash of unease in your eyes, but Joel’s too angry to think too deeply about it. “Now, you’re gonna shut that pretty mouth of yours and listen. You understand?”

You look up at him through your lashes and Joel’s weak in the knees. While your eyes are shining and bright and painfully innocent, your response is anything but. “If you want me to shut my mouth, then maybe you should put something in it.”

Joel swallows as you reach below his belt. He catches your wrist in his hand seconds before you find evidence of just how much you affect him. A hundred images flash through his mind— fantasies of what he wants to do to you, how badly he wants to defile you. He wants to push you to your knees and force himself down your throat. Wants to wake up to your mouth around him. Wants to feel your tongue on the underside of his cock, familiarizing itself with the veins there. He wants to peer down at you beneath the dinner table, that sweet mouth of yours drooling for the sustenance only he can provide. Wants to finish at the back of your throat with the taste of you on his lips. “Enough,” he snarls, equal parts to himself and to you.

“What’s wrong, Joel? You don’t like it when I’m mean to you?” Your voice is sugary sweet, that same subtly sarcastic tone you took with Kelly. But then it falls away, all radiance bleeding from your words. “Join the fucking club.”

It’s then he sees it—the slight tremble in your bottom lip, the way you fight against your watery eyes, the slump in your shoulders. You’re not being bratty just to make him mad. You’re doing it because you’re hurting. Seeing him here with another woman has hurt you, and Joel feels his heart crack behind his ribcage at the realization.

He knows he doesn’t have to explain himself, knows he probably shouldn’t. Knows it would be best to just let you hurt for a little while until you decide to hate him. Because if you hate him Joel won’t have such a hard time resisting you. He wouldn’t be begging the divine forces for strength to hold himself back if you were pushing him away.

But he can’t let you be hurt if he has the power to fix it, either. He should. But he can’t.

His grip on your jaw softens. “I didn’t know,” he says. Joel wills his fingers to stay still but they, like you, don’t listen to his wisely spoken advice—his thumb strokes your cheekbone, his pinky presses against your throat to feel the flutter of your pulse. “They set it up…Maria and Tommy. I didn’t know.”

Your stare is hard, but he sees the long breath you release and knows that his confession has done its job. “And that’s somehow supposed to make this better?”

“No, I…” He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know the words to make this right. “I’m just sorry s’all.”

Your eyes narrow just slightly, searching for something on his face. A lie, maybe—but he would never lie. Not to you. He feels the coil of anxiety that’s weaved itself around his neck loosen as you place your hand over his and lean into his touch. “Joel, why did you follow me here?”

He doesn’t know.

Or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself.

But as he stands here now, holding you close, slipping his free hand around your waist and resting it against the curve in the small of your back, Joel can admit the truth. “I can’t stay away from you, baby.”

You stare up at him so beautifully—a perfect picture of innocence, the most mouth-watering fruit he’s ever seen. You press a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb, bringing his hand down lower, just beneath your jaw. “No one’s making you go anywhere,” you say. “You can stay right here.”

Joel stares at you, entranced, forgetting that too much of a good thing can turn to poison, as you press your lips to each of his fingers—index, middle, ring, pinky, and then repeat the action in reverse. He feels a little like he’s being worshiped. It makes heat bloom in his chest, warming him from the inside out.

You’re right. Joel hates it when you’re mean. To him, anyway. But you make up for it when you’re being like this; sweet and kind and angelic, his perfect little girl. Ambrosia-flavored venom, Joel thinks. “I can’t,” he says.

And then your soft tongue darts out between your lips, licking up his middle finger, and Joel’s breathing turns heavy. You watch him tremble as you pull his hand closer, leaning forward to take his finger into your mouth.

He shudders at the softness of you, at being inside of you. You’re so pretty like this, Joel thinks. With his finger in your mouth, the low lights reflecting in your hair, eyes wide and desperate. “Fuck,” he breathes, drawing out the word.

You pull your head back, mouth hanging open. “Language,” you scold. And Joel laughs lightly, and you mirror the sound, and then he’s lifting you onto the counter, and this time you take both his middle and index finger into your mouth and Joel is moaning.

It feels so good. It’s so fucking good that he could die . Pretty girl sucking on his fingers because it’s the only part of him he’s allowing you to have in this moment. But he knows how badly you want more because Joel does, too. Wants to feed you his cock, wants to fuck you right here in this bathroom with your panties pulled to the side and his date waiting out there for him.

But no. No. You deserve better than this. Better than a sleazy bar bathroom, better than to be kissed only in secret. Better than him. “We can’t, baby,” he whispers.

You only hollow out your cheeks in response, sucking his fingers in deeper. Joel lets you because he can’t bring himself to stop it.

“I’m sorry, I…it ain’t right. It ain’t…you’re too young, sweetheart. You know what…goddamn, you know what people will say? About the both of—both of us?” Joel moves his free hand from your spine, rests it on the inside of your thigh instead. “They’ll think I’m some dirty old man, touching’ you like this…they’ll say I’m a pervert, that I’ve got no business bein’ near you. And they won’t be wrong, baby, don’t you get that?”

You squeeze your thighs together and tilt your hips forward, whimpering sweetly around his thick fingers in your mouth. Your eyes are pleading as you grab his wrist and slip his hand beneath your dress.

Joel can’t help himself. He presses hard against your clit, grinning at the little whine you let out in response. “Y’like that, hm?” You’re nodding and Joel’s mouth is watering and he knows he shouldn’t but, fuck, he has to. “You know what they’ll say about you?”

When he moves your panties to the side his fingers glide through your slit easily. You’re so wet, so fucking wet and he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that it’s all for him. Your head falls back, thudding softly against the glass mirror. Your chest heaves and your breath is hot against his drool-covered palm.

“They’ll call you a slut, baby,” he whispers tenderly. “They’ll say you spread your legs for any man who gives you attention, and that ain’t what you want, is it?” Joel rubs circles around your clit, feeling it throb beneath his middle finger. His hand moves fast, desperate to get you there, to take that ache away. “We can’t have that, sweetheart. You know why?”

You shake your head, tongue sliding between his fingers. Joel pushes them in deeper.

“Because if anyone but me ever called you a slut an’ I heard about it?” He presses your clit harder, grinning when you start panting. “I’d have to kill ‘em, baby.”

A whimper leaves you at that. Joel chuckles darkly as you lift your legs, trying to find purchase on the countertop to no avail.

He wonders if you think he’s joking. Joel knows he’s not.

“C’mon. You got it. Legs up,” he says, nudging your knee with his shoulder. When the heel of your boot catches the edge of the counter, he helps you with the other one and praises, “There you go. Spread ‘em wide, baby.”

Joel’s cock throbs in his jeans, painfully hard, pushing against his zipper. He ignores it because the second he gives it any thought he’ll be pulling it out and indulging himself in you as if last night meant nothing. And it can’t mean nothing.

His name is muffled in your mouth as you whine, but Joel knows what you’re trying to say. He knows how close you are, can feel it in the needy movement of your hips.

“S’okay, I know,” he whispers. He allows himself to appreciate the way you look with his fingers in your mouth for one more second before hooking them around your jaw and pulling your face toward his. Your eyes flutter open, but there’s nothing but blind trust in them. It makes him feel bruised, tender, devoted.

And then he takes his fingers out of your mouth, reaches down, and slides them into your pussy instead.

Joel kisses you hard, echoing the sound of your moans. You taste a little like alcohol and a whole lot like addiction, and he’s never been so thrilled to have a fix. He drinks you in, tongue sliding against yours, licking into you like it’ll be the last time. Joel knows it won’t be, and he wonders why that thought is so goddamn comforting.

Your legs begin to shake. One of them slips off the countertop. “Joel,” you whimper into his mouth. “Joel, I’m gonna come, I’m—”

“Go’head, baby, c’mon. Give it to me.” His fingers are covered with your drool and slick, pooling in his palm as he strokes that spot inside you that makes you writhe. He’s still circling your clit with his other hand and keeps up a steady pace. When your fingers tangle in the dark curls at the nape of his neck and pull, Joel just kisses you harder despite the ache it brings.

“Ohh, God, God, Joel, please don’t stop, don’t stop—!”

He feels your walls clench around his fingers and Joel lets out a moan of his own, his cock convulsing in his jeans. “Yeah…there you go. Good girl, baby. You listen so fuckin’ good when you’re all full’a me, don’t you?” He fucks you through it, relief reverberating through his ribcage with the sounds you make. “Sweet little thing, just need ta’ be told what to do, ain’t that right? Hm?”

You moan his name one final time, and before your breathing evens out you’re pulling his flannel out of his jeans and tugging at his belt buckle. “Joel, please, please, please.”

He thinks you beg so prettily. He thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Not your attention, not your desperation, not your trust or admiration. Yet he doesn’t stop you, even knowing he should.

Never in his life has he wanted someone so badly. And never in his life has he wanted to protect someone so much. It’s an impossible task. One he’ll undeniably fail over and over and over again. He thinks about his conversation with Tommy and his gut wrenches.

But then you look up at him and all doubt ebbs away, fading into nothingness. Joel knows this feeling. Had nearly forgotten it, in truth. But it hits him like a freight train now, like a bullet to the head. You smile at him and Joel feels heat stain his cheeks and it’s here, here, in this sleazy bar bathroom that he remembers what it feels like to be cherished.

And it’s been so long, so very long, that Joel’s forgotten until this very moment just how hungry for it he’s been.

What’s a starved man to do but devour?

You carefully snake your hand beneath his jeans. Your fingers are soft, delicate, as they wrap around his hard length and squeeze. There isn’t a second that you look away from him, and he wonders if you can read his mind, if you can see the shift in him, if you can hear all his rapturous thoughts of admiration.

The leather of his belt bites deliciously into his hips with the extra pressure. Your hand begins to move, stroking him softly. Joel’s eyes almost roll to the back of his head, but he resists because he doesn’t want to forget this moment. Doesn’t want to look away from you. He reaches up and takes your face in his hands. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he says, kissing you softly. “Keep goin’, just like that.”

Just a few quick touches and he’s melting; putty in your hands, unable to catch his breath. “Like this?” You squeeze him harder, stroke him faster, and Joel groans. “Am I doing good?”

He doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed as he explodes so quickly at the sweet sound of your voice. “Fuck, sweetheart— mm, so good. Such a good little girl, shit.”

A pretty smile graces your face as he coats your hand in stickiness, satisfied with your work. You draw out every last drop until he’s trembling, and even then you make no effort to slow your movements.

Joel grabs your wrist to still you, every inch of him overly sensitive. And when you wiggle your hand out of his jeans you giggle as you lick up the mess he made. He can’t take his eyes off of your pretty pink tongue as it slides between your fingers, the filthiest thing he’s ever seen.

When you’re finished, you push yourself off the counter and straighten your dress. “I get it,” you say quietly. “Why you don’t want to be with me. I mean…I don’t really, because I don’t give a fuck what any of these people have to say about me.”

It nearly gives him whiplash. Joel doesn’t understand how you can be licking his come off your fingers one second and go right back to being angry with him the next. But that irritation has slipped back into your voice with a vengeance, leaving Joel at a loss.

“So, I guess I get it, but I don’t understand,” you continue. “I did tell you this would happen, though, didn’t I? Gave you the idea, most likely. So…you know. Go ahead. Go have your date with Kelly. Go find an age appropriate woman, and I’ll find an age appropriate man, and we’ll just—”

“No.” His voice is dark, leaving no room for argument. The thought of you with someone else brings up a fiery rage in him, burning his insides, leaving nothing behind but bloodthirst. “Don’t be like that.” Please. He doesn’t want to lose this place. He doesn’t want to lose you.

“No?” You shake your head. “I’m not going to wait around for you to make up your mind about me, Joel.”

You shoulder past him and walk out of the door without another word.

Joel feels the loss like a knife.

[part two] [part four]

#joel miller #ao3 fanfic #ellie williams #joel miller smut #ao3 writer #smut #idle threats #pearlessance #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel the last of us #ellie the last of us #tommy tlou #jackson era joel #joel miller fic #light angst #suck my fingers #joel miller has an oral fixation confirmed

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hai7ani · 1 year ago

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WHAT TYPA GIRLS DO YOU LIKE? haitani rindou

nsfw (suggestive)

it's late into the night when rindou sleepily topples over your body in bed.

you welcome him into your embrace, lazily throwing the thick blanket to cover your bodies, creating a warm and snuggly atmosphere in bed, and god, you swear you could hear soft purrs coming from the big, big man who's currently on the verge of falling asleep on top of you.

"long day?" one of your hands reach up to tangle your fingers around his purple locks and he simply hums in response. a strong arm wraps itself around your waist and the other moves to peel away your phone and throw it aside. "go to sleep."

with me, he wants to say.

i know, you want to reply.

rindou thinks it's so romantic to fall asleep together.

a soft chuckle escapes your lips as you move around in his arms to get comfortable, with a simple question floating around in your mind and its words on the tip of your tongue while you think about how to approach your very sleepy husband with the topic.

just when you were about to open your mouth, rindou's deep voice fills your dimly lit bedroom. "whatcha thinkin' bout?" his words were slightly muffled, probably due to his entire face being mushed into your chest and he's seriously about to fall asleep, and yet you still heard him loud and clear. and that's what you like most about him; after years of being together, he's always managed to read you like an open book, so you two have rarely ever struggled with communication because rindou always knows what you want and what you want to say and only aims to understand your point instead of belittling and arguing (and vice versa). in this case, he knows there's something you want to ask.

"just thinkin’,” you softly reply. he hums for you to continue, and you do.

"what typa girls do you like?" and it's just a mindless, silly question, really. you weren't jealous or insecure or anything, nah. rindou has never made you feel any way like that; you were only curious and extremely ready to tease him for whatever he answers to your silly little question, and you also would have never expected your husband to react the way he does.

rindou places himself on both his elbows, his face hovering on top of yours and your big glossy eyes stare up at him. a few strands of his mullet tickles your jaw and you simply move them away by combing and tucking his hair back. rindou's got his million dollar smirk plastered on his lips while he's slowly inching closer to you, and you can't help but let a shy smile grow on yours.

"why?" he teases, and you can feel his hot breath fanning over your cupid's bow. you manage to stutter out a response, "jus' askin', s'all."

breathing irregular and bpm increasing rapidly, how silly.

he leaves a small peck on the corner on your lips and you start to flush - your cheeks' a bright red - still seemingly affected by his antics after years of being together. "if i tell ya, what do i get in return?"

you pretend to ponder.

"hmm, probably a kiss or something, dunno."

rindou purses his lips, "that don't seem fair enough." ". . . how about two kisses?" he raises an eyebrow. "fine, five." "deal."

slowly, you feel many, many rough and calloused fingers slide up your body under the thin camisole you don as he eases his body between your legs, face resting in the crook of your neck.

"so . . . ?"

"i like girls who asks dumb questions and are like, crazy fuckin' hot. like you."

you bite your lip and giggle, lightly scratching your freshly done acrylics against his broad back that only you get to touch and feel and he sighs comfortably. he always does this, you think - how he never fails in making you feel like you're on top of the world. (he is your world, and you want to be on top of him right now.)

"yeah? what else?"

"’n i like girls who suck at mario kart too." he says, referring to how he'd beat you in a game of mario kart earlier (you did not win a single cup) and couldn't stop making fun of you for a good twenty minutes. "hey! now that's mean." rindou feels a hand swat him on the back and he laughs into your neck, "you're such a sore loser, baby." he kisses your collarbone and you pout harder, "it's not that i suck, yer' jus' too good at it." he says nothing more and starts rubbing your hips affectionately, softly inhaling your sweet scent. you used his body wash today, he realises.

"anyway . . . here's your reward." nonetheless, you were happy enough with his answers, moving to kiss him five times as you promised but he stops you by cupping two large palms on your warm cheeks, squeezing a little. "before that . . .” his gaze moves down to your glossy, puckered lips before meeting your eyes again. "what typa guys do you like?" you see the growing bit of lust hiding behind those beautiful, dreamy purple orbs and you're starting to see where this is leading to.

"if i tell ya, what do i get in return?" you decide to be bold and mimic his choice of words. he only smirks, staring deep back into your eyes with now a loving gaze, "i’ll love you forever."

your eyes widened just a bit, shocked at how he just openly stated his affection for you (he rarely does that, but when he does . . . oh boy, you get so shy), and rindou feels his palms on your cheeks get warmer with each millisecond that you don't answer. but you're quick to pull yourself together, not wanting to back down from this harmless bicker which you started, so you reach for his face with both hands and pull him down for a quick smooch.

"i really like guys who are fit. ya know, like those strong 'n really buff guys at the gym. you should take some pointers, actually." with a scrunch of a nose, you make sure to emphasise on the last sentence, knowing how much of a gym bro your husband is and how much of a reaction you're gonna get from him.

rindou raises his eyebrows after reluctantly pulling away from your lips, "i'm not buff enough fa' ya?"

you shrug, "could be a little more buffer."

now you've done it.

he nibbles on your earlobe and you gasp softly, "well, ya see . . . i've got hip day tomorrow," he pecks the sensitive spot just below your ears, "but i could always do it ahead of schedule." and he says that all while gripping your left thigh to hook it around his waist in a swift motion and good gracious, could you feel his growing hard on rubbing against your core. you let out a soft whimper and push your head back deeper into the pillow beneath you.

rindou kisses your temple and whispers carefully,

"gonna help me with it? i sure love a good exercise."

a moan escapes you.

"yeah-"

and another.

"-whatever you need, rin."

he sucks purples onto your neck.

"good, now lemme love ya forever, baby."

reblogs are appreciated! thank you for reading ≽ܫ≼

#blabbers #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #haitani rindou x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #haitani rindou #rindou haitani #haitani brothers #tokrev x reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tr

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aquasarsstuff · 4 months ago

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Arranged Marriage ft. Lilia Vanrouge part. 1, part. 2, part 3

Tags: Lilia calls you sweetcheeks, fluff, you almost died, will be making a part 3, this will be a series, historical au, lunch is referred to as dinner

Summary: Lilia finally used the the door.

Masterlist

---

You slumped on your desk, tired for studying for hours. You raised your head to look at the clock. There were still a few hours left before dinner. You just wanted a break. Suddenly, a knock outside your door was heard.

"Enter," you groaned. You placed you arms above the other, making a makeshift pillow for your head to bury in. You heard the door open with a soft creak, following by the sound of hard shoes hitting the floor. You didn't bother greeting who entered, assuming it was just a servant who needs to bring something in your room.

You peeked your eyes out of your arms when a plate clacked lightly on your desk. You blinked, staring at the plate filled with pastries. This wasn't a part of your usual diet. "Now, I didn't make the effort those here, just for you to stare at it."

"Lilia?!"

"The one and only," he winked.

You sat up properly and stared at the man in front of you. He was dressed in a raiment often wore by servants in your household. It was probably the reason why he didn't climb to your window. If you saw him once and didn't know any better, you would have thought he was on his way to rob your room. 'There's no better option,' he will say back.

"What are you planning this time?" You raised one of your eyebrows at him, noticing the familiar glint in his eyes. His youthful face radiates innocence, covering his penchant for mischief. You'd know by now that he doesn't come by if he isn't up to something.

"Less talk and more eating, sweetcheeks. I'm not letting the ants have the first bite. You'll need to lot of nutrients for what we are going to do today."

He stepped forward and grab two cupcakes off the plate. He hands you the one with pink icing. You looked at him suspiciously, though still taking it from him. You rolled the cupcake in your hand, inspecting it carefully for anything weird. You even went as far as sniffing it for any unwanted smell lingering. "Did you make this?" You asked him the million dollar question, wanting to make sure before placing it inside your mouth.

"Not this time," he pouted. You sighed in relief, finally taking a bite of the cupcake. A sweet taste filled your tongue. "I was supposed to, but they insisted on making it," he continued.

"How unfortunate for you. I'm sure they'll definitely let you use the kitchen soon."

You'd have to thank whoever they stopped him from committing a crime. You were so over of the dull food you were being fed with; you can't let your tastebuds be ruined than it already is.

"Oh sweetcheeks, don't be disappointed. Next time, you can be assured that the next batch I will deliver will be baked by me."

"I am on a diet. I'll only indulge you this time.

"Do not worry! I'll make sure that it is completely nutritious than the one you currently have!"

You can only hope that his future plans will be thwarted by them again, for your sake.

---

Tags: @d1gital-data @masquerade-of-misery Thank you for the support! 🥰

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bambikisss · 11 months ago

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Pillow :: B. Christopher/Chan

(Bambi's ver.!) Christopher/Chan Bang x reader

💕: friends to lovers, smut, late-night loving

📙: You're a creature of habit: you did the same thing every night. However, it seems that Chris has different plans.

⚠: Unprotected sex (always wrap it), oral (both receiving), female maturation, Chris makes a pervy comment once, use of toys, biting, Bambi's thoughts at 2 A.M.

Bambi's notes: Hello loves! I am currently having a bit of trouble when it comes to falling asleep, so I decided to write something up for you. Instead of referring to BangChan as Chan, I refer to him as Chris. If you don't like that, then feel free to substitute it with Chan. Y/N/N is your nickname.

🤍

COMMENTS + REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED AND ENCOURAGED | ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY | buy me a coffee?

You were a creature of simple habit: you went to work, you came home, showered, and then put on some slow music while you cooked and relaxed. You were known for not responding to anyone during "your time," which always seemed to annoy your friends, but you never cared. Who is going to stop you from enjoying your book and a glass of wine while your pet sat next to you?

"Y/N, come on. Just for me?"

He would.

You sighed, sitting up from your comfortable position on the couch as Chris continued to try and convince you to meet him downtown. You had already showered and ordered takeout, and you weren't fond of the idea of being out in the cold with Chris until the early hours of the morning. "No, ask Felix. You know it's my me time."

"Felix is busy," Chris whined, making you pinch your nose. You knew he didn't ask Felix to hang out, he just wanted you. And while you would usually be flattered, you had a very long day at work. All you wanted to do was try to relax and enjoy your warm evening in your apartment.

"Come on, Y/N/N, don't act like you don't miss me." Your movements paused at Chris's voice change, making your cheeks suddenly begin to heat up. You always loved it when he deepened his voice or when he teased you, using your nickname. It always made you press your thighs together to relieve the pressure you felt suddenly. At your silence, Chris took the opportunity to continue convincing you with a smirk on his lips. "I know you miss me, Y/N, just admit it. I bet that if I were to ride over there right now that you'd hop right into my passenger seat, wouldn't you?"

Yes, you would. "No, I wouldn't."

He knew you were lying. "Yeah?"

You responded with your very own cocky sounding "Yeah" before hanging up. There, now you could enjoy your evening just how you wanted to (and now with some added need for your toys).

You and Chris had this weird back-and-forth flirtation aspect in your friendship: it always starts with Chris, and then you don't back down, making the flirtation last longer. You always liked that aspect of your relationship the most, even though it made feelings complicated for him. But, those feelings could be erased with a simple orgasm from your toy and to sleep. You crawled onto your bed, laying back on the bed before you closed your eyes, your hands soon roaming your body. You gripped your breasts as you bit your bottom lip, imagining that it was Chris instead. You gasped as you pinched your nipples, making them erect through your tank top before your hands slowly moved down your thighs, teasing you as they moved up and down the inside of your thighs.

Before you could move to push down your pants and straddle your pillow, you heard your phone ring from the living room, a familiar Chase Atlantic ringtone filling your ears, ending your moment. You got up with a huff, walking to the living room to answer it.

"Chris, I already said-"

"Y/N/N." You paused at his teasing voice as if he could just see what you were just doing. There was an underlying tone in his voice that you couldn't put your finger on, though.

Was he warning you?

"I'm outside. My car is warm, my seat warmers are also on, and I have a blanket as well. There should be no excuse for you to not hurry up and get in my car so that we can hang out."

You bit your lip at his words, trying to figure out what to say back, but he beat you to it. "Y/N. Don't make me come up there and carry you down here because I will carry you on my shoulders through your busy apartment lobby, and I don't care who sees." You silently cursed at his words, fighting with the idea of him actually doing that. You took a deep breath, hanging up the phone before Chris could say anything else tossing on a hoodie and sweatpants over your current clothes before going downstairs to meet Chris at his car.

When he saw you approaching, Chris didn't hide his smirk as he leaned over to open the passenger side door for you to slip right in. You sighed at the feeling of the warm seat and car as Chris began to drive through the city. You both didn't say much; you both listened to the music on the radio while looking out at the beautiful city all lit up at night. You were secretly thankful as it allowed you to try and calm down.

Your daydream was soon interrupted by the car slowing down as Chris pulled into an empty tunnel that led to a deconstructed road. "How do you keep finding these places, Chris?" You asked, wrapping the blanket around you as you exited the car. He only shot you a proud smile at you before he set up his camera. Chris always recorded his hangouts with you in new places: you thought it was for safety, but Chris shook his head. "It's for the memories. I want to show my kids how I spent my 20s when I wasn't couped up working all the time." You smiled at the thought of Chris's kids running around his home, asking him what he was like in his 20s compared to the dad he was. Chris admired you as you smiled before holding out his hand, gently grabbing the blanket from around your body before running down the long tunnel with it, making you chase after him for the extra warmth that blanket provided.

You laughed as you and Chris ran back and forth through the tunnel before he suddenly turned around, making you run straight into his chest. Your eyes widened at the sudden situation, apologizing before trying to move from his chest. However, Chris didn't let you go; he instead wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you close to him. You looked up at him as he looked down at you, his eyes now hooded as you both stood in the tunnel.

Neither one of you spoke as your eyes roamed each other's faces as if meeting for the first time, your chest's rising and falling matching his hard chest's movements. You could feel your body heating up once more, making you want nothing more than to place your hands on his chest, run your nails down his strong chest, down to his sweatpants, and-

"Are you ready to go back?''

You jumped a bit at Chris's words, snapping from your gaze-induced haze as he slowly let you go, picking up his camera before he began to back up to the car, holding up the blanket with a triumph smirk on his lips, as if he had just won a game. You couldn't help but look down at your hands that continued to be pressed against your chest, your hands open. You must've opened them without thinking. You shook your head, snapping out of your daze before you began walking back to the warm car.

Yeah, it was time to go back.

_____________________________________________________

You sighed as you closed your bedroom door, your eyes moving to the digital clock that sat on your dresser glared the time 11:33 in bright red numbers. Once you had gotten back here, Chris begged you to let him stay the night so he didn't have to drive again. You let him stay in your guestroom, your friend instantly going to shower and get ready to sleep.

You decided to accept the opportunity of being alone to take care of your growing problem that had begun to slowly soak your panties. You bit your lip as you picked up your pillow from its discarded place on the floor, placing it back onto the bed before you removed your shorts, straddling the pillow. You gripped the top of the headboard as you began to move your hips slowly on the fabric, pleasure moving through you at every hip movement. You closed your eyes, moaning softly as you thought about the pillow being Chris instead. How he would moan so filthily while grabbing your ass and hips, helping you ride his fat cock.

You moved your hips faster, your hands moving from the headboard to cup your breasts, abusing your nipples more. You felt the knot in your stomach begin to form, making your movements go faster.

When you open your eyes, you notice that there is a lot more light in the room than when you started, making your hips instantly halt on the pillow. "Aw, but I was enjoying it."

You whipped around to see Chris leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. Your eyes flickered between his thick thighs and his face, your eyes not knowing what to focus on. Chris couldn't help but laugh at how you were reacting before letting out a small "woah there" when you rushed up from the bed to try and shut the door on him. He pressed his forearm against the door, successfully blocking it before he leaned over you, placing his other arm on the doorframe. Your eyes widened again as he looked down at you, a proud smirk on his lip as he watched your reaction; you were a prize he had just won, to him.

"What were you doing, Y/N/N?" You shivered at his teasing tone, spouting off any lie you could think of that could help you hurry this conversation along so that you could close the bedroom door and hide in the sheets forever. Chris didn't let you do that, though, moving one of his hands to cup your jaw to meet his eyes again. You didn't miss how his thumb twitched when it grazed your bottom lip or how his eyes shamelessly roamed your body as his tongue moved around his mouth. His mouth was literally watering at this point, pulling you closer by your jaw before he spoke again, this time slower and more cautious like he didn't want to say the wrong thing and lose this opportunity.

"Look, I know you know that I saw how fast you were riding that fucking pillow and I know that you didn't finish," He paused, taking a deep breath before he leaned closer, his lips now hovering over yours, his tongue gently grazing your bottom lip as he whispered out "Just this one time, I promise. Let me help you cum." You furrowed your eyebrows at his words, asking what he meant. Your words were met with a gentle scoff from his lips as he stepped forward, making you step back. Your forehead and lips continued to hover over each other as you both walked to the bed, matching his steps with a step back until your knees hit the bed. When he noticed that you both reached the bed, Chris bit his lip before pressing his chest against yours, making you both fall onto the bed with him on top of you.

Your eyes scanned his face as he cupped your face, his eyes showing his intentions: he wants to make you feel good. No words needed to be exchanged between you two as your lips met his in a soft kiss, making you moan softly. His lips were so soft and plump, which made the kiss feel even better. You ran your hands through his hair as his hands tried to rip away at your clothing, his hands becoming frantic as he tossed away any article of clothing that stood in his way of seeing you fully. Sure, Chris had seen you in bathing suits over the years, but seeing you nude on your bed for him did something to his cock.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're going to be the death of me." You didn't miss the small whine at the end of his words as he began to kiss down your face to your neck, where he licked and kissed wherever he could before moving down your body, doing the same as he kissed down your soft skin.

All the times that you had imagined Chris in your bed, laying in between your legs, you never thought you'd have the actual thing. "Did you think about this, Y/N?" You sat up on your elbows as Chris looked up at you, his hands resting at the tops of your panties, his fingers playing with the waistband. You nodded, unable to think of words as he leaned up to kiss right above your panties before he dragged his teeth down to the waistband, pulling it down with his teeth. You watched from your position on the bed as he tossed the underwear into the guestroom, which made you tilt your head. Chris didn't allow you to ask anything, though, as he immediately leaned down to press a kiss to the tops of your thighs before slowly moving to finally taste and soothe your soaked pussy.

All those nights you thought about Chris in your bed like this didn't compare to the real thing: he had your legs tightly wrapped around his head, his fingers gripping your thighs as his tongue moved in and out of your wet cunt, moaning at your taste. You could feel the vibrations coming from his mouth as he moaned praises into your mouth, praising how it felt against his lips, how good you tasted, how he should've laid you down in the backseat of his car in the tunnel earlier and ripped those pants off of you.

"Could've made it echo in that goddam tunnel, baby. Would be able to hear you all around me while I made you cum on my tongue." You moaned louder at his words, your hips moving to meet his tongue's movements as you began to practically grind against his tongue. Your orgasm snuck up on you as he pushed two of his fingers in, wet from his mouth as he curled them deep in you, making you cum. You gripped both the sheets and the bed as your back arched, your body shaking her you rested back against the bed. You closed your eyes, trying to catch your breath while Chris watched. When you did open your eyes, you thought you would be met with the morning sun, letting you know that it was all a dream. However, when you do open your eyes, you are met with Chris's eyes trained on your body as he licks his fingers and lips clean. It was now your turn to watch as he made sure that he didn't waste a thing.

When his eyes met yours, they no longer held the goal of taking care of you in them, but to absolutely take you. Chris offered you a small wink before he leaned down, placing his hands on either side of your head. "Y/N, I need you to tell me now if you want me to stop. You need to tell me before I toss off these tight-ass boxers and put you on your knees." You met his eyes, no words leaving your lips, making him groan lowly against your lips. "Fucking tell me no, baby. Say it or else I'll find a better use for that mouth of yours."

Your lack of response drove him to roughly pick you up from the bed, manhandling you as he put you on your knees in front of the window, the moon's light illuminating him as he placed his hands into your hair grabbing the chunk into his fist while his free hand freed his cock from the brief's tight embrace. You waited patiently, though, your eyes not leaving his cock as he pumped it a few times before tapping it against your tongue, letting you taste him and feel his weight on your tongue. You accepted it all as you placed your hands onto his thighs, rising from your legs a bit as his makeshift grip on you moved you closer. Your eyes moved up to meet his as his cock filled your mouth, his own eyes immediately closing as he tossed his head back at the feeling. You whimpered as he continued to push you down on his cock, making him chuckle airily before tossing his head forward to see you. "Now, come on babe. Don't act like you didn't deep-throat that pretty pink dildo I saw you had in your drawer wishing it was me. And now that you have the real thing; the heavier, the thicker, the warmer cock, you wanna act like you don't know how to take it?"

You didn't get a chance to respond as he pushed you down more on his cock until he heard you gag before releasing his grip on your hair. You stayed on your knees as Chris walked around the bed to your bedside dresser, allowing you to admire his backside in the moonlight before he turned around, approaching you once more.

"Why did you grab that?" You asked as he rounded the bed, your pink dildo he had just mentioned in one hand. "I have to get you ready to take my cock in that wet pussy of yours somehow. I don't think you could take all of me, baby without some help." You bit your lip as your eyes went to his cock that stood proudly against his abs, glistening with your saliva. You knew that you would need to prepare, but you weren't planning on doing it now.

Chris moved you to the side a bit, placing the suction part of the dildo down securely on the floor before his hand returned to your hair, grabbing a handful before moving you back over to the dildo and slowly sinking you down on it. You gasped at the feeling, your hands gripping his hips as you sunk down fully onto the pink dildo. Chris gave you a few moments to adjust before he helped you take his cock again in his mouth. You were thankful for his help as helped moved you as you began to bounce on the dildo, looking up at him as you did so.

You didn't want to miss any of his reactions as he tossed his head back and forth, not wanting to miss out on the view but also not being able to handle it. His moans grew louder as you moved faster, your hands moving from his hips to his balls, making him pull his cock from your lips instantly. You didn't get a chance to say anything as he picked you up from the dildo, tossing you onto the middle of the bed before instantly landing on top of you, his arms resting on either side of you as he kissed you deeply.

"Fuck, you looked so goddam hot. I was so close to cumming but I have to do it in you, baby." You nodded, wrapping your hips around his waist as he pressed his lips against you. The kiss started off slow, but the kiss soon sped up, showing his growing need for you as he began to grind his cock against your entrance, gathering your wetness along his cock as you both kissed. You sighed softly against his lips as he slipped his hand between you and him, grabbing his cock before pushing into you, filling you up.

Chris smirked as you moaned, your nails digging into his muscular arms as he filled you up. He was definitely bigger than your dildo, which made you glad he had you ride it before he filled you up. You began to drag your nails up his back as he pulled back from your lips, his chest now proud and puffed out as his hands gripped your hips, moving his hips to meet yours slowly. You both moaned in unison as his cock dragged along your walls, his lips moving to your neck as he moved faster.

You didn't realize that you had gotten louder until you heard the sound of something hitting the wall, making you both stop. You took the opportunity to catch your breath, realizing who it was. "That's my neighbor, Mr. Jenkins. We must be too loud." You sighed, disappointed that your night with Chris would have to end for the sake of your neighbors, but Chris had other plans.

He refused to have your first night with him end like this.

You gasped as he pulled out, roughly flipping you over to lay on your stomach before he straddled the back of your thighs. You turned around as he pushed back into you, both of your moans mixing together in the bedroom air. "What about Mr. Jenkins?"

"What about him?" Chris asked, his hand moving up your back to your hair once more before pressing your face down into your pillow, muffling your louder moans as he picked up the pace. In this position, he swore you felt even tighter and wetter, making him moan deeply. He leaned down to bite and kiss along your shoulders, leaving marks in his wake as you gripped the pillow. You were thankful that he let you keep your pillow as your moans had gotten so much louder, which would lead to you having an angry man at your door tomorrow morning. However, Chris needed more. He needs to hear how good his cock felt deep in your pussy like this.

If anything, he'll deal with the angry man tomorrow. You won't be able to walk tomorrow anyways.

You whimpered as Chris pulled you up from the pillow as he drilled his cock into you, the headboard now slamming against the wall as Chris whispered into your ear "Why don't you let Mr. Jenkins know how much you love my fucking cock? Or, does he hear you every night when you're rubbing your pretty pussy against your pillow, wishing it was me that was touching you? Fuck, I could fuck you better than that pillow or that pink fucking dildo. From now on, just call me."

You nodded, closing your eyes as your body began to shake, cumming on his cock. The feeling made Chris's cock twitch, his own orgasm hitting as he quickly pulled out, cumming all over your back and ass. You rested against the bed, feeling exhausted yet satisfied as he grabbed a tissue to clean you off with. You smiled against the pillow as he placed gentle kisses wherever he wiped, whispering compliments to you before laying next to you on the bed, pulling you close under the sheets.

"You know that you're going to have to deal with my angry neighbors tomorrow, right?" You asked as you lay on his chest, slowly drifting off to sleep as his lips pressed against your head as he chuckled. "Yes, babe, I do know. Now, let's go to sleep, it's late." You nodded, closing your eyes as his arms wrapped around your body, pressing another kiss on your forehead before saying "just call me. I'll come be your pillow for you anytime."

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cevansbrat0007 · 5 months ago

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Indecent Exposure Pt. II: Reality Bites

Summary: REPOST! After a night of hiding in your room, you're none too pleased to find your Dad's best friends, Bucky, Andy, and Steve waiting for you in the kitchen. Too bad they're more excited to see you than you are to see them. Read Part Three!

Warnings: Mature Themes, Bucky Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Unwanted Touching, Dad's Best Friend Themes, Older Men/Younger Women Themes, Brief Reference to Spanking and Discipline, Panty Sniffing, Semi-public Masturbation, Allusions to Breeding Kink, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: "THIS CHAPTER IS A REPOST WITH EDITS* Please heed all warnings. Part of my Indecent Exposure Series. If you'd like to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

You roll over in bed with a groan. Using your pillow to shield your face from the early morning sunlight, you reach for your phone to check the time. Squinting at the screen you’re surprised to see that it’s just past 9:00am.

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime yesterday. Last night you’d been so determined to avoid Bucky that you’d chosen to sequester yourself in your room.

At some point you must’ve fallen asleep before you could even place your DoorDash order. It was a testament to just how upset and uncomfortable you were about your current predicament.

Sometimes reality really fucking bites.

But you were a big girl. You were going to figure out a way to navigate through this mess – uncles or no goddamn uncles. You were going to make sure they gave you the space you needed this summer. Which meant it was time to set some boundaries.

Easing your way out of bed you pad over to the bathroom to quickly wash your face and brush your teeth. Once you’re feeling appropriately refreshed you head for the door. If you were being honest, you were kind of surprised that Bucky had left you alone last night.

Not that you were complaining or anything.

You take a second to put on your slippers before opening the door. As soon as you step into the hall, you’re greeted with the smell of frying bacon. Your stomach rumbles again as you begin to make your way down the stairs.

Guard up, you pause just outside of the kitchen. You inadvertently bristle at the sound of several male voices floating out into the hallway. Apparently you had company.

Fucking awesome.

FInally ready to make your presence known, you breeze into the kitchen acting completely unbothered – making a point of ignoring the men who are taking up entirely too much space in your favorite room of the house.

Unfortunately, it’s too little, too late when you remember that you’re wearing nothing but a pair of hot pink sleep shorts and a matching Shortcake tank top. Had you actually thought about it, you would’ve donned your most modest flannel pjs, complete with a robe, before you set foot in a space with these men.

You could almost swear they had x-ray vision or something based on how hard they’re staring at you. Of course, you also knew that that couldn’t possibly be true. It had to be your imagination.

“Good morning, sunshine.” One of them coos. Casting a quick glance over your shoulder you assume the greeting came from the handsome blonde on your right.

Welcome to the party, Uncle Steve.

He looks different than the last time you saw him. His hair is longer, and he’s also rocking a beard. You begrudgingly have to agree that it looks good on him. Of their own accord, your gaze briefly strays to his massive biceps before you force yourself to look away.

“Yo.” Your voice comes out a little rougher than usual, reminding you that you could use some coffee.

“Clover.” Another voice is quick to admonish with a soft cluck of his tongue – which most likely belonged to Bucky. “Is that really how you’re going to greet your Uncle Steve? And you completely ignored Andy.”

“Sup dawg?” You fire back as you feel your face heat.

This is why you didn’t like engaging with other humans before you had your coffee. A fact that was especially true since you were doomed to entertain a group of annoying interlopers for the next several months.

You go to reach for the pot, intending to pour yourself a healthy cup of joe, only to jump when you feel two hands come from behind you to grip your forearms before forcibly turning you around to face both of the men who were currently sitting at your kitchen table.

Andy looks even better than you remembered. You vaguely recall that he was supposed to be an attorney or something, which was probably why he was rocking a suit and tie. You watch as he quirks one tawny brow at you, his bearded face making it clear that he doesn’t appreciate your not-so-subtle show of disrespect.

“Let me go.” You growl, squirming against Bucky’s hold as your t-shirt rides up, exposing your belly. “Now, please.”

“Clover.” He hisses, his warm breath caressing your ear. “Apologize to your Uncles right now. I would hate to have to call Daddy to inform him that his precious “pumpkin” is being so blatantly disrespectful.” One brawny arm wraps around your middle, making it clear that there would be no escape.

Feeling helpless all you can do is mutter a defiant “bite me”.

“You’re breaking my heart, sweetness.” Andy hums, politely stirring his coffee. “I canceled all of my morning meetings to be here with you, and I can’t even get a proper greeting?”

“Right?” Steve chimes in, his eyes hard as he agitatedly runs his thick fingers through his hair. “We all have places we could be, Clover. I get your Daddy went on tour and left you home all alone, but we’re sacrificing quite a bit to make sure you feel loved and supported.”

“Is this really the thanks we get? You being a brat?” Bucky’s voice is pure silk as he continues to reprimand you. “We love you, but I think I speak for all of us when I tell you we can only tolerate so much.”

Your mind goes blank when he shifts his hold, allowing his muscled forearm to graze the underside of your breasts. Once again you try to break free, hating the way your face burns when you feel your nipples involuntarily pebble beneath the thin fabric of your t-shirt.

Fucking hell! You really should’ve put on a fucking bra before you came downstairs.

To make matters worse, you can tell that you’re not the only one who’s noticed your brand new predicament. You watch as Andy’s nostrils flare in surprise. Of course he tries to play off his interest by scrubbing a hand over his neatly cropped beard.

Meanwhile, Steve remains perfectly still, his face unreadable. But his white-knuckled grip on the edge of his chair lets you know that there’s something going on beneath the surface.

“Apologize, Clover.” Bucky rasps as his large, calloused palm comes to rest on the exposed skin of your belly – the very same belly that was currently filled with a million unruly butterflies. “I promise you good girls will get to have a hell of a lot more fun this summer.”

“I–I’m sorry.” You respond hoarsely. Meanwhile, there’s also something hard pressing against your lower back. And it only seems to get harder the more you wriggle.

Must be his keys.

“That was okay, but I think we all know you can do better.”

Forcing yourself to take a deep breath you decide to try again. Because at this point you were pretty much willing to do anything to bring an end to this uncomfortable interaction. “I’m sorry, Uncle Steve. A-and I’m sorry, Uncle Andy.”

“Good girl.”

Now that you’ve made a proper apology, you’ve apparently earned yourself a kiss from your would-be captor. Really, it’s nothing more than a chaste brush of his lips against your temple. But it’s enough to spike your blood pressure in a way that makes you more than a little nervous.

You send up a silent prayer of thanks when Bucky finally decides to let you go. Your need for coffee remains all but forgotten as you skitter away in the opposite direction. Now that you’ve managed to put some distance between you and him, you can finally get a good look at the man who somehow managed to turn your legs to jelly.

He’s wearing gray sweats and a white tank, giving you the impression that he must have just finished working out. The dark haired man then crosses his arms over his chest, showing off his impressive biceps. Say what you would about the men your Dad called friends, but you could not deny that they were all in amazing shape.

Built like fucking gods. Too bad they also happened to be self-righteous assholes.

Feeling both outmanned and outgunned, you decide to beat a hasty retreat to the one place where you knew you would be safe.

Your bedroom.

“I…am just gonna go get changed for breakfast.” You tell them, wishing to God that the floor would just open up and swallow you whole right now.

“Sounds good, princess.” Steve rises from his chair and heads toward the stove. “I was just about to make my famous scrambled eggs before you came downstairs. You still like cheddar cheese don’t you?” His once clouded blue orbs are now shining with an emotion that you can’t quite name.

Honestly, you’d rather snack on a plate full of drywall than eat breakfast with any of them. But bowing out of the meal no longer feels like a viable option. Which meant it was time to regroup.

“Uh, yeah. Sounds…yummy.” You offer him a thin smile in return before spinning on your heel and beating a hasty retreat back upstairs.

“Hurry back, princess.”

The moment they’re convinced you’re out of earshot, all three men break out in a fit of laughter. It lasts for a good thirty seconds before they manage to regain their composure. Bucky is the first to speak.

“Didn’t I tell you? We’ve got ourselves a little fucking brat.” He smacks his palm on the counter.

“God, this is gonna be an amazing fucking summer.” Andy sighs before undoing his tie. Because who the fuck was he kidding? He had no intention of going into the office today. “I’ve already come up with half a dozen ways to put that smart mouth to good use.”

“I’m pretty sure Ari already called dibs on being the first one to make our little Clover warm his cock.” Steve reaches for the carton of eggs, cracking them into a bowl with learned skill.

“He can’t have her pussy and her mouth. Tell your brother he gets to pick one. He can’t have both.”

Bucky can’t help the lecherous grin that slowly spreads across his features while he watches his buddies argue over their girl. And while he was pretty sure that you didn’t suspect a thing, he couldn’t wait to bury his head between your thighs.

He planned to spend hours eating the holy fuck out of your pretty little pussy. And if his pals wanted to watch, then the more the merrier. Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes had never been the type to shy away from an audience.

After all, they’d shared women before and it had been amazing. The only difference between then and now was that they actually cared about you.

“What are you over there dreaming about, Buck?”

“Spreading our girl out on the kitchen table and devouring her tight little cunt until she’s crying and begging for me to stop.” He replies without missing a beat.

“Oh fuck.” Andy rears back in his chair as if surprised by the other man’s answer. “Now I’d pay good money to see that. I bet it’d be even better if we could get Ari to tie her up. Maybe keep her like that all day.” He reaches down to adjust his growing erection.

“As much as I enjoy the direction of this conversation, I’m going to have to ask that we talk about something else.” The blonde begins to whisk the eggs, only pausing long enough to add a dash of salt and pepper.

“Why?”

“Because I’m hard as fuck, you punk. Plus, she’s gonna be back down here sooner rather than later. And we don’t wanna spook her. Do we?” He tosses a meaningful glare over his shoulder.

“Fine.” They both concede, palms raised high.

The conversation briefly lapses into a comfortable silence before Steve pipes up with one more question. “Alright, this is the absolute last thing I’m gonna say.” He promises as he dumps a small bowl of cheddar cheese into a skillet containing the eggs. “The last fucking thing.”

“Sure it is.” Andy snorts, disbelief in his tone.

“I bet Ari $20 that Clover was going to earn her first spanking by the weekend. But he has faith that she’ll make it a little longer.”

Bucky sucks in a breath as he tries to process what he just heard. “Oh, I want in on that one. You game, Andrew?”

The man in question simply rolls his eyes before rising from his seat. “Eh, I’m with Ari on this one. I’ll give her another week too.” He takes a moment to stretch his arms over his head, cracking his back as he does. “Our sweet little Clover doesn’t seem to like rules all that much. It’s obvious that Daddy Dale is an absolute pushover. But for now, I get the feeling she’s going to continue toeing the line. See how far she can push before she gets in trouble.”

“Have patience, fellas. I have a feeling we’ll get the opportunity to claim our girl soon enough.” Jamming his hands in his pockets, Andy begins to head in the direction of the stairs, intending to check on just what was taking you so long. “Be back in a minute.”

Andy whistles low as he makes short work of climbing the stairs. In his defense, and he always has one, he didn’t consider himself a pervert. Now that you were legal, perhaps you’d come to realize that there was nothing wrong with enjoying the company of an older man. And what’s more, he was pretty certain that once he showed you what you were missing, you’d be just as affected by him as he was by you.

When he reaches your door, he cautiously turns the knob, only to be surprised when he finds it unlocked. As he steps into the room he hears running water coming from the bathroom attached to your bedroom.

Figuring he had a little time, he quietly skulks around your room, checking out everything that catches his eagle eye. The first thing he comes upon is your journal. While he’s tempted to thumb through it, he didn’t know how much time had before you were through with your shower.

Placing it back on your desk amongst the other clutter, he ambles over to a nearby wall. The one filled with pictures of you and your friends. There’s also a few of you and your parents. But none of him, Ari, Bucky, or Steve.

A fact that bothers him a little more than he’d ever like to admit.

His mood slightly dampened, Andy steps over a pile of clothes on the floor in an effort to get to your closet. He pauses long enough to make sure he can still hear the water running before he does something he’s been dreaming about for a long time.

He reaches into your hamper, haphazardly searching for the one thing he knew had the power to keep his baser urges at bay until your precious birthday. His eyes light up when he finally spies his prize.

A pair of used black, cotton panties.

Andy brings them to his nose before inhaling deep, saving the unique scent that was all you. He startles when the bathroom door suddenly opens, revealing your towel clad form, prompting him to hastily shove them in his pocket.

“What the hell, Uncle Andy?!” You screech, wrapping the towel even tighter around your freshly scrubbed body.

“I…just came up to check on you, sweetheart.” He replies with a shrug. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen your room.” Andy makes a show of glancing around your room. “It’s kind of a mess in here.”

“Will you please just get out?” Each word is spoken through gritted teeth.

“Sure thing, Clover.” Aware that his time was up, he heads for the door. And he’s not the least bit surprised when he hears it slam shut behind him, complete with a lock.

He doesn’t take it personally – especially since he’d been the one to intrude. He’d invaded your space without permission. But since he’d gotten what he came for, he was feeling pretty good.

Andy’s feeling so good, that he hardly even responds when his buddies, Bucky and Steve, razz him about his sudden urge to rush out of the house after checking on you. They have no idea why he’s so pressed, and he doesn’t bother to clue them in either.

Frankly, it was none of their fucking business. They could go on their own panty raid if they felt so inclined.

Climbing in his Lexus, he throws the car in drive before heading in the direction of a nearby local park. He was too excited to wait until he got home, especially since his newly found prize was damn near burning a hole in his pocket.

It doesn’t take him long to reach his destination. And once he does, he doesn’t stop until he finds a secluded area where he can park. Blowing out an eager breath, he quickly undoes his slacks before reaching into his pocket to pull out the tiny piece of fabric he’d swiped from you earlier.

Andy lets out a quiet moan as he sniffs them once more, finally giving in to his dark desires. And then he fists a trembling hand around his thick cock – the same one that holds your panties. He eagerly pumps his shaft, allowing his head to fall back against the seat as he imagines what it’s going to be like the first time he’s finally able to lose himself between your thighs.

“Fuck!” He snarls as he increases the pace, his hips now jerking in time with his movements. Christ, he couldn’t wait until he got to cum inside you. The last couple nights he’d been dreaming about filling you with his seed, over and over again.

Fucking breeding the shit out of you until he’d satisfied the beast in his mind that demanded he claim you in every possible way. He’d fill you up so good too, make sure that they didn’t waste a drop. An image of you, your belly swollen with his child, is all it takes for him to erupt, with rope after rope of hot, white cum splashing onto the steering wheel.

“Ahh, fuck baby!”

Breathing heavily, Andy decides to bask in the moment a little longer before cleaning himself up. It was going to be hard, giving you time to warm up to him and the others. But he was confident that he could do it.

He could and would be patient.

But until then, he had a feeling he was going to get a lot of use out of your pretty little panties. Which was okay too. He was almost positive you wouldn’t mind.

Especially since he already planned on buying you more.

END

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eoieopda · 1 year ago

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FORCE QUIT // EPISODE I: SCRAPS

you didn't have "anti-capitalist revolution" on this year's bingo card, but you never turn down a good time.

pairing: lee felix x reader | series masterlist (1/4) | next episode series summary: it's 2077, and life's a fucking nightmare. corporate titans ate the state and shat it back out, leaving citizens of the new republic to fall in line, or fall to their knees. a reckoning is coming — where will you fall? au: series — dystopian, cyberpunk; episode — childhood friends to strangers to something ➢insp. by: cyberpunk 2077 + the true lives of the fabulous killjoys genre: smut + angst + some fluff word count: 15.4k rating: 18+— minors do not have my consent to interact. series warnings: violence (hand-to-hand, firearms, explosives), depictions of injuries (blood/bruising/burns), some characters have cybernetic modifications, class conflict + poverty, surprise - corporations are bad!, unethical medical/tech experimentation, self-indulgent references to non-skz idols, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns. episode warnings: above + trainer!felix, edgerunner!reader, pov switches, time skips, reference to food insecurity + reader living check to check, reader experiences temporary vision loss after being knocked out, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v penetration. reader notes: afab & uses she/her pronouns; has cybernetic retinal mods + one in her hand; grew up in (what is fka) korea and speaks korean — however, it’s not stated that she is asian and/or that her family is; does not speak fluent english; has tattoos; has long enough hair to put in a ponytail & use bobby pins (hair not otherwise described). ➢ notes added/expanded upon during 8/6/24 inclusivity review. a/n: each episode features a different member x reader pairing, but the plot is linear, so you'd need to read them (in order) to get the full picture! you can sign up for the taglist to be notified of the next uploads. thank you to my beloved @sailoryooons for beta'ing this and @jihopesjoint for being my emotional support internet wife even though she doesn't stan skz. ily both endlessly!

You don’t deal in absolutes, but you know two things for sure: vending-machine burritos are a crime against humanity; and Han Jisung is a dirty, rotten bastard.

The firm stance you’ve taken on the latter may or may not have something to do with the former, but you can’t draw that conclusion now — not with the abuse your taste buds are currently suffering, anyway.

“Who the fuck —”

You cut yourself off to spit a mouthful at the ground. Notably, the remnants of that half-chewed abomination look just as awful on the way out as they did on the way in.

“— Replaced this queso with battery acid?”

Chipmunk cheeks stuffed to bursting, Jisung blinks back at you. He says nothing — suddenly too polite to speak with his mouth full — and shrugs, unbothered. That’s when the realization hits you like a boot to the skull. Drenched in disbelief, your muttering comes out in slow-motion:

“You spent the last of our cash on these.”

He swallows, though you don’t know how he could bring himself to do it. That act alone makes the rage you’re simmering in bubble over.

You repeat yourself through gritted teeth, pausing emphatically between every word, “The — last — of — our — cash!”

“My bad?” He eventually offers. Tongue flicking out, he tries to gather the unidentified sauce that clings to the corner of his mouth. He fails. “Not sure what else I was supposed to find with that little money in this part of town, but go off, I guess.”

You bite your lips together to hold back the guttural yell you’re seconds from releasing. At your sides, your empty hands clench tightly. Instead of snapping — with your words or your fists — you close your eyes, inhaling slowly through your nose. Deep breaths won’t do you any fucking good in this smog, but your brain tends to work a little bit better without visual interference.

I can go another twenty-four hours, you think. Maybe.

It’s been a while since you’ve last eaten and even longer since your last job. This isn’t out of the ordinary; gaps are to be expected when you live on the fringe, jumping from thread to thread. Still, it isn’t like Changbin to leave you hanging the way he has been lately. It sure as shit isn’t like him to dodge your calls, either.

So, you figure, if you make an unsolicited visit to his office — the stock room of a bar you know better than to frequent — he won’t have a choice. He’ll have to look you in the eye and explain the dry spell, personally. He owes you at least that much.

With your plan finalized, you hold out your left hand to Jisung. In the few moments you’d taken your eyes off him, he’d apparently gone from sitting on the hood of your car to reclining fully with his own eyes closed. Basking like a little lizard in the sunlight, it’s a miracle the hot metal hasn’t burned a hole in his shirt.

“Come on.” You nudge his bent knee with your knuckles to no avail.

As Jisung is wont to do, he pouts. “But it’s so nice out — and your car still reeks, by the way.”

The absolute, rakish audacity.

If you didn’t love him, you’d probably kill him.

Strike that.

Love is irrelevant. You wouldn’t kill him unless and until there was a price on his head. After all, your mother taught you better than to do the things you’re good at for free.

“Do we want to talk about whose fault that is?” You ask with a roll of your eyes. The affection’s still there; you know he sees it. “If I recall correctly — and I think I do, having been the only sober person present — you were the one who got blasted and barfed on everything I love in this world.”

“I got blasted and barfed exclusively on the floor of your car.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “Exactly. End of list.”

Groaning, Jisung rolls his eyes as far back as they’ll go, but he still takes your hand. He always does, always has. With your help, he scoots his ass down the hood and lands with both boots — precisely where your ejected burrito bite did, not five minutes earlier. You can’t stop the satisfied grin from spreading when he whines again, this time louder and with twice as much despair.

After playfully shoving your passenger towards his door, you unlock your own. You don’t dump yourself into the seat, however; not yet. A wall of horrible heat is waiting for you the second the door opens, and you know better than to run into it, headlong.

Jisung is less patient. He’s also more regretful, face twisting in self-imposed anguish when he drops down onto the sun-scorched leather seat. And, to your delight, the hits keep coming. You watch with a smile when the consequences of last weekend’s actions hit his nostrils. The look he gives you falls somewhere between humbled, apologetic, and absolutely dead inside.

“Not one of my finer moments, I’ll admit it.” He acknowledges with a wave of his hand. Resigned, he sighs, “I’ll scrub the shit out of the floor mats the next time we can afford a wash.”

Satisfied, you finally climb behind the wheel. Pushing through the slightly-muted sting of the seat against the backs of your bare thighs, you put your foot on the brake and lift your right hand to press your thumb to the ignition port. The roar of the engine covers the way your breath hitches, but Jisung doesn’t have to hear it to notice the grimace that accompanies it.

“Still sore?” He asks.

To his credit, he looks genuinely concerned as he reaches across the center console and takes your hand in his. It’s gentle, the way he tilts your palm up, but the movement burns in every single one of your tendons. This time, you know you have a captive audience, so you don’t flinch.

Despite the trouble it’s giving you, you have to admit that the new enhancement looks beautiful in the sunlight. In the center of your palm, two rectangular, silver brackets refract iridescence. Their shine contrasts sharply with the matte, midnight black cybernetic plating that now covers the majority of your palm, spreading to the first knuckle of your fingers but coating the length of your thumb in its entirety.

More than beautiful, it’s deadly — and it aches like a motherfucker.

“I read a study about these ballistic co-processors last night while you were knocked out,” he hums.

Classic Jisung.

He has no medical or academic background whatsoever but wastes his time reading crank doctors’ research for fun. And, of course, he makes sure to mention it — casually and apropos of mostly nothing — in order to impress.

Gingerly, he runs his finger along the edge of the cyberware, mumbling, “It usually takes five days from installation for the musculoskeletal inflammation to chill.”

Your fingers twitch of their own volition, which prompts him to look up at you curiously.

“Yeah, well…” You grunt.

Less carefully than you should, you pull your hand from his, tap the gear shift, and throw the car into reverse. Peeling out of the lot, you scoff without even bothering to look his way:

“It’s been ten.”

When the War came and went, it took the old way of life with it on its way out. You might’ve been late to the party by fifty or so years, but you’ve got the gist now. It goes something like this:

Korea, as it was once known, crumpled like a beer can in the face of a corporate uprising and was quickly kicked curbside with the trash. In its place came the New Republic — in all its stolen, neon glory — promising technological revolution, profit in excess. Although the world’s eyes were trained on the peninsula then, not everyone stuck around to watch democracy die in real time.

Not up close, anyway.

Some people had enough cash to run but not enough to make staying worthwhile. With their tails between their legs and their life savings in hand, they left before the capitalist rot could set in fully; chose willful blindness and headed for countries where corporations rule from the shadows rather than broad daylight.

Most people, however, didn’t leave. People like your grandparents, who hadn’t looked up long enough to notice things going to hell in a hurry. And if they did — well, maybe they saw things for what they were: shitty, same as anywhere else.

Five decades later, that fact hasn’t changed much.

Regardless of why a person opts to stay in the New Republic, their options for survival are effectively limited to two. Simply put, a person can sell their soul to the very corporations that strangled the state, or they can starve.

Nobody ever chooses the latter.

You can safely assume everything you need to know about a person based on where their next steps take them.

For example, those who crave both chic, penthouse apartments and blood-soaked streets are most likely to fall in line with WraithCo.. The name suggests that it’s a criminal enterprise run by fucking ghouls because that’s essentially what it is. More than that, it’s the arms manufacturer monopoly that out-manned and out-gunned the national military without breaking a sweat.

The high-powered, highly-paid WraithCo. executives find joy in three things and three things only: designer suits; missiles that explode into clouds of fiberglass upon impact; and testing said missiles out on non-violent nomad encampments outside city limits.

Fucking ghouls.

Despite being the most openly violent of the major players, you find WraithCo. to be the most boring. They lack nuance, don’t bother with a false front or a positive PR spin — it’s all a little too predictable. Thanotech, on the other hand, is subtle; the perfect cover for those who like to convince themselves they’re doing more good than harm.

In furtherance of that delusion, Thanotech replaced all public hospitals with state-of-the-art, for-profit rejuvenation centers. Worse, their lobbyists ensured that medical licensure was limited to employees of those centers, outlawing the provision and receipt of medical care outside of authorized Thanotech facilities.

In short, those who can’t afford Thanotech’s astronomical rates — specifically, poor fucks like you — are left to fend for themselves in back alley clinics; to pray that they don’t wind up worse-off than they started, that the police don’t sniff them out, and that their new modifications aren’t just garbage-tier knock-offs.

Of course, some people give more of a shit about these designer mods than the patients who may or may not wind up with them. In that case, the last of the three titans has them covered.

It’s no fucking surprise that the Ulsan Corporation is the crown-jewel of the New Republic — it’s primarily responsible for killing the old one. As the world’s premier technology and cybernetics conglomerate, Ulsan is also primarily responsible for the research, development, and distribution of cybernetic enhancements.

Like the one your body is currently acclimating to.

No such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism, right?

Ulsan may be less obvious with its bastardry than its counterparts, but as far as you can tell, it’s not good guy behavior to eat an established state and shit it back out. Even if you can’t tie any specific, ongoing atrocities back to them, you have no qualms about adding the desperate state of the union to their indictment.

You can blame them for the desperate measures they’ve necessitated, although you won’t give them an ounce of credit for the spark of resistance they so recklessly lit.

Despite it all, there are still people out there who refuse to accept things for what they are. They find an alternative to the comply or die ultimatum — run along the razor’s edge, taking what they can get, whenever they can get it.

Like Changbin, one of Seoul’s best-connected fixers.

Like you, a gun for hire.

Like Jisung, sitting in your passenger seat as you drive across town, who’s just happy to be included.

Generally speaking, piss and vinegar don’t mix well with club security.

If you were anyone else, rolling up to The Crypt like you own the place would be ill-advised. More than that, it would be asking to get your teeth kicked in faster than you could say, “I’m on the list.”

Thankfully, as it often does, your reputation precedes you. Nobody in the block-long line bats an eye when you cut right to the front, a fact that has Jisung smirking in a way that might otherwise get him killed. Still, the bouncer shoots you a look that says you’re more trouble than you’re worth; and you agree.

Before your friend can change the muscle’s mind, you grab Jisung by the wrist and tug him through the front entrance. You don’t let go when the door shuts behind you, although it’s more for convenience than concern for his safety. He has a tendency to wander, and you don’t have the patience.

“Haven’t been here in a while,” he muses as you drag him towards the main bar, head turning to look in every direction except the one you’re moving in.

You don’t slow down.

Winding your way through the drunks at the counter, you inch closer to the large booths along the far wall. Inside, draped nonchalantly over the plush benches, sit the big guns — mercenaries with far more sway than you, far fatter wallets. They’re living the high life you’ve always dreamed of, and they don’t even notice you staring as you pass.

“Oh, shit!” Jisung waves overhead to one of them, reminding you without trying that he — unlike you — has other friends.��S.Coups, where have the fuck have you been, man?”

You still don’t slow down.

Not when you reach the stairwell at the far side of the main floor. Not when you shuffle down the steps to the employees only section. Not even when the security camera overhead silently demands that you do.

There’s only one locked door amongst the few; you fly to it like a homing pigeon and beat against the metal with your free hand. It isn’t until the burning ache sets in that you realize you chose your right.

“Goddamn it.” You growl down at it, as if your hand will apologize for hurting. Turning your vitriol towards the door, you kick it hard, steel-toed boot forcing out a thud. “Changbin, open this shit up!”

Jisung glares as he scolds you, “Manners, maybe?”

You roll your eyes, but his expectant expression doesn’t budge.

“Fucking — fine, okay? Fine.” Hands thrown up in defeat, you take a deep breath. Your next words come out saccharine, accompanied by fluttering lashes that can’t even be seen. “Changbin, darling, could you please open this shit up?”

The two of you wait in dead silence for several seconds before Jisung’s hands fly up to your hair, unprompted. Your surprised yelp doesn’t faze him. He grabs the bobby-pin from where you’ve stashed it under your ponytail, drops to his knees, and starts to work.

You snort, “Well, damn. Look at you!”

Truly, you’re impressed. Jisung normally leaves the dirty work to you, yet here he is — breaking and entering.

They grow up so fast.

He tries not to look proud of himself, but his cheeks blush a shade of sakura and rat him right out. Though you’re sure he’d love to, he can’t even lift a hand to wave you off before the lock clicks. With a quick twist of the knob, he pushes the door open.

Changbin’s office looks close to normal, with a few notable exceptions. For starters, he’s not in it. The man you’re dealing with never sees the light of day if he can help it.

Jisung pipes up first: “Okay, what the fuck?”

The office chair Changbin normally occupies is spun to the side, as if his ass left it in a hurry. Even odder than that is the small, green light which indicates that he didn’t shut off his computer before leaving it unattended. It’s not a decision someone like Changbin — neurotic and paranoid to a borderline clinical degree — makes on his own.

That, you know outright, is a problem.

Cautiously, you slip past Jisung and walk on eggshells towards Changbin’s desk. You know it’s stupid, that no one would bother rigging the floor tiles to blow under the weight of your boots, but you can’t ignore the way your gut twists with every step. That dread only gets worse, the closer you get.

To the right of his primary screen, there’s a half-eaten vending-machine burrito that’s so covered with ants, you almost mistake them for pepper flakes. That sight makes bile rise in your throat, in and of itself, but it’s the untouched cup of coffee that sends a tingle of panic down your spine. Around the base of the glass, hardly visible on the sheet of paper underneath, is a water ring.

That coffee — at one point, however long ago — was iced.

Changbin would kill you for it if he were here, but he isn’t, so you drop down into his chair. You pause as soon as your ass settles onto the leather, still not convinced that one wrong move won’t set off some sort of trap. The breath you’ve been holding leaks out slowly when your actions go without consequences.

A quick glance up at Jisung confirms that he looks exactly as spooked as you feel. You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard.

He knows the answer before he asks, but that doesn’t stop him. It comes out scratchy, riddled with hesitation that says he doesn’t really want to hear the response. “He hasn’t been here in days, has he?”

You shake your head, just barely, then turn to the desk. Bottom lip pinched between worried teeth, you scan the surface for anything you missed on your first pass.

Give me a hint, you motherfucker. All I need is a breadcrumb.

It’s the absence of something that grabs your attention. Eyes narrowing, you lean forward in your seat to get as close as possible to his monitors.

“Does that…?” You start to ask but your voice trails off before you finish; thoughts moving too quickly to inventory before the next one arrives.

Though black, the screens in front of you aren’t lifeless. If anything, they’re still backlit, glitching subtly in a way they shouldn’t — not if the system had been locked, powered off, or otherwise put to sleep. You don’t have to be a netrunner to know that someone is running an opp, fucking up the computer’s processing and leaving it brain dead.

It’s so small that you almost miss the minimized window at the bottom left-hand corner of his secondary monitor, screen otherwise barren. Hesitantly, you reach out your hand and press a trembling finger to it.

Jisung is hovering so closely over your shoulder that you can practically taste that burrito on his breath. You elbow him once in the chest, hard.

He coughs, pointing to the screen as he sputters, “What the hell are those?”

“Numbers, Jisung.” You deadpan. “They’re called numbers.”

Ignoring the way he grumbles in response, you grab your mobile from your pocket. It springs to life at your sudden touch and broadcasts a holographic home screen in the air just centimeters above the glass. Just as fast, it tracks the movement of your eyes flicking through the list of applications. With the faintest shudder, the GPS navigation consumes the screen.

You repeat what you hope are coordinates:

35.2029, 128.6001.

As the map loads, you and Jisung exchange glances that are underscored by tense swallows. He knows it, and so do you:

No matter where that pin ends up dropping, you have no choice but to go.

It takes three hours to drive from Seoul to Changwon. Although it’s not a route you’ve taken in years, or one you ever expected to take again, you still know it like the back of your hand. You can still navigate every turn — every crater and curve — with your eyes closed, even now.

Despite that fact, your decision to race to the southeast this time has nothing to do with sentimentality for the hometown you left five years ago.

This is just for Changbin, you repeat like a mantra, pressing harder on the accelerator.

With every stoplight and thought you race through, the background grows blurrier but the big picture gets clearer. Changbin himself has nothing to do with it; and you’re not as selfless as your inner monologue keeps claiming. You correct yourself:

This is for me and my empty bank account.

Really — who could blame you?

You need steady contracts in order to eat. Without Changbin, those get fewer and farther between. It’s the transitive property, or whatever; basic math. You might starve without him, and that is the one thing in this life that you’re unwilling to do.

In the passenger seat, Jisung stirs. When he speaks, his voice isn’t weighted down with exhaustion in the way it usually is, halfway through a car trip. For some reason, it makes your stomach turn to consider that — for what is probably the first time ever — he isn’t sleeping through a drive.

“He left in a hurry,” he quietly notes.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at him and confirm the presence of that worried crease between his eyebrows. It’s not accompanied by the usual, furiously-bouncing knee. That makes your stomach turn, too. Clearly, he’s vaulted over mere anxiety and landed somewhere close to shutting down.

You nod. “He did.”

It spooks him when you take your right hand off the steering wheel and give his elbow a brief squeeze. You’re not the affectionate type; you both know this. It always makes your rare touches more ominous than comforting.

“Do you think he was running to something, or running away from something?”

Leave it to Jisung to say the quiet part out loud.

Normally, you have an answer for his constant questions; and if you don’t, you resort to lying or guessing. This time, however, you don’t bother with either of those tactics because it doesn’t matter. Whatever the correct answer is, it’ll still feel wrong because Changbin doesn’t run.

Period.

Full stop.

So, the conclusion your brain keeps trying to come to is that he didn’t — he wouldn’t — if it came down to choice. The only reason Changbin would’ve disappeared like this, suddenly and wordlessly, is if he was taken.

Pulse hammering loudly in your ears, you don’t hear Jisung announce that your destination is only a few hundred meters down the road. Without his emphatic pointing out the windshield ahead, you simply would’ve continued racing forward, taking the speed limit as a suggestion to be ignored. Thankfully, your lead foot switches to the brake with enough time to make your turn. Tires hit dirt; your car fishtails as it transitions from the road to the worn-out path to your right.

“The fuck is this place?” You mutter, more to yourself than to Jisung.

It’s obsolete, you know that much.

Something akin to an industrial park, but one that clearly hasn’t been used since before the War. There are electrical towers dotting a perimeter around the space, none of which are operational; the grid system was replaced by wind power, then by solar energy no fewer than fifty years ago. The driveway below is so cracked that patches of weeds have overtaken most of what remained of the pavement. All the rest is weathered, reduced to broken bits of cement and dirt.

Your car slows to a stop halfway down the parkway, surrounded on both sides by empty storage units with doors either broken or missing entirely. Hair raising on the back of your neck, you park but don’t kill the engine. Slowly, you rest your right hand over top of the holster strapped to your thigh and open your car door with your left.

The sun set a few hours into your drive. Its absence hasn’t done a damn thing to break the thick heat waiting for you outside. Humid air settles on your skin and leaves a sheen of sweat behind like a handprint, sticky.

“These were the coordinates,” Jisung affirms with a sigh. He stays seated inside the vehicle, leaving you to wonder why. He’s either too panicked to move, or correct in assuming you’d tell him to sit his unarmed ass back down before you made him.

You don’t respond.

Instead, your eyes continue to scan the property for signs of — well, anything. Movement, a heat signature, whatever might register on your optical mods. There’s nothing, save for the stray tumbleweed somersaulting across the empty lot. You narrow your eyes to zoom in, heart pounding with anticipation.

You almost scream when you see it, but you swallow the urge. Fear won’t do you any good, but the semi-automatic strapped to your thigh might. It’s in your palm before you can blink, cocked and aimed at the figure ahead. At the bottom of your field of vision, your ammo count glows in translucent, block letters.

So, the ballistic co-processor is worth the pain.

Their posture is casual, legs dangling from the metal catwalk they sit on. Their elbows rest against the railing in front of them, as if they’re leaning on a counter in a bar and not spying on you from a scaffold four meters overhead. The way they’re watching in silence is unsettling enough; the wooden tal obscuring their face is fucking nightmare fuel, if you’ve ever seen it.

Head tilted curiously to the side, the stranger stares down at you through small eye holes, wooden mouth frozen in a hand-carved smile. Whoever they are, they’re immersed in the bit. They exaggerate every slow movement for their audience of two.

Good for them, you scoff to yourself.

Gloved hands come up to pantomime “don’t shoot” mere seconds before they grab hold of the railing in front of them. Just as quickly, they swing themselves underneath with a kick of their legs until they’re falling, falling, falling towards the ground below. They land easily on their feet without so much as a grunt. All the while, dust swirls in pirouettes around their ankles, spot-lit by your car’s headlamps.

“What — what the fuck?” Jisung squeaks.

You don’t answer, but that doesn’t stop him from repeating his question, over and over.

Hands still raised, the stranger slowly closes the distance between you. Their fingers wiggle slightly in some demented version of a wave; they’re taunting you. The unhealed part of you wants to shoot those fingers off, one by one.

You’ve never been fond of clowns.

“If you like having kneecaps without bullets in them, I suggest you stay still, chingu,” you scoff, now more annoyed than alarmed.

To your surprise, they listen. Their feet still, side by side; and their hands stay where you can see them. That is, until they curl all of their fingers into their palm, except for their right index finger. With it, they point silently over your shoulder.

As soon as you can whip your neck around, a gloved fist collides with your temple. The last thing you see before your vision goes black is a second, wooden smile looming over you.

A hushed tone manages to nudge you awake.

“You really can’t keep doing this. Seriously, your people skills are awful.”

The whole world’s blurry, and you can’t make out the source of the sound, but you’re coherent enough to know it when a second voice chimes in. It’s much less gentle than the first, higher in pitch and twice as exasperated. It snaps, “She was armed.”

“I had it under control,” the first voice huffs.

The two seem to be too lost in their argument to notice your eyelids fluttering or your fingers twitching. Your wrists aren’t bound, you realize, but that fact doesn’t help you much in your current state. Back resting heavily against the thin nylon cloth of a cot, it’d take more energy than you have to spare in order to get to your feet. Worse, your eyes don’t seem interested in cooperating.

They should be by now.

They’re open, you’re conscious, and —

Motherfucker.

The more awake you become, the more the ache in your temple reverberates down your jaw. You know without looking that the right side of your face is bruised to hell and back. Scraped up, too, if you had to guess; you hit the gravel like a bag of bricks.

They must’ve done it on purpose, hitting you exactly where they needed to in order to scramble your visual input. The most you get is shapes, black and white static. It wasn’t the hardest knock you’d ever taken to the head — not by a long shot — but it was perfectly targeted and timed.

Clearly, they’re no amateurs.

One such shadow kneels down next to you. Gentle fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear while their other hand tilts your drooping head to the side.

They tut, “Just look at what you did to her face.”

“From what I’ve heard, she’s been through worse,” the second voice scoffs. You watch the shadow’s shoulders as they shrug, wishing you could focus on their face well enough to bash it in.

The retort comes quickly, but it doesn’t come in Korean.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t do better.”

The hands that gently cradle your face pull away, leaving you cold. The action itself isn’t as jarring as the sudden use of English, though — especially the accent it’s spoken with. You may not be fluent, but you can sense what’s missing: the consonant on the end of that last word.

You sense something else, too, but you’re still too disoriented to follow that thought from start to finish. It’s on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

Who — ?

The bastard that broke your brain must notice your face scrunching in confusion because their next words seem to be aimed at you. Clipped and unapologetic, they mutter, “Should be fine within the hour. Already been out for —”

They suck in a breath through their teeth. You can’t tell if they’re stalling in order to toy with you, or if they’re genuinely doing the math.

“— Seven hours or so, now.”

Fuck!

One of the two snorts out a laugh; it’s the only reason you piece it together that you spoke out loud. Emboldened by the confirmed functionality of your voice, you speak again without thinking it through first.

You don’t care where you are or who you’re with. You only have one question:

“Is Changbin still alive? Because if he is, I’ll kill him myself.”

The man kneeling next to your cot chuckles, soft and low, but he doesn’t acknowledge your question beyond that. Instead, he addresses his hamfisted friend. “Can you please get her some water?”

“Am I a waiter now, Yongbok-ah?” The other snips, though his tone is devoid of any real heat. If his face wasn’t blurred out of existence, you’d likely find a sneer on it. “Should I roll some gimbap for her, too?”

“Actually, you should,” counters this Yongbok. His response is buried so deeply under his breath that his back talk may as well be a secret for your ears only. “Punched her clean into the next weekday — so, yeah. It’s the least you could do.”

It grows silent enough that you can hear every incredulous footstep as the waiter storms off.

The remainder says, “Sorry about him,” and for whatever little it’s worth, he sounds like he means it. You say nothing, simply marinating in your resentment.

Meanwhile, he shifts from his knees in order to sit fully on the ground next to your cot. Elbows extended, he leans back onto his palms and sighs gently, “Minho’s not as bad as the first impressions he makes.”

You scoff so forcefully that you feel it in your sinuses. “This is the second. His first is the reason I can’t see who’s holding me hostage.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The shape beside you sits up suddenly. He sputters, “You’re not a hostage, and this isn’t a kidnapping —”

“Then what the fuck is it?” You snap, “Huh, Yongbok?”

Blindly, you throw out a half-balled fist in a half-baked attempt to even the score. It misses by a mile, nearly knocking you off balance in the process. Your wrist is encircled by the same warm fingers you felt before, doubling over but exerting no force.

“We were scouting you. You know, like, soccer?” He chuckles sheepishly. “Changbin mentioned that you were a free agent, so to speak, and we thought you might wanna join the team.”

What the fuck?

“And — it wasn’t supposed to wind up like this.” His shadow’s hands gesture vaguely at the room you can’t see. “I did try to warn you. You just didn’t turn around in time.”

There are too many questions swirling around in your skull to choose from. One of them must break free and nudge your retinal chip back into place because something turns the lights back on. Glitching wildly, your vision flickers from low contrast to high definition. It doesn’t hurt, but the surprised gasp you choke out could easily be interpreted that way.

The man next to you is back on his knees in a second, both hands finding your shoulders to either comfort you or immobilize you — and you aren’t sure which. Against your better judgment, you ignore the reflex that tells you to fight or flee. Instead, you reach out and touch his cheekbone to confirm that the faint spots you see are freckles and not lingering sensory damage on your part.

He doesn’t even blink, much less say a word. There’s no jerk to get away, and there’s not a single question asked about what the fuck you’re doing — just tolerance. Far more than you’d be extending if the roles were reversed.

Freckles.

You aren’t embarrassed, but you drop your hand quickly and scowl at him until he does the same. Once again, he raises them as he leans back. Notably, he doesn’t wiggle his fingers like the first time you crossed paths.

That reminds me —

Abruptly, you draw your arm back to deck him in earnest.

Just like the last time, he catches you before you can strike him; however, instead of capturing your wrist, it’s the entirety of your fist. His palm absorbs the shock, fingers closing around your hand. It’s the gentlest trap you’ve ever been ensnared in, which you hate.

Smart of you to prevent another attempt.

“Can I finish explaining myself?” He asks, voice soft.

Bright doe eyes scan over your face cautiously as he contemplates letting your hand go. It’s disarming, sure, but you’d rather die than admit it.

You give him absolutely nothing to work with, so he adds, “You can hit me when I’m done, if you still want to.”

All you give him in return is a glare, which he somehow correctly interprets as permission to keep going. The grip on your fist loosens, although it wasn’t constricting to begin with. Like nothing happened, you pull it away and cross your arms.

As if nonchalance has ever been your strong suit.

He stares at you, deep in thought, for longer than you know what to do with. Eyes sweeping over your features like he’ll be quizzed later, taking in every detail. It’s unsettling — what about you is even worth gawking at?

When he frowns, that spark of light in his eyes stays put. “You don’t remember me.”

It’s not a question because he isn’t asking; he’s telling. And you have no goddamn clue what he means, no matter how loudly the voice in your head screams that you should. The familiarity buzzing through your brain can’t place him — not the button of his nose, not even those fucking freckles.

“I don’t know anyone named Yongbok,” you counter, frustration evident.

You wouldn’t be this harsh if you know how not to be. Part of you feels guilty when you see the hurt flicker across his face, but both emotions — his and yours — are gone as quickly as they appear. Consequently, the walls stay up, refusing to give. Despite you, the corner of his mouth hitches up in a lopsided version of a smile.

That’s familiar, too.

“Never really went by it,” he chuckles. As he does, he tilts his head quizzically.

Another bell rings, yet you can’t name the note.

Shyly, he takes his half-smile with him and looks anywhere else. The anticipation is spinning cartwheels in your stomach, tingling down the back of your neck, and you’re seconds away from trying to smack the trapped words right out of him.

Who are you to me?

After a deep breath in and out, he glances back at you from the corner of his eye. His hesitation does nothing to prepare you for his response, which isn’t his name at all. It’s yours — a nickname, more specifically. One no one has used in damn near a decade.

“Been a while, Scraps. Hasn’t it?”

Felix has never seen anyone freeze the way you do when the realization finally hits. For a minute, he worries that Minho did more damage to your poor brain than either of them initially diagnosed; it wouldn’t be the first time. Minho’s never been known to be careful or tactful.

Your silence — and your total lack of physical response — doesn’t last, though. He nudges your kneecap with his knuckles just to make sure you can feel it. You blink rapidly, as if you’re just now remembering how.

He starts to ask, “Are you ok—?”, but your fist flies out, pops him right in the jaw, and he chokes on the rest of that question. Hands flying up to cover his face, he collapses back onto the floor with a groan. When the initial shock wears off, it dissolves into laughter that shakes his shoulders.

Honestly, what did he expect?

In a flash, you shove yourself off your cot. You’re on top of him before he can blink, pinning him down. You grip his shirt in one fist and raise the other. He braces himself for impact but doesn’t flinch, too taken aback by the fury you’re capable of communicating without a single word.

“You’re fucking with me,” you spit, breaking the silence.

Your glare is borderline feral — burning — and that makes him laugh even harder.

“You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?”

To both of your surprise, you don’t hit him again; you don’t even try. You freeze, but unlike the last time, your eyes are shaking. Your raised arm is, too, like it’s taking all you have to keep whatever you’re feeling to yourself.

Classic Scraps.

You mutter, “You’re dead,” and it’s not a threat.

Not even close, really. It’s a declaration, one accompanied by an expression that’s as close to vulnerable as he’s ever seen from you. All at once, you lower your arm; the rest of you slumps, too. Whispering, you repeat, “You’re dead.”

Something about your tone hurts worse than the burgeoning bruise near his mouth. It aches, even more so when he frowns. You deserve an explanation — an apology, too — but Felix doesn’t know where the fuck to start.

Maybe he should cash that reality check first.

“Is that what people are saying?” He asks.

He’s not sure what about that trips him up. It makes perfect sense that this is the conclusion people wound up jumping to. After all, he left without a word and never came back — didn’t leave a trace, either.

Felix wasn’t the first teenager to slip through the cracks, so he’d figured that his would be another run-of-the-mill disappearance. Sure, people tend to notice when kids go missing; but that doesn’t stop the world from turning. Sooner or later, people stop looking, either too busy or too hopeless to keep holding a torch.

Eventually, they forget.

At least, that was the reality Felix had subscribed to — that, after a while, he’d slipped through the cracks of collective consciousness. It was easier to tell himself that he wasn’t missed. His guilt couldn’t keep him up at night if nobody remembered that he existed in the first place; especially when a decade slipped past in his absence.

But you did remember.

You missed him.

You lift your knee so that you’re no longer straddling him and drop onto your back at his side.

It’s funny, he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling. The two of you spent years just like this, albeit on the hood of some junkyard sedan. Two pairs of wide eyes were always fixed on constellations, dreaming of something bigger than both of you. Of some future where you weren’t still stuck in the gutter.

“There was no trace of you anywhere.” You speak so softly that Felix is left to wonder whether you’re talking to him or yourself. “No records that you fled, no word from you, no hits on CCTV — nothing. The cops said there’d be a trail if…”

Your voice fades out before you can finish that thought, so Felix picks up where you left off: “If I was alive to leave one.”

There’s a long pause before you speak again.

“This is where you disappeared to?”

He feels a shift beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way you’ve tilted your head to gaze at him. By the time he does the same, the moment is gone, and you’re taking in the room around you.

It’s not much, but it’s all he has: A small room in a decommissioned factory, smelling faintly of sawdust despite not containing any. The cot you just sprang from is where he’s spent most nights since he was fifteen.

The floor underneath it — underneath you — is more dirt than concrete now, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed it; and the few iron shelves that hang along each wall are just as gross. So are the knickknacks he’s set on them, but he doesn’t mind.

The site itself is long forgotten. It’d be an eyesore if anyone ever looked, but no one bothers.

Even satellites have stopped paying it any attention, leaving it to fade into dirt and obscurity, not even a shadow of what it used to be. Once plush and inviting, the surrounding forest was leveled in a firefight that ended with ninety-percent of the nearby buildings getting blown to shit.

The New Republic could’ve easily organized a relief team to dig through the shattered city. At any point in the last fifty years, they could’ve rebuilt what burned in that failed uprising, but they didn’t; and Felix knows they never will because that rubble has a function. Apart from burying one of the country’s most impoverished districts, it serves as a cautionary tale. A threat left behind to the masses: this is what happens when people pose risk to profits.

Still, flowers can grow within cracks in concrete. After all, his life with you started just a few kilometers away.

“Are we still in Changwon, or did you and that asshole drag me out of the province?”

That edge of yours is ever present, and Felix is glad. It’s one of the million things he’s missed about you; a feature on the long list of reasons he wishes he could’ve called — messaged, sent a smoke signal, anything — to keep you around in whatever capacity he could.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Felix feels the weight of a lost decade sitting heavy on his chest, so he does what he always does: he chooses light. Smiling brightly, he asks, “D’you remember that junkyard we used to run away to after curfew?”

You roll your eyes. You don’t have to say it out loud; he knows you do. The two of you spent more time there than you did in your own homes, lining glass bottles along the wooden fence posts and firing stones at them with a homemade slingshot.

“We’re a few kilometers up the road, actually.”

At this, you sit up so that no part of your body stays pressed against his. Dead silence settles in the space between you like a brick wall. You bristle, then you snap, “All that time you were dead, you were still within spitting distance?”

Felix opens his mouth to respond, but your rigid posture makes it clear that you have no desire to listen. He closes it again without saying a word. It’s what he deserves, isn’t it?

“Traded in your family, your home, your — Me.” You clear your throat to hide the fact that your voice breaks. It’s too late. “And for what, Felix? To haunt some abandoned building like a ghost?”

You clench your fists, like a grip tight enough might keep you together. That part of you hasn’t changed either, it seems. Neither has the extremely unsettling way you get quieter, the more upset you are. Just like that, he’s reminded of what you used to say: the more it hurts, the less it shows.

“I couldn’t pick you out of a fucking lineup despite all of that history,” you whisper, deflated. “And you were here the whole time.”

Talking won’t do him much good, so Felix opts to show you. Palms pressed to the ground, he pushes himself to his feet, and he doesn’t bother dusting off the back of his pants once he stands. It won’t make a difference, anyway, when the whole damn city is covered in it.

Once he steadies himself, he extends his hand to you, half-expecting you to slap it away. You don’t budge. You never do, he recalls fondly.

“One chance?” His eyes are pleading, even though you don’t look up to meet them. “It’s hard to explain, but it’ll make more sense if you see it.”

Without looking, you lift your arm and slap your hand into his. A small concession, but it’s enough to make his smile reappear. He’s practically beaming when he hauls you to your feet, and you grip his forearms to keep steady.

“Fine,” you concede with a huff.

Then, you round on him with one pointed finger, jabbing him in the center of his chest with force. It’ll bruise, but he supposes that’s the whole point.

“This better be worth all the fucking theatrics, or I swear to god —”

“You’ll make me swallow my own teeth?” He rolls his eyes with a low chuckle and tugs you along after him on his way to the door. “Yeah, yeah, yeah — Heard that threat a thousand times, Scraps, and you’ve never once made good on it.”

Just to emphasize his point, he looks over his shoulder at you and grins with all thirty-two of them.

All things considered, you take everything in stride. You don’t react much at all when you discover that the abandoned building is anything but; refuse to bat an eye when the two people you woke up to are revealed to be a tiny fraction of the whole.

You even keep your hand in his as he ushers you from room to room — through the clinic, the makeshift and woefully under-equipped armory, the Hub — and introduces you to whoever you come across. He might even go so far as to call you friendly, which is a first. Receiving any kind of warmth from you typically requires high-level security clearance.

Or, at least, it used to. Felix has to remind himself more than once that, small echoes aside, there are parts of you he doesn’t know anymore. This could very well be one of them.

Halfway through the tour, you finally offer up more than a lukewarm greeting and your name. It’s just the two of you now; you don’t have to make yourself palatable anymore. Blunt as ever, you throw out, “This is a cult, right? You ran away from home to join a cult?”

There she is, he thinks.

Felix pulls a face in disapproval, which you either don’t catch or don’t care about. Instead, you turn your head in the opposite direction and let your gaze sweep over the loading dock you currently stand upon.

It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a sitting room, filled with the only comfortable furniture they could get their hands on — half-busted arm chairs, ratty old couches, tables held together with duct tape and a prayer. You drop suddenly onto one such couch, jerking him back until his ass winds up next to yours on a tattered cushion.

Felix can’t tell if you pulled him down on purpose, or if you simply forgot that you were holding onto him. Either way, he doesn’t mind, but part of him hopes it was the former.

“It’s a collective,” he corrects you, lips flattening into a firm, straight line.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it. If it’s a sex cult, just say so.”

He tries not to laugh — really, he does — because the last thing you need is an enabler, but your deadpan delivery has always hit him where he’s weakest. He tries again while swallowing a chuckle: “It’s the Black Screen, home to the most talented and ungovernable motherfuckers on the peninsula.”

You don’t look impressed. Felix doesn’t take it to heart.

“We’ve got a reconnaissance team, netrunners —”

As if he’s doing a roll call, he points to nearby stragglers with every position he names.

“— corporate defectors, combat vets, medics, ex-fixers —”

He nudges you with his elbow, wiggles his eyebrows and murmurs, “— Edge runners —”

If that look in your eye is any indication, you still hate it when he does that.

“And a couple of wayward drunks who — well…” Felix pauses for a moment to think. It doesn’t help, so he shrugs, snickering, “I dunno how they got here, and they don’t contribute much, but they’re fun to have around!”

The corner of your mouth twitches, ever so slightly. He grins down at you, as if to say gotcha.

“So, it is a sex cult,” you repeat flatly after a beat.

Felix can’t beat your bit, so he may as well join you in it. Bested, he sighs, “Yeah, pretty much.”

You hum in acceptance of his defeat, clearly amused by how easily he still gives in to you.

With pursed lips, you continue to take in your surroundings. Your brow furrows while you process the information you’ve been bombarded with so far, but you don’t offer up any further questions or snide comments. Thankfully, the silence that falls over you both feels a lot less like lead than the previous one.

Felix’s gaze stays fixed on you, though you’re too busy looking elsewhere to notice. Maybe you couldn’t recognize him, but shit — he’d know you anywhere, anytime. You’ve gotten older, of course, finally grew into those features of yours. Still, there are hints of the kid he used to know hidden all over your face.

Original traits aside, the new additions — the tattoos, for starters — all read like you. In fact, Felix is fairly confident that he’d know who they belonged to, even if the other context was removed. After all, the cyberware installed into your hand can’t undermine the familiarity of it resting against his palm.

And it sure as shit still hits like it used to.

He considers it a blessing, really, that so much of you survived the years that flew by without him. That the scrawny girl next door — ready and willing to fight God over a single slight — still rolls her eyes the same way, still speaks in that satoori his non-native tongue could never mimic.

“Maybe I’m missing something,” you announce suddenly. The unexpected sound of your voice startles Felix so much that he jumps, knocking his shoulder into yours in the process. You ignore his reaction and continue, “This just looks like someone is collecting people as a hobby. What are you all doing here?”

Oh.

Yeah, that’s a fair question.

“We’re… starting a fire,” Felix muses.

You arch an eyebrow expectantly, although the rest of your face remains impassive. It’s less of a demand for him to continue than it is permission for him not to stop.

“And we’re going to burn it all down.” He hits you with a devilish grin, drops his voice low in a way that makes you shiver involuntarily. “The corpo-rats, the lies they sell — all of it.”

“Sounds like anarchy,” you say, tilting your head to the side. There’s a beat, then you grin to match his. “Sign me up.”

Felix stands at the far side of the dining area with his arms crossed and his head leaning back against the cinder blocks behind him. His legs are crossed at the ankles, knees aching from the sheer amount of time he’s been holding the wall up.

As much as his body wants to sit, the rest of him is out of options. The only table that isn’t full is the one you’re occupying with Changbin and Jisung. After the day you’ve had, you deserve time alone with something familiar. He recognizes that he isn’t that.

Not anymore — and not yet, either.

He finds it hard to stray too far, though. You’ve always been able to fend for yourself — that black-and-blue jaw of his is proof enough — but it’s a role he can’t help falling into, looking out for you. Muscle memory.

Although Felix can’t quite make out anything that the three of you are saying, it’s clear as a damn bell when you slam your palms down on the table. Just as obvious is the split second in which your anger gives way — when the pain in your right hand finally registers in your brain.

“That one going to be a problem?”

Hyunjin, as usual, seems to appear out of thin air. He sidles up to Felix and takes up the spot next to him along the wall. All it takes is one quick glance to confirm it — he’s exhausted. Dark half-moons sit in the wells beneath his eyes like ink, silently informing Felix of yet another all-nighter; still keeping secrets as to where he goes at night when everyone else is sleeping.

But Hyunjin isn’t a mystery Felix will ever be able to solve, so he looks back in your direction and asks, “Who, Scraps?” Then, with a shake of his head, he sighs, “No. She’s a cherry bomb, but she’s reliable. Far more than most, actually.”

It’s odd, Felix thinks, that Hyunjin didn’t already know the answer to that question. As the reconnaissance leader of the Black Screen, there isn’t much Hyunjin isn’t aware of. Felix doesn’t comment on that piece, however. Instead, he does his best to interpret your reaction.

“If I had to guess, Changbin just told her about the fake kidnapping.”

And Hyunjin doesn’t do a damn thing to conceal his smirk. That was his plan, after all.

Two weeks ago, Seo Changbin stumbled upon a lead by accident. While Felix isn’t privy to the details of what Changbin dug up, he knows it must’ve been significant. That’s the only explanation Felix can come up with as to how Changbin wound up at the rendezvous point. Nobody — not the corporate ghouls, their war dogs, or any other sorry soul — finds the Black Screen unless they want to be found.

Felix is privy to what happened next because it’s the only reason he wound up involved in this at all:

Whatever intel Changbin had was groundbreaking enough to score an invitation to the revolution, but he had more to offer the higher-ups than that. He dropped the name of someone who could be an asset, under the right circumstances. Someone who wouldn’t follow a breadcrumb trail for free but would tear the peninsula apart to find whoever owed them.

For what it’s worth, Felix disagreed with that characterization the second he heard it. Despite the mask you like to wear, you’re incapable of being self-centered. You’ve never been profit-driven, heartless, or attachment-avoidant. Just hellbent on survival for you and the people you feel responsible for, even as a kid.

The only reason Felix hasn’t asked you about your motive outright is because he knows you’d lie. The truth is simple: Unless it was for someone you care deeply about, you wouldn’t waste gasoline on speeding back to a place you hate.

Hyunjin clears his throat, pulling Felix out of the daze he’d fallen into. Given the pointed look on his face, Hyunjin must be repeating himself when he says, “She got you bad, huh?”

Confusion forces Felix’s brow to furrow.

“This?” He takes a wild guess and gestures to the bruise on his jaw before waving dismissively. “Nah, her form is terrible. Truly garbage-tier follow-through. I can teach her, though.”

Hyunjin pushes himself off the wall and moves to exit the dining area. As he passes by, he gives Felix a patronizing pat on his shoulder. “Not what I meant, Yongbokie.”

Felix frowns, unsure how to take what he’s being given.

The fuck?

“Not even close,” Hyunjin calls over his shoulder.

He shoots Felix a wink, and then he’s gone, disappearing out the door the same way he entered it — like a goddamn apparition.

“Wow. Recruited? That’s — wow.”

Jisung is doing a terrible job of pretending he isn’t blushing. He clears his throat to keep his voice even, but it’s useless. He’s not fooling anyone.

“I didn’t realize we were so sought after.”

“You’re not,” Changbin responds bluntly. He gestures across the table to you but maintains his eyes on Jisung. “She is. You just happened to be present, and they couldn’t leave a witness behind.”

Jisung doesn’t bother to hide the way his face falls. When he opens his mouth to whine, you raise your hand and silently demand that he spare you the earache. It seems to work; he slumps dejectedly and leans with his elbows against the tabletop. You proceed to ignore him.

Affect flat, you stare straight ahead at the source of all your fucking problems. The half of you that wants to hug Changbin for being alive and well is significantly quieter than the half of you that wants to grab him by the nape of his neck and shove his face into his yukgaejang.

Bastard.

“I no longer give a shit how I ended up here,” you state coolly. Liar. “That ship has sailed, and to keep it a buck with you, Binnie —”

He cringes at the nickname, which is exactly the reaction you sought.

“— I’m not interested in stroking your ego for getting one over on me. It won’t happen again. What I’m still waiting on —”

The only reason you leave that clause hanging in mid-air is to see the anticipation stir in his eyes. From where you’re sitting, it’s what he deserves: a little bit of unnecessary suspense. Really, it’s a form of reparations for the giant fucking inconvenience he’s been lately. His balance is way past due.

Jisung, perpetually along for the ride, shovels shrimp chips into his mouth while his eyes dart back and forth between your face and Changbin’s.

You shoot Changbin a sly smile and grab his beer, tilting the can his way in lieu of a bow. His eyes narrow, visibly annoyed with your stalling, but he doesn’t audibly complain when you down the rest of his drink. Resigned, he accepts the empty can that you hand it back to him

At long last, you clear your throat.

“— is an explanation for why you’re here,” you finally sigh.

Changbin rolls his eyes so hard that they go all-white for a moment. Then, to your surprise, he glares across the table at Jisung.

“You know, my life was way more pleasant before you dragged this one,” he huffs, gesturing to you with his chopsticks, “Into my bar.”

Just for a moment, Changbin sits with his annoyance. He’s entitled to some of it, you’ll concede. You’re not easy to love — you never have been — and you’re occasionally even harder to like. Despite that, he’s been known to look out for you in his own, mostly useless way; even in moments like this, when you’re being a fucking gash simply because you can.

But the fact remains that you dragged your ass across a peninsula for him. He knows damn well that you accept payment in the form of secrets when cash is too hard to come by, so….

“Spill,” you demand.

That tough exterior of his collapses like wet cardboard, just like you knew it would. He glances around the room quickly to confirm that no one is listening in, then he pushes his empty bowl out of the way. With the threat of staining his white t-shirt neutralized, Changbin leans in and asks, “Do either of you know Jung Wooyoung?”

Simultaneously, you and Jisung respond:

“The boxer?”

“The biter.”

Just the same, your friends turn to you with identical looks of bewilderment. You shrug, declining to elaborate because Changbin asked if you knew him, not how or how intimately. Truth be told, you’re not sure that he’s prepared for that answer.

“Anyways,” Changbin segues after clearing his throat. “He’s not up to either of those tasks these days.”

Genuinely curious, Jisung asks with a frown, “Did someone finally kill him?”

Fair question, you think.

With the way Wooyoung runs his mouth, it’s a wonder he’s lived as long as he has — assuming, of course, that he’s still alive. Beyond picking fights with people three times’ his size, his specialties include fixing matches and swiping other fighters’ significant others. If he’s not dead yet, you figure, it’s only a matter of time until the consequences of his antics come calling.

Changbin shakes his head, and the look on his face seems weirdly solemn, like the answer is even worse than that. It’s sobering; it knocks the smirk right off your face.

“He was short on cash, so he signed up for some clinical trial promising a million won for participants.”

Jisung, the resident non-doctor, sits up at this development. “Thanotech?”

You’re in the middle of rolling your eyes when Changbin intercepts, grimacing: “No, that’s the fucked up part. Well, one of the fucked up parts.”

Two pairs of expectant eyes lock on him.

“It’s Ulsan running the trial.”

You don’t pretend to be well-versed in any of the biomedical, cybernetic shit going on around you, but you do know that this particular corporation never leaks details of its research and development — not ever. Doing so would run the risk of a lesser titan swooping in to try and to dupe it.

But that’s not the only revelation that smacks you upside the head.

“Ulsan pays for lab rats now?” You scoff, surprised by your own interest. “Here I was, thinking they used ex-employees for that shit.”

It sounds callous when you say it out loud, but it’s a universal assumption. Part of the New Republic’s mythology, so to speak.

In your lifetime, you’ve never come across a single person who used to work for the Ulsan Corporation — not one. Just the same, you’ve never heard about anyone leaving; no one you’ve ever met has. It’s beyond the realm of possibility that a corporation like that has no turnover, so where do people go when their turn is over?

The dumpster out back, some say. According to others, they wind up in a secret mass grave in the oil fields.

“When he came back, I didn’t know where he’d been or why; I just saw him wandering around like a fucking zombie.” Changbin shivers. “He’s empty now, all sucked dry.”

Jisung looks pointedly at you, shit-eatin grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that what happened when you —?”

An elbow to the center of his chest stops his question before he can finish asking it. He yelps instead, scooting his chair further down the table to get away from you, your sharp edges, and your even sharper glare.

“It freaked me the fuck out, and I didn’t have any answers, so I started poking around for something — anything — that might make sense of it.”

“So, that’s how you got pulled into the web.”

The voice from nowhere makes all three of you jump. You whip around to find yet another stranger.

How many fucking people do I have to meet today?

This particular wild card sits on top of the table directly behind yours with arms gently crossed over her chest; not closed off but cold, judging by the goosebumps making themselves known across her bare arms. Her boots rest on the chair in front of her, one chrome leg shining next to flesh-and-blood.

Whoever she is, she’s beaming. That fact confuses the shit out of you because you’re not often met with friendliness, especially from unknowns. Or maybe, you think, it’s a well-concealed effort to disarm you. Whatever it is, it’s working; the urge to snap at her for intruding is dead on arrival.

You open your mouth to ask what she means, but you can’t get the words out before someone else interjects.

Minho, that bastard, shouts from across the room, “Spider! Got a minute?”

Her eyes light up in a way that says she has several, so long as he’s the one asking. Without another word, she hops to her feet and pushes the chair that held them back under the table. As she heads his way, she sends you an apologetic smile, like she somehow owes you anything.

“I don’t know what they unraveled by pulling that thread,” Changbin sighs, nodding towards the pair exiting the room. “But this place has been buzzing since I got here.”

You need something to chew on that isn’t this, so you reach over and grab the bag of shrimp chips from Jisung’s unsuspecting hands. The frown he gives you is cartoonish, but as usual, he doesn’t put up a fight. Your version of an apology is holding a spare chip out to him, which he happily accepts.

After shoveling a handful into your mouth, you mumble, “So now what?”

“I don’t know about you, but if these guys —” Changbin gestures vaguely around the room with his index finger pointed. “— Give me a target to point at, I’ll pull the trigger.”

You snort, “That’s a lot of trust.”

It doesn’t mean much, coming from you. Your metric is beyond fucked, and you know it. That word is foreign, though; so far out of your grasp that you can’t wrap your brain around it.

“Maybe it is,” Changbin mutters while he looks down at the empty can in his grip.

For a moment, that’s all he says. All he does is stare into the black hole of its opening, as if there’s some answer lurking in the emptiness below it. He must not find it, though, because he crumples the aluminum like a piece of scrap paper.

When he glances back up at you, you see the uncertainty in his eyes. It reads like fear, which manages to unsettle you.

“I just — I can’t see what I saw and do nothing.”

Your second month in the compound starts with a bang — no, a thud.

With your body being forcibly ejected from your cot, crashing onto the ground, and your jaw clenching shut quickly with a click of gritted teeth.

“How many fucking times are we doing this?” You growl, less than half-awake.

Already past today’s quota for rage, you form a fist and swing your arm back violently against the capsized cot; it scrapes along the cement floor and skitters further away from you. The sudden burst of movement doesn’t do anything to make you feel better, but it was worth a shot, you suppose.

Felix, whose sunshine smile is too goddamn bright for this hour, crouches down in front of you. He at least has the decency to look apologetic when he lilts, “Until you learn to wake up to an alarm, I fear.”

He pauses, eyes scanning for any genuine distress beyond your shitty mood.

“Does that hurt?” He frowns.

Bleary eyes follow his pointed finger to your elbow, now prickling with blood where you skinned it against the floor. It doesn’t; and you’re not even remotely concerned about it, so you swat his hand away without answering his question and shove yourself to your feet. Once standing, you wander over to your steamer trunk to grab something clean enough to wear.

The shadowy one, Hyunjin, brought your shit to you a week ago — thank god. He provided no explanation whatsoever for how he knew where you lived or how he managed to get inside your building, but you’re a beggar, not a chooser. You’d rather enable his burglary than keep wearing the same, re-washed clothes you came here with or borrowing from people you still don’t know well.

As you peel yesterday’s tank-top up and over your head, your gravelly voice flies out to Felix, who stands and moves to lean against the wall. “You at least going to feed me breakfast before you bore me with more target practice?”

That’s most of what your time together has been so far, anyway. The chain of command is sorting out details above your pay grade; and you condition yourself to jump as high as they may eventually ask you to.

Felix doesn’t answer you, which isn’t like him. You look at him out of the corner of your eye and find him staring up at the ceiling, like his life depends on it.

“What are you —?”

Oh.

You glance down, cutting your question off midway through. He’s giving you and your semi-exposed body privacy, that’s what.

Sensing blood in the water, you swim in to scoff, “You have no problem flipping my bed when I’m in it, but bras are where you draw the line? What kind of gentleman are you?”

Still averting his eyes, he rolls them. You do him the favor of tugging on a different, slightly wrinkled tank-top; but you don’t give him the courtesy of letting up.

“Where do you stand on ass, Felix?”

“Are you always this annoying, first thing in the morning?”

Amusement slips through the cracks despite his efforts to conceal it. You slip out of the cotton shorts you slept in, dip your toes under the fabric pooled around your ankles, and flick them at him. He concedes his staring contest to the panels overhead in order to catch them.

Impressive reflexes.

“I’m this annoying at all hours of the day.” You grin impishly for just a second, then shrug. “You’re just less able to handle it, first thing in the morning.”

Bending back over your trunk, you dig through for something denim. You land on black, high-waisted shorts with a triumphant, “Aha!”, and make a big show of raising your trophy overhead. Once again, you glance at Felix to see if your attempt to get a rise out of him was successful. In a way, yes, it was — just not in the way you expected.

Based on the way his gaze lingers on your thighs and the curve of your ass, you don’t think Felix even noticed your theatrics. You don’t think he means to stare, either. As far as you can see, it’s the perfect opportunity to fuck with him further.

“Admiring the tattoos?” You arch an eyebrow and wait for him to blush out of panic at being caught. “I can recommend the artist, if you want to hit them up.”

To your surprise, you don’t rattle him. Dark eyes flick up from your body to your face, and they don’t seem ashamed of where they’ve been. Your plan backfires. More than that, it blows up right in your face, which is starting to heat up.

“The cantine closes in five minutes. Training starts in ten,” he states matter-of-factly, holding your gaze. “So, you can either eat, or you can keep pretending you’re not trying to flirt with me.”

Your mouth drops open, but you can’t even snap back at him before he chirps, “The choice is yours, Scraps,” with a playful smile.

With nothing more to say, Felix leans away from the wall. On his way out the door, he gives you a lazy, two-finger salute. Dumbstruck, you stand there, watching him leave; wondering where the hell your bumbling, sweetly shy friend from back home managed to disappear to.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Felix waggles his finger at you. A smug smile toys at his lips when you let out a frustrated grunt. “That’s the problem.”

He takes a step away from you, raises his fists to mimic your posture, and throws a right jab out into the air ahead of him. When he draws it back, he pauses with his shoulders even.

“D’you see the issue with this?” He asks, loosening one fist so that he can gesture from shoulder to shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Is it that nobody’s currently hitting you?”

Felix, to his credit, is completely unbothered by the attitude you keep giving him. He’s far more patient than he should be with you. You, however, do not take criticism well.

“You square yourself off instead of retriggering an attack,” he gently corrects you. “By not turning and leading with your shoulder —” He twists slightly backwards, so that his body is angled similarly to the way it was when he struck in the first place. “— you leave all this surface area open.”

Okay, fine.

You’ll concede that this makes sense, but you will not admit to poor blocking. In fact, deflecting is what you’re best at, so that’s precisely what you do.

“And how exactly am I supposed to block hits that aren’t coming?”

Felix relaxes his stance with confusion scribbled all over his face. You don’t wait for him to ask what you mean, plunging right into your notes for him:

“This sparring shit doesn’t feel real because you refuse to hit me. It’s been weeks, and there still aren’t any stakes. If you’re going to insist that I learn this — which, by the way, feels pointless when I’m already armed —”

You gesture down to your thigh, where your pistol is normally strapped.

“— then you have to make me care.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, opting instead to quietly chew on the challenge you’ve raised. For a split second, you think you’ve finally grasped the straw that’ll break his back. He turns towards the door and walks away, seemingly giving up on trying to teach a rabid dog new tricks.

But Felix defies your expectations yet again, grabs your gear off the counter at the far side of the room, and heads back to you. As he walks, he pulls back the slide to fish out the round that waits in its chamber. Bullet still in hand, his focus shifts to the magazine, which he easily removes from the base of your pistol’s grip. After tucking your ammunition into the back pocket of his jeans for safekeeping, he holds your now-empty firearm and thigh strap out to you.

“Gear up.”

Now, it’s your turn to be confused. You accept the items he pushes into your hands with both eyebrows raised.

“Are we giving up on hand-to-hand, then?”

“Absolutely not,” Felix snorts with a shake of his head. “I’m just going to prove the necessity.” When you don’t budge, he waves his hand to hurry you along. “C’mon, Scraps. Strap in.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, you slip the vertical strap over your belt loop and fasten it before doing the same to the horizontal piece around your thigh. Once it’s nestled snugly against your skin, you slide your weapon into its resting place.

Holding your hands up, you fire off a saccharine smile like the brat you are. “All done,” you chirp.

The smirk that appears on his face makes your stomach flip for two reasons, the least of which is the anticipation of his next move.

“You want it to feel real, right?” His voice drops so low that you feel it deep in your abdomen. “Fine by me.”

Like before, Felix steps slightly backwards. With a nod of his head towards your firearm, he challenges you, “Draw.”

It’s unfamiliar, seeing him counter you like this. Growing up, he was content to go in whichever direction you nudged him in. The version of Felix you knew back then was passive, agreeable to fault. You may not know what the fuck he’s planning now, but he radiates newfound authority that you almost want to respect, so you listen.

“Fine,” you demur while your fingertips trail over the cool, metal grip. “Make your point and move onto something useful.”

The next sequence of events flashes by so quickly that your brain can hardly keep up.

Just as soon as you pull the gun from its holster, Felix turns in his spot, channeling the momentum into a strong push off the ground. He’s in the air before you can even level the barrel; and in the blink of an eye, the side of his boot collides with your hand, forcefully ejecting the gun from your grip. The power behind his kick sends the weapon flying several meters away, where it clatters to the floor with a smack amidst the quiet.

Gasping more so out of surprise than pain, you recoil your stinging fist and clutch it to your chest. He reads your expression incorrectly, if his widened eyes are any indication. Immediately, Felix breaks his stance to step across the distance in between you.

Worried hands come to rest on your biceps, squeezing gently. He urgently asks, “You alright?”

You blink back at him, throughly stunned by how fucking fast his reflexes are, and he misinterprets that, too.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he sputters. His next words come out so frantically that they bleed together over the course of one breath. “I really didn’t want to hurt you; I just needed you to understand that your gun can’t always save you. Sometimes, you have to —”

“That was insane,” you blurt out.

Felix’s eyes widen, caught completely off-guard by your interruption. It’s understandable, you think. After all, it’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve given him over the past few weeks.

He peeps, “Oh?”

You nod vigorously — and there’s that sweetly shy boy from down the block, blushing slightly under the weight of your attention.

Somehow, seeing him this way feels like home; the one you knew before he disappeared, that you might actually admit to missing. Acting solely on instinct, you unfurl your right hand and seek out the warmth of his cheek, like it’ll flip a switch and turn the clock back.

It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t — but you can’t help feeling like this is fine, too.

Until you realize what the fuck you’re doing, and you see the starry-eyed look he’s giving you. Then, you do what you always do.

You dodge.

Patting his cheek patronizingly, you breeze, “I guess I’ll let you train me, then,” before turning to retrieve your gun.

“Oh, really now?” He laughs, like he’s already forgotten the way your mask just cracked. You can’t tell if you’re grateful for this, or disappointed. “Is violence all it takes to win you over?”

Disappointed.

You wish he’d called your bluff again, like he did so long ago in that closet you’re currently calling a bedroom. Once wasn’t enough; you want to be caught out, to have someone refuse to let you get away with the bullshit you’re always trying to pull. For some proof that you’re not the bulldozer you pretend to be.

Felix raises an eyebrow as he tilts his head teasingly to the side. “Are you actually going to shut up and take instruction this time?”

Like that.

“Maybe.” You crouch down to grab your discarded pistol off the ground, lips pursed to keep the satisfied smile off your face. “Are you going to stop pulling punches?”

Three weeks of sparring tick by before you manage to clean his fucking clock.

It came as a surprise to both of you; not just that Felix slipped up in the first place, but that you were fast enough to capitalize on an opening he’s otherwise never created. You might’ve gasped even louder than he did when you managed to seize the opportunity — but that memory is fuzzy already. It doesn’t matter, anyway, not to him. Either way, the point stands:

You actually learned from the shit he’s been trying to instill in you.

Having hobbled from the training room to his bedroom, Felix now sits on top of the old, metal counter that once served as a workbench. It’s not comfortable by any means, but he’d rather die than move from his current position. Between his knees, you stand close to him, holding a frozen sponge to his left eye with your right hand.

Funnily enough, that particular hand is the reason he needs an ice pack in the first place.

For a while, the pair of you exist in comfortable quiet. It’s nice, he thinks, just being present. He would’ve been happy to carry on that way for as long as possible, but the shitty voice in the back of his brain keeps yelling that he’s letting more moments slip by than he has to spare. Wasting time that he should be making up.

He clears his throat to shake off the rust, prompting you to glance down from his forehead to his eyes. Your expression is hard to read, but there’s anxiety in there, somewhere. Felix worries that you’re worried; you’re searching for a sign that you’ve somehow injured him further.

“You’re a quick study — if and when you want to be.” His teasing sounds pathetic because his voice is barely more than a groan. Still, he smirks, “Those corporate mercenaries won’t stand a chance.”

With his good eye, Felix watches as your mask cracks a little further in the shape of a smile.

For once, you simply nod in acknowledgement and let the compliment slip through your defenses without trying to deflect it. He wants to compliment you for that progress, too, but he’s hesitant to push his luck when he’s already flying half-blind by the seat of his pants.

Then again, it might be worth the risk to push the envelope — even if you succeed in punching his goddamn lights out for good. He doubts that he’d complain, if that were the case. You’d be an incredible last sight to ever see, wouldn’t you?

His internal monologue pipes up again, demanding that he gamble.

Every single muscle he has aches after spending hours sparring with you, but that’s not at all what he’s talking about when he says, “You’re a knockout, Scraps.”

It’s a cop out, but it’s something.

Just for a second, Felix wonders if you heard what he meant, and not just what he said. All his doubt disappears when that shy smile tugs even harder at the corners of your mouth.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, chuckling quietly. “If you want to get technical, you didn’t even lose consciousness —”

Carefully, you bring your free hand up to his forehead and brush flyaway strands of hair out of the way of the makeshift ice pack. By contrast, your fingertips are warm enough to simmer on his skin.

“— so you’ll have to try that joke again when you actually do.”

Although you could, you don’t take your hand back after unsticking his hair from the condensation on his skin. You lower it gently, let it rest on his shoulder, and leave Felix to wonder if it’s a choice, a convenience, or a reflex.

This eats at him.

A long time ago, this little gesture wouldn’t be something he’d have to guess at. He used to just understand, never once needed to be told. So far out of practice, he’s no longer fluent in your body language — and he hates it.

Unwilling to leave anything else up to interpretation, Felix looks up at you with one, unobstructed eye. “Wasn’t joking,” he murmurs.

You freeze without meeting his eyes.

If he didn’t know better, he might think your retinal mods had been knocked loose again. You don’t seem to see him, and that’s all he wants. All he gets is quiet, so he tries again: “And I’m not bullshitting you, either.”

It’s his low voice speaking your real name that finally draws you out of hiding. Surprised for just a moment, your expression softens when you notice the way he’s studying your reactions. You don’t speak at first, but your bottom lip is pinched between your teeth; a telltale sign that you’re trying to.

“Since this is apparently honesty hour,” you start with an exhale.

Felix braces himself for whatever evasive maneuver you’re going to throw next.

Shockingly, you don’t throw out a joke to change the subject. You take the ice pack off his eye so he can see you properly, set it down next to his thigh on the counter, and scrub your hands sheepishly over your face.

“You freak me the fuck out.”

You laugh despite yourself, and then you pause just like that; like you’re waiting on him to laugh at you, too. When he doesn’t, you take it as your cue to keep going: “Am I insane, or does this feel easy?

“I think both things can be true.” You shoot him a look that could — and might — kill him. He holds his hands up in surrender, but he keeps his eyes locked on you. “And I know you’re not used to easy.”

Felix doesn’t know what he expects you to do next, but your next move isn’t one he would’ve guessed. In the end, it’s your still-chilled palms reaching up to meet him, and your fingers filling the empty spaces between his. Brow furrowed, you study the way you fit together, like the words you’re searching for are hidden somewhere in the gaps of your chain-linked knuckles.

“I’m not used to it because I avoid it,” you correct him, frowning. “Easy scares the shit out of me. It just feels like a trap, you know? Like, the second you stop looking out for it, the other shoe will drop and knock your unsuspecting ass to the dirt.”

Keeping his fingers interlaced with yours, he lowers your joined hands until they rest against the tops of his thighs. You watch them go; he watches you, and he can’t help thinking that he’s the reason you armored up in the first place. That him leaving was the blow to the head that taught you to wear a helmet.

“I’ve got good reflexes,” Felix whispers, squeezing your hand.

At this, your eyes flick upwards. A microscopic crease forms between your eyebrows, and he knows exactly what’s coming next, so he says it first: “Excluding today, obviously.”

When you smile, it hits him even harder than your right hook did.

“What are you saying, exactly?” You ask, head tilting to the side as you narrow your eyes.

“Fuck the shoe.”

The look on your face suggests that he can’t possibly be serious, but he’s never been more so. Maybe he can’t promise you easy in a world like this one; and he can’t keep that fucking shoe from dropping, but he swears he’ll catch it when it does.

Felix has to let go of your hands to hold you properly. You lean into his touch when he snakes his arms around your waist; and you rest your forehead against his, careful not to press into the bruise that borders his eyebrow.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispers. You hum in reply, confirming your willingness to trade. “Kiss me now, and we’ll batten down the hatches later.”

Felix may have called you a quick learner, but you have to wonder what his basis for comparison is. From your vantage point, it’s him that catches on in a heartbeat, like nothing unexperienced is truly new to him.

Coincidentally, it’s also him that’s kneeling between your thighs, bearing the weight of your hinged knees over his shoulders and making you shake with his tongue alone.

“Fuck, fuck — nngh — fuck!”

It’s all you can say because it’s the best you can do.

Over and over, too drunk on the sensation of his mouth, you let profanity spill out of yours. He has you dripping in more ways than one, pooling on that godforsaken counter, and you can’t spare a single thought about the mess you’re making.

Every neuron fixates on him, the cotton-candy blue strands gripped tight between your fingers, and the way he devours you, like he’s making up for skipped meals.

“F-Felix,” you beg, breathless.

Looking up at you from under his lashes, he feigns innocence. It’s bullshit — he knows you’re on the brink of death, knows your whole damn body is buzzing — and his sweet smile doesn’t match his actions. You jolt, wailing, when another kitten lick trails over your clit.

“Hmm?” That low timbre of his vibrates through you when he pulls back, panting.

God, you’re spent already, but you can’t collapse until you know what he feels like, buried to the hilt in you. Something about that need makes you shiver; has your bottom lip quivering when you manage to squeak, “Please.”

Absolutely boneless, you slump against the wall behind you. With far more grace than you, Felix maneuvers his way out from under the tangle of your legs. He ensures that they fall gently back into place on the countertop.

“Gotta work on that stamina if you’re gonna help wage a war,” he teases.

The half-powered glare you shoot at him doesn’t stop him from leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t keep his fingertips from tracing languid lines down the lengths of your bare thighs, either.

Your voice is fucked out and weightless, far softer than you’ve ever heard yourself sound. “Is that what this is? Conditioning?”

The hand not caressing your thigh comes up to cradle your jaw, like it’s something fragile. It’s the first time anyone’s touched you as if you’re breakable, worth protecting — and motherfucker, you’re one soft smile away from crying.

“No.”

He states it much more firmly than he kisses you. So gentle that you can’t believe it’s real until you taste yourself on him, so warm that you dissolve like a sugar cube on his tongue.

Fuck any other person that’s ever pressed their lips to yours and called it a kiss. They’re liars, all of them. One by one, their names disappear with every passing second in which you know better.

“Need you,” you moan into his mouth.

Fistfuls of his shirt can’t bring him close enough. Even when his head dips down and his lips are at your throat, the ache wins out. You crave him anywhere — everywhere — all over you.

“Going crazy —” You gasp when his teeth nip at your collarbone. “— waiting on you.”

Greedy hands drop to the button of his jeans, fumbling to no avail. Apparently, your dexterity flew out the window two orgasms ago. A frustrated whine jumps out after it, pushing your head back as it goes.

Felix’s low chuckle soothes you, but it’s nothing compared to the relief you feel when his hands nudge yours out of the way. That, too, is a drop in the bucket; bliss crashes in waves when there’s no denim left to separate you. His hands land on your hips, fingertips pressing into your flesh as he guides you further down his length.

Never — not fucking ever — have you made a sound quite as pathetic as the one you bury into the crook of his neck. You can’t classify it, not as a moan or a whimper. It’s desperate — loud. It’s an air raid siren; every fucking barricade you’ve built over the years being blown to smithereens.

This is it, you think.

Fuck your bank account.

Fuck staring at the sky and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Fuck your contracts, your shithole apartment, and the million different ways you were set up to lose in this life.

This isn’t about you at all. It’s about you and him; all the space and time you’re dead set on reclaiming.

This is for us.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i’ve been working on this since JUNE, and it’s a much bigger undertaking (creatively and….. mentally) than anything else i’ve done before, so i’m scared and also excited to start sharing it with y’all.

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

tagging: @saintriots, @mal-lunar-28, @dabiscrustyfeet

wanna be tagged for future uploads? sign up here.

#stray kids #skz #felix #felix x reader #felix smut #felix angst #felix fic #lf #stray kids fic #skz fic #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #skz smut #skz angst #stray kids series #skz series #jade writes #re: force quit #kvanity

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shadowtriovibes · 2 years ago

Note

Hi, I’ve never requested before so hope I do it right. Can I get an Ominis x F!reader where he discovers he has a biting kink? Thank you!!

take a bite

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x f!MC

Word Count: 2k

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV sex, references to oral sex, slight #dominis, biting kink

Summary: sequel to "take my hand" in which you and Ominis play around with his biting kink, this is just pure smut with lots of teeth xoxo

“The other girls are starting to worry about me,” you joke. “Yesterday Garreth even asked if I’ve been garroted by an Ashwinder.” "What? Why?" he asks, sitting back so you can see the puzzled frown on his lips. "Because I’m positively covered in bruises,” you remind him, taking his hand and pressing it along your neck. “And not small ones, you cad." He at least has the decency to blush while he ducks his head.

If you’d thought that you’d created a monster out of Ominis after that first time, you were in for the shock of a lifetime at what he’s become.

You think his desires might even put Sebastian to shame, and that’s truly saying something. He wants you always – in between classes, late at night (when he can distract you from your studies), and even in the mornings when you stay overnight in the Room of Requirement.

After that first time, he can hardly think of anything but his hands on you, or yours on him, or your mouth… Merlin, your mouth.

Despite how game he’s been to try new things, you note that one thing about that first time has remained the same, and that’s Ominis’ oral fixation.

However, you come to realize that perhaps it’s not just about using his mouth. In fact, it’s mainly his teeth.

If you didn’t know any better, you might wonder whether Ominis is at all vampiric. Admittedly, you know very little about vampirekind having missed your first few years of Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and they aren’t common in the Highlands.

But you aren’t the only one who has had that thought. You know your classmates have remarked on his pale skin, his preternatural ability to hear and perceive the world around him, and, despite his enduring kindness, his family’s reputation for abusing the Dark Arts.

However, you know he’s much too sweet and loving a man to be anything but human.

So, not a monster, you think. Just a biter.

It’s not that you mind. You can’t help but shiver every time he nips at your bottom lip while he’s kissing you, or when he makes his way down your neck and starts to work bruises and bite marks into your sensitive skin.

The other Slytherin girls in your year had quickly taught you how to make use of a scarf to hide any particularly egregious marks, giggling about how your Ominis must like to mark you up to let the boys who glance your way know that you’re utterly taken.

But that just makes you wonder… is it about the bruises? The ones he can’t even see?

Or is it about the act?

“Ominis,” you breathe one night, your head tipped back against the headrest of the plush armchair you conjured by the fire in the Room.

“Yes, love?” he mumbles into the hinge of your jaw, where he’s currently hard at work marking you up further.

“The other girls are starting to worry about me,” you joke. “Yesterday Garreth even asked if I’ve been garroted by an Ashwinder.”

“What? Why?” Ominis asks, sitting back so you can see the puzzled frown on his lips.

“Because I’m positively covered in bruises,” you remind him, taking his hand and pressing it along your neck. “And not small ones, you cad.”

He at least has the decency to blush while he ducks his head.

“I didn’t know they were that bad,” he counters. “You should have told me, I can stop for a while and let them go away.”

“Don’t blame me, cheeky,” you croon, gently cupping his chin to pull him in for a kiss. “I could tell you liked doing it, but I didn’t realize just how much you like it.”

“It’s just – a nice feeling,” he admits.

You’ve been resolute in insisting the two of you talk about what you enjoy together and what isn’t your favorite, because despite his protests Ominis is a bit too proper to easily tell you what gets him off.

“What is?” you encourage him. “Using your mouth on me?”

“Using my mouth,” he agrees, leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “And my teeth.”

“I wondered,” you whisper, trying not to talk much to preserve his canvas for him as you lean back again. You gasp when he bites over the column of your jaw – softly, but enough for you to feel his teeth leave indentations in your skin.

“I don’t know why, it’s just… I can’t help myself,” Ominis tells you, his hands on your hips gripping you tighter. “Do you dislike it?”

“Does it sound like I dislike it?” you quip, pressing down against his lap to let him know just how much you do not hate what he’s doing.

“Just here?” he asks, tugging the already messy collar of your shirt further to the side. “What about the rest of you?”

“Why don’t you find out?” you challenge him.

Wordlessly, he traces his lips along your skin until he finds your collarbone and bites down, and you whine out loud, grinding down hard against him.

He curses softly and bites again.

“Ominis,” you whine, tangling your fingers in his tousled hair. “Keep going.”

“Take off your clothes first,” he counters, and you quickly start undoing the buttons on your school shirt while he takes care of his own, tugging his tie loose and tossing it over his shoulder. Then he helps you tug your skirt off, smirking dangerously when he runs his hands up and down your sides to discover that you’d foregone underclothes.

“Were you expecting something, love?” Ominis asks you knowingly.

“Just trying to be efficient,” you breathe, dropping yourself back in his lap.

You arch your chest toward him so he’ll keep going, and he’s quick to put his mouth back on you – this time at the curve of your breast, where he’s usually so careful.

“You can bite,” you murmur.

“But you’re so soft here,” he says, tenderly kissing your skin and gently dragging his thumb over your other breast, teasing your nipple with his thumb.

“So be careful,” you tell him, tangling your fingers in his hair. “I want you to, Ominis.”

You both know that there’s very little he won’t do if you use those words on him.

Carefully, he nips at the curve of your breast and then a little harder when you hum, pleased. He’s so tender with you, listening intently for any discomfort while he buries his face against your chest and gives you bruises to match the necklace he’d already given you.

By now you’ve ruined the front of his trousers and Ominis can hardly take being separated from your bare core by the layer of his uniform pants anymore. He pauses his work on you to pull his cock out and trace the tip of it along your slit, feeling for himself just how wet he’s making you.

“Want to stay in my lap like this so I can keep going?” he offers, one hand sneaking behind you to your ass as if to help lift you up onto him.

“I have a better idea,” you offer. “Come with me.”

Raising his eyebrows, Ominis takes your hand as you climb off his lap and walk him over to your bed. You make no move to push him toward it, so he waits as patiently as he can while you murmur a quick modification charm to raise it up a little higher.

Then you lean onto the bed, resting your head on your forearms with your ass on full display, and call him toward you.

“I rarely get jealous of sighted people anymore,” Ominis murmurs as he lays his hands on your curves. “But I really wish I could see you right now.”

“You can touch me,” you say softly. “And you’re the only one who can do that.”

“That’s certainly better,” he agrees.

Taking his cock in hand, he slowly presses inside you, earning a desperate moan from you as you force yourself to relax for him. In this position, he feels impossibly long.

“Ominis,” you whine, and he pauses.

“Just a little more, love,” he murmurs, sounding just as ruined. “Please, let me? I know you can.”

“I want you to give me all of you,” you grit out. “And then I want you to bite me wherever you can reach.”

Merlin, maybe you’re the monster after all, you think.

Helplessly, Ominis presses all the way in and nearly collapses over you. You feel his lips brush against the back of your neck, his hands frantically shoving your hair out of the way so that there’s nothing between you two.

Then he bites down right on top of your shoulderblade.

“Yes!” you wail. “Move, Ominis, don’t stop.”

You hear what sounds more like a growl then a moan while he starts to fuck you in earnest, biting his way from one shoulder to the other in a way that isn’t practiced or careful but still feels so delicious.

“You taste…” he mumbles into your skin. “Fuck, I can’t stop, love.”

“Don’t, don’t ever stop,” you beg, practically delirious.

Ominis isn’t used to hearing you beg. Usually you’re the one demanding what you want from him, guiding his hands where you want them or coaxing him into kissing his way down between your thighs.

You think he quite likes that your roles are reversed for once, if the way he grinds into you a little viciously is any indication.

He fucks you deep like this, over and over while he bites all along your upper back. You’ll be covered in bruises after this, you think, but no one will ever see them.

You whine pathetically when Ominis leans away from you, but then you feel his fingertips skim across where his teeth had been as he traces the marks along your skin, examining his handiwork.

“Mine,” he says softly, and that nearly puts you over the edge.

“Make me come, please,” you whimper, feeling desperately unlike yourself in this vulnerable position, entirely dependent on Ominis’ whims to get off.

“Come here,” he grunts, and he slides his hand up your back until he can gently tug on your hair at the base of your neck to get you to arch up just a bit.

He leans down and bites teasingly at your earlobe. “Can you come like this?” Ominis asks.

“I think so,” you breathe. “Just — touch me, I need you to touch me.”

“Here?” he asks, sliding his other hand between your hips and the bed to press his fingertips to your clit.

You nearly sob, already so bewilderingly close. “Please!”

“Good girl,” he mumbles into your shoulder, and right before you tip over the edge, he bites down hard.

You shout into the mattress while you come, pinned between Ominis’ hips and his mouth. The first thing you notice when you can think clearly is that your legs are shaking, and you honestly wonder whether they’re about to give out.

“Just a bit more,” Ominis grunts, finally letting go of you so he can hold your hips steady for him. “Let me come, love, let me finish inside.”

“Anything you want,” you slur, which would be embarrassingly earnest if you didn’t absolutely mean it.

Ominis tips his head back while he comes, grinding all the way in so you’ll keep every drop he spills inside you, his baser instincts rearing their ugly heads at the sight of seeing you so filled with him.

You reach behind yourself to blindly seek his hand, sighing happily when he laces his fingers with yours.

“You are unbelievable,” Ominis sighs, still catching his breath. “How do you manage to bring out the most wicked parts of me every time?”

“Just talented, I suppose,” you reply.

He carefully pulls out, transfixed for a moment as he traces his fingertips through the mess he’d made in you while it starts to leak out. You tremble a little, still sensitive from your release.

“Care to help me clean up?” you ask, hoping he’ll fetch a wet cloth for you.

Instead, he drops to his knees.

“Ominis?” you breathe, glancing over your shoulder. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Trying something new,” he says simply, and before you can react he bites the tender spot where your ass meets your thigh.

You gasp – that stung, actually. But just as quickly, he presses a sooting kiss to that same spot, tracing his fingertips along the back of your leg apologetically.

Just before he puts his mouth back on you, he murmurs, “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #my fic #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #ominis x reader #anon i FINALLY got this done for you i hope you like it!!#extremely unbeta'd we die like men

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rafyki · 6 months ago

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(Lil snippet of the Goth!Nico/Surfer!Percy fic inspired by the beautiful amazing incredible art by @neo-kid-funk !! It's definitely going to be much longer, but I hope you enjoy this for now!!)

(under read more bc it's more than 1k words lol)

~~~

“He's here again”.

Jason didn't even turn around to see what Nico was referring to with those words - at that point it was such a common occurrence that it wasn't really necessary. Still, Nico felt a little offended at his friends' dismissal.

“Jason”, he said, almost in a whine. “He's here again”.

Now finally (though with a smile and a roll of his eyes) Jason did turn around to look at the current source of all of Nico's troubles and the main character of many of his dreams.

Dark hair, tall, all tan skin and toned muscles, swim trunks hanging way too low on his hips - all in all, the most handsome man Nico had ever seen, and he couldn't keep his eyes off him.

Nico looked at him coming out of the water holding onto his surfing board as if it weighted nothing (and Nico knew that wasn't true, he had almost collapsed under the weight of one once), a hand going up to card through his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He looked so beautiful and at home in the water Nico couldn't help but feel like he was some sort of sea god.

He was too far away to see it now, but he knew that even his eyes were the color of the sea.

What is he even so hot for?

As ridiculous as it sounded, Nico could feel himself blush just looking at him. Yet there was something (everything really) about him that was so magnetic it made it impossible to tear his eyes away - really, at this point Nico spent most of his shifts at the beach kiosk looking at him; he wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse that that man came to the beach so often.

Percy.

He only knew the name because he had heard a girl calling him (was that his girlfriend? God, Nico really hoped she wasn't), and obviously not because he had had the courage of talking to him outside of the small exchanges whenever Percy came to buy something.

He kept following him with his eyes, teeth absentmindedly biting his lips, playing with the rings there.

He was so busy thinking and trying to stare without making it too obvious that he almost missed it when Jason said: “Looks like he's coming here”.

Nico jumped out of his skin. “What!? No, Jason, please please, you take his order, please”.

Another roll of his eyes and another fond smile that Nico had seen all too many times. “Nico”, Jason said. “It's your chance. Talk to him!”

Nico shook his head vehemently. He could already feel his heart starting to pound in his chest and his cheeks grow hot. “No way. He's going to smile at me! I'm a weak man Jason, don't do this to me”.

An obnoxious laugh reminded Nico that Leo was there too - he was so caught up in thinking about Percy that he had completely forgotten about him; but of course there he was, sprawled on the counter as if he belonged there (and with how much time he spent there even without working with them, it might as well have been). “Goth-boy, you're on a beach wearing a black t-shirt under the august scorching sun - you're anything but weak, man, you can do it”.

“Oh shut up Leo, we all know you're no better than me - remind me how long it took you to talk to Jason?”, Nico shot back.

He wasn't looking at his friends though, his eyes still drawn to where Percy was - and yes, Jason was right and he was definitely coming there.

Nico's heart was beating absurdly fast; it really was ridiculous how much he liked a boy he barely knew. But he did - oh god, he really did. Percy was handsome and bright and had the most beautiful smile Nico had ever seen.

And Nico was just a boy who looked very out of place on a beach.

Still playing nervously with his lip rings, he took off his hair tie and fixed his ponytail. Did his hair look good? He hoped so at least.

What did Percy think about him? Did he even have an opinion on him? Or was he just the weird kid working at the kiosk? Probably.

“Don't deflect Nico, Leo is right”, Jason said, cutting through his line of thought. “And don't worry you look good”.

“As cute and charming as always, man!”, Leo added, and maybe from someone who didn't know him it could have sounded teasing but at this point Nico knew him well enough to recognize the honesty in his smile as he did a thumbs up to show his support. “Just smile and he'll fall for you in a second”.

Nico scoffed at that, but appreciated the sentiment.

It was probably too much hoping that Percy would even look his way, let alone anything more than that.

Jason nudged his shoulder, once again taking him away from his thoughts. “Really, you're all good”, he said. “Now get ready to take his order”.

The next second, Nico found himself staring into a pair of sea-green eyes so deep and mesmerizing he was sure he was drowning in them, could almost feel the water filling up his lungs; and if that wasn't enough, a smile so bright it could rival the sun came with them, effectively cutting off the last bit of breath. Oh it was so unfair.

And he wasn't wearing a shirt - of course he wasn't, they were on a beach and he had just come out of the water five minutes ago. His tanned skin seemed to shine under the sun, water was still dripping from his hair and Nico had to use all of his willpower to not follow with his eyes the little droplets' way down his neck and collarbone.

It was more than unfair, and it was definitely a curse.

“Hi, can I get you anything?”

Thank god he was so used to his job that he could sound natural enough saying that even while panicking on the inside.

Even without looking at them, Nico could feel his friends almost laughing at him; he would have been offended if he weren’t so busy trying to survive the moment. Percy really was way too handsome and hot for Nico’s sanity.

Don’t stare at him, he berated himself, it’s not polite to stare at customers. He’ll think you’re weird.

Oh god, he needed a smoke as soon as possible. If he kept biting on his lip like that he would end up biting his lip ring away.

“Huh”, Percy seemed to think about it for a second. “Can I have the same blue drink from last time? You remember?”

Nico did remember. It had been the longest conversation he had ever had with Percy (the longest and most intense five minutes of his life until now), with the surfer asking for some kind of blue drink, and Nico trying his best to understand and make it for him - he had managed to, in the end, and then had proceeded to think non stop for days about the happy smile Percy had gifted him.

For some reason, the way Percy said “you remember?” made Nico’s insides melt, a swarm of frantic screaming butterflies flying in chaos in his stomach. Like it was something between the two of them, something they shared.

Nico had never felt more ridiculous in his life.

“Yeah, I remember”, he managed to say, and in a way it was a relief to turn around and get to work. Part of him wanted to drag it out as long as possible just to make Percy stay a little longer; at the same time, though, part of him wanted this to be over as soon as possible just so he could finally go back to breathing.

“Great!”, Percy said with a smile, like Nico had just told him the best news of the day.

It was such a peculiar request, “can i get a blue drink” - no flavor or anything, just a blue drink. It was weird and endearing at the same time, and it left Nico wanting to know more about it, more about Percy. He wondered how many other weird and endearing things like that Percy did.

“You like it that much?”, he found himself asking, his mouth moving before his brain even registered it.

Another blinding smile. Nico was so weak.

“Everything tastes better if it’s blue”, Percy said with such conviction that he almost made it sound like that made any sense.

It made Nico stop, and then he couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped his lips.

“Does it?”, he asked, smiling back, as he handed Percy his drink.

Percy nodded. “Of course. You should try it sometimes”.

The butterflies were going absolutely crazy in Nico’s stomach, so much he almost forgot to take the money Percy was giving him. “Maybe I will”, he said.

“Thanks for the drink, Nico”.

For an instant, Nico’s brain went blank except for a mantra of he knows my name, oh god he knows my name. Then he remembered he was wearing a nametag, so of course he did.

Idiot.

“Have a nice day”, he said through the lump in his throat.

“You too!”, Percy said and went to leave. He seemed to think back on it though, because he turned toward Nico again, holding out his right hand to him. “I’m Percy, by the way”.

It felt like looking at himself from the outside, like it was happening to someone else, as Nico shook his hand. It was warm and big, and Nico wanted to hold onto it. “Nice to meet you”.

Percy smiled, big and bright and happy, and Nico smiled back.

“See you next time, Nico”.

Nico stared at him as he left and went back to his friends, pretty sure everything that had just happened must have been a dream.

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #nico di angelo #pjo #percico #nicercy #pernico #my fics #percy jackon and the olympians #throwing a lil bit of valgrace in this bc why not #also throwing the much needed friendship btwn nico and leo bc yes.#im having SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS!!#last time i wrote an au was like ten years ago and guess what? it was a percico fic lmak #btw spoiler but Percy is already just as head over heels for nico as nico is for him #love me some good old mutual pining 😌#goth/surfer percico

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everythingelseisextra · 1 year ago

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You're Like Me

Part Twelve: Run, Little Girl

Description: A loose idea for saving you sparks conflict. Warnings: References to rape and torture, language, references to poor mental health Word Count: 2125 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @babayaga67 @look-at-the-soul @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28

When you were younger, trapped in a constant cycle of hotel rooms and hazy, feverish feeding frenzies, you acted as though love was a brutish thing, something to be brushed off and forgotten about. Like a bruise on your body left over from some client with more insidious inclinations, it only hurt if you thought about it. Love was performed, used in order to gain some gentleness, maybe, placed on your form like a costume. As soon as it was over, as soon as you could let it go, it became a brash, useless thing again, pointless. You loved a girl and you would never have been able to make something out of it. That was the beautiful thing about it; you were doomed from the start, and yet, you still dove in without holding your breath. You tried to nurture a still-born. You wanted to love yourself and you looked in a mirror and you weren’t sure who that was. It’s hard, you think, to take such a risk as to love. In your years on this earth, you’ve looked at love from afar and thought you could never have it. As a child, you looked at anything kind and saw darkness underneath it.

You are Eve and you’ve taken a bite from the apple, and now you’re aware, far too aware, of the evil in the world. These are things you have said and done, and most of them make you a victim or a villain. These are the people you have been, and most of them are sad.

Now, though, you are starting to see the good too. Because a white horse prances through the arena and he stands beside you and watches with soft blue eyes and his head tilted towards you, just slightly. Because when you wake from a nightmare, or from fitful half-sleep, and you call him, he always picks up. Because on the few nights you have together now, you share a bed, and he does not touch you. Because he is the closest you’ve ever had to safety, and you’re not sure what you fear more; the circumstance of it being taken away, or the possibility of it staying and learning who you are without the trauma making you a survivor.

There is a quiet battle happening in front of your eyes. They are trying to locate you. There are men, he says, who prowl Birmingham with hungry eyes and dirty clothes, and they don’t settle. They pace and provoke and pester until people fall prey to their pressure and answer their questions, all too vague to pinpoint, but too pointed to be for anyone else. Descriptions of your younger self float through the city, and you find yourself face to face with who you used to be. That person who held fast to life when everything around her asked her to want to die.

How does one kill a hydra? Tommy struggles with this, pacing back and forth in the bedroom. You lie back on the bed, your legs dangling off the side, and stare up at the ceiling. If he tries to take down the current lead, a man named Liszt, then another will simply take his place, and they’ll know where the threat comes from. A web of men dangle around Liszt, prepared to fight for him and what he stands for, and targeting one of them would likely wipe out the Shelbys, powerful as they are.

“Money?” You turn your head to look at him, your eyes drifting over him. He wears a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a black vest and pants, accessorized, of course, by a gold chain and finely made watch. “If we could somehow stop their revenue, that might do something.”

“Lead the girls out on strike and watch them get shot?” He shakes his head, continuing to pace. His head rolls back on his shoulders, stretching out his tired muscles, and he looks up at the ceiling, pausing. “You’re not gonna like this.”

“Oh God, okay.” You sit up, one arm supporting you on the bed while the other toys with the belt you wear. “What is it?”

“Only way I can think of is to infiltrate. Report back to my connections. Take them down from the inside.”

You blink slowly at him, unbelieving. “And you’re suggesting you go into that world and— and what? Pretend to be one of them? Tommy, you know that line is thin.”

“Arthur’s not careful. John doesn’t take things seriously. Can’t ask Pol or Ada. Who else?” He looks over at you, eyes flicking to your hand on your belt, then back up to your face.

“No.” You press your lips together, staring him down. “I won’t let you”

Knowing what he’d say as soon as he opens his mouth, you shake your head. “Because I don’t want to see you put into positions where you’re forced to rape and torture and use young girls like who I used to be. I don’t care the reason why you’d be doing that, you’d still be doing it.. Intention doesn’t matter when it’s going to affect someone for the rest of their lives.”

“I wouldn’t be doing all that.” He gives you that infuriating, searching look, like he’s unsure how he should proceed and wants you to tell him how.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t start out doing that, but you’d get deeper and deeper. Boiling a frog.”

“I’m not a frog.”

“No shit, Sherlock. It’s a metaphor.”

“No, I’ll know when I get too deep.”

You resist rolling your eyes, both wanting to express your frustration and also maintain the mutual respect you serve each other. “You’ll know when you get in too deep like I knew I wasn’t actually being sent to a boarding school?”

The sentiment hovers between you, tense in the air, and you become deeply conscious of the rise and fall of your chest, of the way your fingers fall still on the belt. He will get in too deep, you think, and by that time, it’ll be too late to back out. It’ll be too late to change anything. He’ll be stuck, like you were, in a loop of being forced to do something you would never choose, would never wish on anyone.

“It’s the only way.”

“That’s a cowardly argument and you know it.”

“You’re afraid to take the risk that’ll ultimately save your life.” His voice raises slightly. “I’m not the fucking coward.”

You bristle, standing up and stalking towards him. “Why are you so desperate to risk your life for me? What does that say about you, huh? Do you care about me or hate yourself?”

It was a low blow. You said it without thinking, without realizing the effect it might have. His eyes widen slightly, and his jaw tightens, and he takes a step back, then another, then turns and starts to walk out of the bedroom.

“Tommy, wait.” You follow him, socks sliding on the wooden floor. “Wait, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes. You fucking did.” He’s bitter, not giving you the time to explain yourself.

Your heart pounds in your temples.”Thomas, you know I don’t think—”

“You do. You do, and you’re right. You’re fucking right.” He turns and points a finger in your chest, rheeling on you. “I’m fucking— I’m not right in the head, and you know it, and you’re like everybody else in this damn family and look at me like I’m the worst thing a human being can be. I’m getting fucking tired of it. For once could someone treat me like I’m not a liability?”

“First of all,” you snap back, a hollow sensation filling your chest and something cold spiking your heart. “I happen to quite like you, so whatever you’ve got in that head of yours about me looking at you like the worst thing ever is all you. You’re not right in the head, and neither am I, and I don’t blame you for that, so we can move right on from what I just said to you. That was bullshit and I’m sorry. Lastly, and this is probably the most important,” You take a step towards him, leaving about a foot between you. “Who the hell told you that having feelings and vulnerabilities made you a liability?”

He straightens, the furrow in his brow loosening, the anger in his face turning to something tensely thoughtful, the expression someone would take when doing difficult math or strategizing. He considers you, taking a few deep breaths, then looks away. “Probably me.”

You nod slightly, reaching out a hand to take his. “I’m sorry I said that. I got heated at that moment. I didn’t mean it.”

“You still said it.”

“Yeah. And that’s on me. It wasn’t right to say that to you.” You squeeze his hand, peering up at him, trying to read his expression. “Are you ready to move on?”

He nods slowly, eyes staring off over your shoulder, mind clearly elsewhere. You gently tug at his arm, leading him back to the bedroom.

Once the door is closed behind you, you let go of his hand and cross your arms. “What?”

His lips purse in an almost-pout and he shakes his head.

“Out with it.”

His lips twitch up and he stares at you, as if waiting for you to speak.

“Thomas Michael Shelby, is this funny to you?” You step towards him, resisting smiling back and failing miserably.

His smile widens, and you catch a glimpse, for the first time since you met him, of the boy he used to be, all charm and sleepy eyes. Your heart flutters and you feel your cheeks heat slightly.

“Oh, so it is funny.”

“I’ve been with a lot of women, and—”

“Oh boy, I’m so excited to hear what comes after that absolutely stunning start to a sentence.”

“Do you want me to talk or not?”

You incline your head, trying to hide a grin.

“I”ve been with a lot of women, and they all wanted Thomas Shelby. Except Grace.” His tone sobers. “Not Grace.”

You stay quiet, tilting your head, letting him have the space to speak. Grace’s name serves as a kind of silent message between the two of you; that he wants, or needs to be able to speak his mind without interruption, no matter how long the pauses take, no matter how shy or uncertain he seems. You don’t speak until it’s over.

“I’m a broken man. I’m no fucking joy to be around, and there’s no great reward for knowing me like they always expect. I’m heartless, cold, and called the Devil. But you—” He looks away from you, swallowing hard before he speaks. “You don’t give a shit who I am. Just yelled at you in the hallway and you didn’t fucking flinch. You’re brave. Or— or not smart enough to know better.”

You shake your head, chuckling slightly. “You know I’m neither, Tom. If you’re asking why I stick around, I’ll tell you.”

He looks back at you, giving you a slight nod.

You step forward, placing a hand on his chest, just above his heart. “You say you're heartless but you’re not. You say you’re cold but you’re not. You’re like me. You’ve adapted to live in a world that isn’t fair to you. You’re ashamed to admit that your heart beats like mine does. And I— I love you for that.”

Slowly, his hand lifts to cover yours on his chest, his eyes slide shut, and he speaks his next words in one long breath. “There are better men—”

“And they’re not you.” You smile, slipping your hand up his chest to hold his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb. Eyes still closed, he leans into you, and his whole body seems to shift, to relax, to move to you. “I choose you, Tom. Like you chose me.”

He nods, his soft eyes opening to look down at you, pupils a little larger than before.

You shift your weight forward and kiss him, and he melts into you, lips soft and pliant, allowing you to take some control. Your other hand rests on his waist, gently pulling him towards you. You fit together, entwined, his hands resting on your hips, delicately holding you. You pull away to rest your forehead against his, and you sway in silence, an almost-dance.

“Stay the night.” It’s not a question.

You chuckle. “I have to do the horses in the morning.”

“Fuck the horses.”

“Maybe don’t.”

His hands, hesitantly, pull you to stand flush against him. His voice is breathy. “Please. Stay the night.”

You exhale slowly. “Alright. Alright, we can— we can try.”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaker blinders fandom #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy x grace #only the wild ones #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

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mint-yooxgi · 2 years ago

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{5} - Paradise Gardens - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Book Two to Hotel California

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humour, Smut (let's go for a ride)

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Jongho)

Words: 13,630

Warnings: Smut: scenting, slight hair pulling (male rec.), fingering (fem. rec.), biting, blood play and bloodletting, edging, thigh riding, marking (male rec.), minor breast play, squirting, dirty talk (lots of it), possessive talk (both ways), switch tendencies, very, very minor primal play to start, implied cockwarming at the end. Some references to Beauty and the Beast at the beginning. I think that's it, but let me know if I missed anything! This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: I really hope you all enjoy this chapter!! I honestly had a lot of fun writing it, cause it starts off really cute and then escalates quite quickly. Finally, Baby Bear gets his time to shine!! I literally cannot wait for the upcoming chapters, cause this is sort of the catalyst to them hehehe anyways, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

“So, you’ve always wanted to hug a bear?”

It’s about mid-afternoon the following day when Jongho poses the question, somewhat casually. He continuously spares glances at you from over his book, but you’ve noticed that he hasn’t turned the page in quite some time. He’s really not as subtle as he thinks.

“Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?” You chuckle, eyes darting up to meet his own as your finger caresses the side of your own novel.

The two of you are currently sitting in the library. You rest on one end of the couch, legs stretched out before you as your feet rest on his thighs. Jongho has long since angled himself towards you, one hand gently resting over your ankles as you keep them crossed over him for the moment.

“Just a mild curiosity, is all.” He hums, attempting to shift his focus back onto the page in front of him.

“Nothing to do with the little comment I made towards you after the fact?” You quirk a brow teasingly.

Red begins to creep up his neck as he suddenly finds the novel before him extremely fascinating. “Just curious, is all.”

You simply hum in response, turning to the next page.

“You know,” he continues. “You’ve never really asked us to shift for you before.”

“I’m aware.” Your voice is light, a teasing lilt still found in your tone.

“If you want something, you need only tell us.” He says, staring intently at his book. “You know we’d- I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

“Jongho,” his name is but an affectionate chuckle from your lips, “If you’d like for me to ask you to shift into a bear so I can cuddle you, all you need to do is tell me.”

“I just don’t understand,” he closes his book softly, resting it on the arm of the couch beside him. “If this is something you’ve always wanted to do, why wouldn’t you have told us sooner?”

You remain quiet, pursing your lips slightly. Then, you’re taking a somewhat deep breath in.

“I just never want it to seem that that’s all I want from you.” You say, voice low as your thumb traces over the cover of your novel. “As much as I love your powers, I never want any of you to think that that’s all I care about. You’re more than that, and I never want to be selfish.”

“Darling, you do realize that that’s not selfish at all, right?” He shifts forward, hand sliding up your leg to rest over your shin now. “Especially not when we offer. Not when we want you to ask. I know for a fact that seeing that wondrous expression light up your eyes makes us all happy beyond content. The fact that we are the ones causing such joy to appear on your features means the world to us. We just want to take care of you, and if we can impress you while doing so, we’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

You lift your eyes to meet his gaze.

“We only want to make you happy,” he continues, nothing but sincerity shining on his features. “To make all of your dreams come true. All you have to do is ask.”

“Alright.” Retracting your legs from his lap, you sit forward on the couch. “I’ll do my best to be more honest and open about my desires going forward, then.”

“Please do, Darling.” He smiles, reaching over to place a hand onto your thigh. “I know I’m not the only one always dying to know what you’re thinking about. Especially when it concerns us.”

The corner of your lips quirk upwards. “The feeling is very much mutual, Baby Bear.”

Jongho’s eyebrows raise amusedly, his lips parting as red returns to his neck. “Baby Bear?”

“Yeah,” you grin, eyes crinkling at the sides as you shift closer to him. “To be honest, I’ve always wanted to call you that. Ursaring is another.”

“Oh?” A certain smugness dances within his gaze as he meets your own. “Why Baby Bear, though?”

“You remind me of one.” You reply simply, resting your head gently on his shoulder.

“A bear cub?” His brow furrows slightly, loving the way your fingers intertwine with his own in the next second.

“Just a bear in general.” You say, brushing your thumb along the skin on the back of his hand. “Big, strong, fiercely protective, and loyal. Not to mention intelligent.”

A pleased rumble escapes him at your words.

“If I’m being honest, I’ve always pictured it being you whenever I fantasized about hugging a bear.” You admit, and you feel him pull you closer into his side. “Which is another reason for the nickname. That, and you’re My Baby. My Baby Bear.”

A low, content growl reaches your ears.

Jongho swears his heart is about to leap out of his chest, only emphasized by the pleasant hum you give him in response. The way you’re currently looking at him, eyes hooded as a loving smile pulls at your lips means the world to him.

“You can call me whatever you damn well please if it means you looking at me like this at all times.” His voice rumbles out, nothing but a low drawl as he leans into your neck. Gently, his nose brushes against your skin, nuzzling you softly. “I absolutely adore it when you do.”

“Oh?” This time, it’s your turn to quirk a brow. “And just how do I look at you when I’m like this?”

Jongho takes a moment to answer, pulling away to stare deeply into your eyes.

“Like I’m one of the most attractive males you’ve ever seen in your life.” He breathes, another pleased growl reverberating from inside of his chest. “As if you want to devour me whole. Like I’m yours.”

“You are, Baby Bear.” You smile, bringing a hand up to cup the side of his face tenderly. “Not only are you one of the eight most attractive men I have ever seen in my life, but I count myself lucky every day that I get to call you mine.”

Jongho’s heart positively flutters within his chest, his breath hitching as your words wash over him. Always, he has dreamed about hearing those words fall from your lips, and now that they have, he is flooded with an immeasurable sense of happiness. Nothing but love is in his gaze as he looks at you, leaning into your touch shamelessly as he brings a hand up to place over your own.

“Not a day passes by where I am not grateful to have you in my life, My Darling.” He breathes, voice low as his eyes fall shut. “You have truly consumed me in the best of ways. My soul has come alight again, and it is all because of you.”

“Jongho,” your expression softens, heart swelling inside your chest at his admission.

“I may not be the best at expressing myself through spoken words like some of my brothers, but for you, I will never hesitate to try.” His eyes blink open, and the sincerity you can see shining there takes your breath away. “Which is why when I learn that there are things that I can do for you, that you want, I will jump at every opportunity to do them. I only want to make you happy, Darling. Please, won’t you let me?”

“I don’t need fancy words, Jongho.” You tell him earnestly. “I value your presence. You don’t need to say anything. I find comfort in just being with you.”

Again, his breath hitches. A moment later, and he’s leaning forward to rest his forehead against your own.

“Then, will you let me do this for you?” He holds you close, voice but a mere whisper.

“Only if you let me ask, first.” You tease lightly, a grin pulling at the corner of your lips.

“Please do.” He breathes out.

Leaning the slightest bit away from him, you stare deeply into his eyes.

“Jongho,” you begin, a gentle smile now gracing your features, “Will you let me hug you as a bear?”

His eyes shine with an unfiltered glee as he squeezes your hand still resting over his cheek. “I would love nothing more.”

Parting from you, Jongho stands from the couch. He can feel your eyes on him as he steps off to the side, ensuring that there’s enough space for what he’s about to do. Slowly, his smile begins to morph into a smug grin, brushing tenderly against your mind with his own.

A blink, and a great, brown grizzly bear is standing right before your very eyes. You can hardly keep the wonder off of your face as you spring up from the couch, rushing over to him as your lips part.

“That’s incredible!” Your hands find purchase on his side, feeling the intricate softness of his fur beneath your touch.

A pleased chuckle escapes him, and you watch as he turns his head to nuzzle his snout against you. The movement practically sends you toppling into his shoulder, your arms falling against his side to support you as he snorts out another laugh.

“Don’t laugh! You did that on purpose!” You playfully scold him, hearing him huff out another amused puff of air in response.

Again, you feel him brush up against your mind. So, you let him in.

The moment your void opens to allow him access to your thoughts, an overwhelming sense of awe, wonder, and love floods him. All are emotions you direct at him. Whether subconsciously or knowingly, he’s not sure. What he does know, is that he cannot prevent the pleased hum that escapes him, reverberating against you as you continue to lean into his side.

The way you begin to nuzzle into his fur has his eyes crinkling in joy.

“You’re so soft, Jongho,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. “Thank you for letting me do this.”

Anytime, Darling. He coos affectionately, shifting slightly in his spot. I love being able to make you happy.

His arm closest to you gently tugs you forward as he sits up on his hind legs. Ever so carefully, Jongho draws you into him, allowing your body to melt into his embrace. His touch is soft, and you can feel the weight of his front paws holding you in place as you lean into him. The fact that you bury your face into his chest has him shaking lightly in laughter, humming contently in the next moment.

Embrace me anytime you desire, My Darling. His voice echoes throughout your mind. I can never get enough of your touch.

The way his snout buries itself into the side of your neck says it all. Even the way he inhales deeply, whole body shuddering as he scents you in his arms is apparent.

My Jongho, you hum contently, relaxing fully into this moment with him as he surrounds you: mind, body, and soul. I love you. A moment’s pause. I am in love with you.

The growl that escapes his throat is low, bordering on a pleased whine as you feel him shudder within your grasp. A second later, and he’s rolled onto his back, pulling you up with him so that you’re now resting on his chest.

With all that I am, I am unquestionably, irrevocably, and earnestly in love with you forevermore, My Darling. His one paw settles gently on the skin of your back. Nothing will ever change that fact.

Your heart positively flutters in your chest. A fact of which you know he hears, for you can feel the pleased rumble shake his chest beneath you. You smile.

“You’re comfy.” You hum, settling deeper on top of him as you hug him tighter. “I might just prefer this position over Snorlax.”

I will gladly stay like this for as long as you desire, My Queen. Jongho says, eyes closing in bliss as he revels in this euphoric feeling with you.

You nuzzle your cheek against him affectionately. My King.

Another pleased growl echoes around the library, and you find yourself chuckling at the irony of it all.

You’ve really made this into a fairytale for me, huh? Your tone is lighthearted as you close your eyes.

How so, Darling? He inquires, his chest rising and falling steadily with every breath he takes.

Think about it, Baby Bear. You reply, an amused twitch of your lips upwards. We’re in the library, a place that means a lot to the both of us. I’m literally laying on top of a bear I love right now who is making my dreams come true. All I’m missing is some talking chinaware and a yellow dress.

Are you suggesting our love is a tale as old as time? Jongho chuckles, affection dancing in his gaze.

It will be.

The simple statement from you has tears of joy springing to his eyes.

Not a day passes by where I don’t count myself lucky you ever fell for a beast like me. His voice is somewhat strained, and you feel him swallow thickly.

You are no beast to me, Jongho. You say, nothing but honesty dripping from your words. That being said, I would gladly love a beast any day over someone unworthy of my affection. Besides, maybe I prefer beasts.

Your admission leaves him slightly stunned, his grip tightening a minuscule amount over your back.

Do you, now? His response is nothing short of amused, and you swear he quirks a brow at you.

Maybe I was referring to you being beauty. You are rather handsome, Jongho. You admit, a slight warmth rising to your cheeks as you avert your gaze. His grip tightens ever so softly. Though, I thought it would be obvious by now, given the amount of jokes and hints I’ve given about it.

What would be obvious? He tilts his head slightly in inquiry.

Darling, I’m not shy about being a monster fucker. You chuckle, noticing the way his whole body freezes momentarily beneath your own.

Don’t let Wooyoung hear you say that. Jongho huffs out an amused breath. He’ll never let you live that one down.

If the self-proclaimed master of seduction doesn’t know that by now, then that’s on him. You snort.

Then, if what I’m incurring is correct, he begins. You’d be okay with us using our powers in the bedroom? In that context?

You smile. I’d be more than okay with it, Baby Bear. Only if you are, of course. Consent goes both ways.

Again, maybe wait to let Wooyoung know. He chuckles, a puff of air escaping his nose. He’d jump at any and every opportunity to keep you locked in his room with him for days.

You say that like it’s a bad thing. A chuckle escapes you.

With him? Jongho snorts out a laugh. Always.

Anyways, back to my original point: it’s as I’ve said before, you lift your head, meeting his gaze. You are everything I could have ever asked for.

Another pleased growl escapes him, and you notice how he wiggles his feet below you happily in response. Even his ears twitch, along with his nose.

I wouldn’t trade you for the world, Darling. He grins, loving how you shift the slightest bit upwards so you can position yourself to properly meet his gaze.

I wouldn’t trade you for anything, either. Gently, you lean down to kiss the tip of his snout. Now, want to go make your brothers jealous?

Fuck, I love you. A pleased growl escapes him as he feels you slide off of him. What are you thinking, Darling?

Let me go for a ride? The wink you send him is most certainly not innocent, especially not with the sultry way your lips pull upwards in the corners.

With pleasure. The snarl that escapes him is nothing short of feral as he graciously kneels for you to climb on top of his back.

A minute later, and you’re settled comfortable atop of Jongho, your legs resting on either side of him. Your hands grip lightly at his fur as he paces around the library so you can get used to the feeling of him moving before he takes off through the house.

Let me know when you’re ready, Darling. He says, shaking out his head as he attempts to control his breathing for the moment.

This is everything he could have asked for, and so much more. The fact that you were the one to even suggest it makes him happy beyond belief. Nothing is better than the feeling of rubbing such an intimate moment in his brother’s faces like this. Besides, it’s all just a bit of fun, and he knows that in the long run, his brothers will appreciate how joyous this occasion makes you. Hearing your laughter is a blessing none of them knew they could ever be granted. Knowing that they are the cause of it means everything to them.

Ready! You giggle, and fuck if it isn’t just music to Jongho’s ears.

Straightening to his full height, Jongho proudly steps towards the large double doors of the library with you sitting tall upon his back.

“Onward, my valiant steed!” You call, wiggling excitedly in your spot atop his back.

A loud roar escapes Jongho in response, practically shaking the entire house as he bounds forward. The doors of the library burst open, and you cannot contain the rambunctious laughter that escapes you, along with excited squeals, as Jongho races down the hallway.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you vaguely make out Seonghwa popping his head out of his tailor shop as you run by.

“Hi, Mars!”

One second you’re in front of him.

“Bye, Mars!”

The next, you are not.

Your laughter continues to echo throughout the house, drawing the attention of all the males in the vicinity. The way you so effortlessly ride atop Jongho’s back has smiles pulling at most of their faces.

Yunho watches on, amusement dancing in his eyes as you excitedly shout ‘nyoom’ from across the foyer. The word escapes you repeatedly along with exclamations of enjoyment, such as high pitched laughter mixed with short snippets of you saying ‘wee!’.

There’s a look of disbelief painting Yeosang’s face, but the sound of your laughter draws him in. Before he knows it, his own shoulders are shaking along with you, especially when Kuroo begins chasing after Jongho excitedly. Small chirps of affection escape that little black ball of fur, quipping about how he’s going to catch Jongho for attempting to kidnap the Queen.

Wooyoung wears the biggest pout on his features as he crosses his arms over his chest. “No fair.”

Vaguely, you hear him muttering complaints to San and Mingi the whole time. Two males of whom that don’t appear as if they’re fairing any better for the moment.

Hongjoong, on the other hand, looks quite exasperated.

“Not inside the house!” His eyes are wide, hands stretched out in front of him in worry as Jongho slows down to a walk.

“Aw, come on, Joongie,” you pout dramatically. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

The loud, defeated sigh you hear him heave has your features lighting up instantly. A second later, and Jongho is back to running through the house, your boisterous laughter filling the rooms.

I’m glad you’re having fun, Darling. Jongho hums happily, bounding out into the courtyard and leaping over the length of the pool like it’s nothing.

Woah, your voice is full of awe as he circles back around inside of the house. This is incredible! You’re incredible!

Your praise means more to me than you’ll ever know. His whole body rumbles with his hum of contentment, ears twitching eagerly.

Slowly, Jongho lessens his pace, strutting towards his room with a certain gait of satisfaction. His chest heaves, a large grin pulling at his features as he enters his bedroom for the time being. The way you practically collapse on top of him, clinging to him so eagerly as a giddy laugh escapes your lips has him humming affectionately.

He shakes out his head.

Thank you, Jongho. A content sigh escapes you as you practically melt into his back, squeezing him tightly. This has been everything I could have ever asked for.

I’m glad. He hums, nothing but tender love and affection dripping from his gaze as he feels you slide off of him. Anytime you wish to experience something, do not hesitate to let us know. I am always ready and willing to provide for you whatever you may need.

I’ll keep that in mind. You come to stand before him, gripping his snout gently in your hands as you place another kiss onto his nose. There is one more thing I’d like to do before you shift back.

His eyes gleam. Anything, My Darling.

A devious grin is all he receives as he watches your hands reach upwards on his head. Not even a second later, he feels you tenderly rubbing his ears with your thumbs, massaging them gently.

Jongho practically purrs in response, the content hum escaping him involuntarily as his eyes flutter shut. The fact that he can hear you giggle in earnest once more sets his heart racing in his chest. His entire body heats as you continue to pet him so affectionately, your touch sending little jolts of electricity throughout.

One minute, your fingers are playing with his ears. The next, you’re shifting your hands to tenderly caress his face, giving him some affectionate chin rubs while you’re at it.

The whole time, Jongho continues to let out pleased hums, bordering on low growls. His breathing deepens, eyes remaining closed as he pushes himself eagerly into your embrace, nearly knocking you over in the process.

Darling, please, his voice is somewhat strained, and you swear he shivers beneath your very grasp. Don’t stop.

You giggle softly. I didn’t realize you’d enjoy this so much.

I could never tire of your touch. He admits, eyes blinking open to stare into your own earnestly. Everything only serves to become heightened when I’m like this. Sensation, touch, his eyes flash, scent.

I thought all of that was already heightened? Your breath hitches slightly in your throat, his heated stare freezing you to your spot as your hands still over him.

Now, even more so. His voice is a mere rumble, echoing alongside the low growl he lets out.

You cannot deny the way your heart skips a beat, especially as he begins to slowly back you towards the bed. His steps are precise, stalking towards you as his sheer size consumes your senses. Truly, he radiates the aura of the predator he is right now, but you aren’t scared. No. Instead, your veins flood with something else. Something far more pleasant, of which he immediately picks up on.

You smell delectable, Darling. His eyes darken, and his tongue darts out to wet his maw.

The glimpse you get of his teeth sets your heart stuttering excitedly inside of your chest.

You swear his brow quirks. I didn’t know you’d be in to this sort of thing.

You blink, somewhat caught off guard.

From the looks of things, neither did you. His whole chest shakes as he chuckles.

I think- Feeling your legs hit the edge of his mattress, you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat. I think it’s because it’s you that this is affecting me so.

A low, pleased growl reaches your ears. Is that so?

You can only nod in response, his dark eyes flashing as he stops himself right in front of you. His snout just about grazes your chest, your every breath closing that subtle gap between the both of you as he stares you down.

My Darling, he practically hums. There is something I would like to request of you now.

Anything. The exhale you give is breathless, and you swear he quirks a brow at you in response.

Nudging you gently with his snout, he pushes you back onto the bed. Each step you watch him take closer is meticulous until his chin rests right above your stomach. The way he can see your chest rising and falling with each inhale you take causes excitement to flood his very soul. He can just sense how this is affecting you, and he nearly has to stop himself from snarling pleasantly at the revelation.

Spread your legs for me. Slowly, meticulously, he pulls his head back. His maw parts the slightest bit, tongue practically lolling to the side as his gaze stares, transfixed, at the apex of your thighs. I wish to scent you.

The way your breath hitches, heart momentarily skipping a beat in your chest does not go unnoticed by him. You can feel that familiar rush of warmth heating your skin, sending a jolt of electricity all the way to your core. From the way he swallows thickly, you can tell that he knows it, too.

Jongho is a patient man, but never has he been testing like this before. Of course, your comfort and personal boundaries are his number one priority. Which is exactly why he is resisting every urge right now to push his way between your legs, bury his snout between your thighs, and breath in your scent like he longs to do. The sweet aroma of your building arousal calls to him like a siren’s song, and the longer he has you in his room, on his bed, the harder he finds it to continue to control himself.

One word. One movement of discomfort from you, and he’ll back off.

Always, he awaits your approval.

The silence that settles over the both of you stretches on, and even with your mind open to him, Jongho does his best not to intrude. From the way you’re looking at him, eyes wide and blinking owlishly, he fears he might have just gone too far.

Again, you swallow thickly, hearing your heart pounding in your ears. Then, slowly, you begin to part your legs.

The whole time, you maintain eye contact with him, and you watch as his breathing deepens. That all too familiar darkness swirls within, guttural growls escaping him with every exhale. A sound of which that has your whole body shuddering in anticipation.

My Darling, the call of your name is the deepest you’ve ever heard from him, even within your mind. The second you want me to stop, the moment you want space, he’s hardly keeping himself together, but he does. For you. You let me know right away.

I will. The corner of your lips twitches upwards. Now, scent me, My King.

You’ve barely finished thinking the words when his head is shoving between your thighs, snout pressed right up against your clothed sex. You can feel his pleased growls reverberating against your skin, his warm breath fanning over your cunt even through the layers of fabric you wear.

The tearing of cloth is synonymous with the deep growl he lets out, pushing himself deeper into your cunt as he inhales your scent eagerly. You can practically feel the heaviness of his tongue resting against your inner thigh as you spare a glance down at him.

Never before have you seen Jongho’s eyes as dark as they are now. He looks about ready to devour you whole, and you know that he would. All you would have to do is let him.

The shredded material of his duvet catches your gaze, but the way he nudges his nose against you draws your attention back to his own. Despite the darkness shining within, there seems to be a hint of desperation coming through, especially when his whole body begins to shake.

Please, My Queen, his voice is strained, and you can feel him shifting between your thighs. It’s not enough. The barrier- he pants shamelessly, growls bordering on feral snarls as his claws shred through the bottom half of his duvet continuously. I need more.

Your stomach clenches pleasantly at his admission, and from the way he growls, you can tell that he’s noticed, too.

What is it, Baby Bear? Despite your heaving chest, you manage to lift your head to observe his every move carefully. The way you see his eyes flash once more has a smirk pulling at your features. What is it that you need?

Don’t tease me, Darling. There’s a warning hint to his tone, pulling his head back the slightest bit in order to shake his fur out. I’m already seconds away from losing control.

This time, you feel yourself clench around nothing. The way his eyes immediately lock onto the apex of your thighs lets you know just how in tuned to you he is.

What if I want you to lose control? Your hands fist the sheets at your sides, clinging on for dear life as you hear him finally release that snarl he’s been holding back this whole time.

Those are dangerous words, Darling. His breathing is ragged, and you can just tell that his claws have sunk into his sheets, grounding him as he attempts to leash his building lust for you in this moment. I would never forgive myself if I hurt you, or I overstepped any of your boundaries in favour of my own.

Your heart warms, and you find yourself sitting up in bed in order to grasp his head in your hands. Tenderly, you meet his gaze.

You have my consent to touch me, Jongho. You meet his gaze, staring deeply into his eyes. I want you to love me like you’ve always desired.

You swear he’s stopped breathing; his lips part as his whole body freezes. A moment later, and the deepest of snarls escapes him, a feral glint shining within his gaze as he looks at you.

Then, tell me, My Queen, he visibly begins trembling before your very gaze, shifting back into his human form as he kneels before you on the ground. “What is it that you desire?”

You cup his face tenderly in your hands, thumbs stroking lightly against his cheeks. “You.”

In the blink of an eye, he has you pinned to the bed, his form hovering over you. His hands rest on either side of your head, body pressing right up against your own. You can feel the pleased snarl that rumbles in his chest, his eyes searching yours briefly, as if to make sure that this is what you truly want.

Always, your comfort comes first.

“Jongho,” the sigh of his name is but a breathless whisper on your lips as your eyes hood over. “Kiss me.”

The way his left hand comes up to tenderly cup your face as he brings his lips to your own has you melting into his touch. His kiss is firm, pouring all that he is into each movement against you as he holds you to him. The way your legs part to allow himself to slot his hips against your own has him humming pleasantly against you.

Breaking from the kiss, he trails his lips down to nip at your jaw before sensually laving his tongue against your neck.

“You don’t know,” he pants, trailing his lips over your pulse, “how long,” he places, wet, open mouthed kisses along your skin, “I’ve dreamt of this.”

A breathless gasp escapes you as he bites down on the side of your neck, arching into him in response.

You pull him closer.

“I promise I’ll make you feel so good, Darling.” His voice is low, right by your ear. “I’ll take such good care of you tonight. The only thing you’ll be able to think about is the pleasure I’m giving you.”

“I want to please you, too.” You manage to speak, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling his head back so you can stare tenderly into his eyes.

“You will soon come to realize, My Queen, that pleasing you will always please me.” He replies, nothing but the deepest sincerity shining within his gaze. “This is true for all of us.”

Your lips part, heart stuttering inside of your chest as his words wash over you.

“Then, you will have to realize that the feeling is shared.” You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, loving how he immediately leans into your touch. “I thought I told you that if it’s not mutual, I don’t want it.”

A soft, affectionate chuckle falls from his lips. “You drive a hard bargain, My Darling.”

“Someone I cherish dearly told me I should be more open about my own desires,” you smile, nothing but love dripping from your eyes. “I am simply granting his wish.”

A pleased growl escapes him as his lips find purchase on your own once more. Greedily, he swallows all of your sounds, his one hand still cupping your face tenderly as his other sneaks beneath the material of your shirt. Only, you can feel him frown slightly as he feels a different type of fabric grace his fingertips instead of your bare skin.

Pulling away from you, Jongho meets your gaze. At the way you playfully quirk a brow, he’s quick to tear off your shirt.

A low groan escapes him, pleased pants falling from his parted lips as he takes in the sight before him.

There you lay beneath him, on his bed, looking like you were made just for him. Intricate lace covers your body, disappearing beneath the waistband of your leggings and sending his mind reeling. It’s in his favourite colour, too. Maroon.

Jongho’s chest rises and falls dramatically, his hands gripping your waist as he looks about ready to devour you whole.

“Did you-“ he can hardly form a coherent thought, the only prominent one being to absolutely ravish you this very instant, “did you wear this for me?”

Slowly, his fingertips trail downwards, hooking beneath the waistband of your leggings.

“Something told me that it would get appreciated if I wore it today.” You hum, a fond, knowing look in your gaze. “Go ahead, Jongho. I’m all yours.”

He growls shamelessly, “Mine.”

The sound of tearing fabric reaches your ears once more as he throws the remaining scraps of your leggings somewhere in his room. The way his eyes instantly flash black as soon as he takes in your form wearing that maroon singlet you bought all those months ago has excitement flooding your veins.

Jongho’s head spins. His hands are shaking and he can feel his cock throb beneath his slacks as he takes in the glorious sight of you spread out before him. The fact that you’re in his room, on his bed, wearing something for him has a warmth unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his life flooding his veins.

“My Darling,” his eyes trail everywhere over your figure, committing this sight to memory for decades to come. “You are so unbelievable beautiful in every way.”

A bashful smile pulls at your lips, averting your gaze to the side due to the very heat you feel emanating from his stare. The way he licks his lips only adds to the sensation, anticipation clawing eagerly at your chest.

“Jongho,” your hands slide beneath the shirt he wears and up his chest. Not even a second later, he’s torn the material off of his body, skin on full display as you drink in the sight of his bare torso. Your breathing deepens, gaze darkening as you shamelessly roam your eyes over his figure. “Fuck-“

Wrapping your one leg around his waist, you manage to surprise him. In the blink of an eye, you’ve flipped your positions, hands settling onto the skin of his upper chest. Your breathing deepens, eyes swirling with a primal sort of lust he’s never experienced form you. All he knows, though, is that he wants more.

“You really have no idea what you do to me.” Your voice is but a low whisper as you lean into him, trailing your lips against his skin. Slowly, you grind your hips into his, moans escaping the both of you as you feel his hard cock brushing against your core. “So fucking handsome, My King.”

A pleased snarl escapes him, his hands settling onto your thighs as his fingers sink appreciatively into your flesh.

The feeling of your teeth grazing his skin is unlike anything he could have ever imagined. The sheer eagerness he can feel in every press of your lips against him, nipping and sucking at his neck all the while, has his grip tightening on you. Shamelessly, moans escape him, tossing his head back as he feels you laving your tongue against the mole at the base of his throat. The second you start suckling at his skin in the exact same spot, nails teasingly scraping down his chest, he feels himself twitch beneath you.

“Fuck- My Queen,” his eyes flutter shut, heart full and nearly bursting at the fact that simply seeing his naked torso has made you this feral for him already.

It seems as if he’s not the only one with such prominent desires for the other.

The fact that your thoughts continue to wash over him, flooding his senses with your unfiltered awe, love, and now desire has his heart beating erratically in his chest. Nothing but pure want courses through his veins, eyes swirling with that all too familiar darkness as he continues to watch you bite your marks into the skin of his neck and upper chest. The way your tongue darts out to soothe the heated skin right after has him humming in content once more.

“My Jongho,” you hum against his chest, kissing directly over his heart as it positively flutters from your words. “My handsome Jongho.”

“All yours, My Queen,” his voice is but a pleased growl, a choked moan escaping him as he feels you grind yourself down onto his hard cock once more. “Let Your King fulfill your every desire.”

As soon as those words have left his lips, he’s sitting upright on the bed. A hand comes to rest on your back while the other steadies you while gripping your thigh. He pulls you closer, loving the way you cup his face tenderly only to kiss him in the next second.

Eagerly, he swallows all of your sounds, feeling your one hand come to rest on his shoulder while the other tangles in his hair. Desperately, you pull each other closer, tongues intertwined as he kisses you like you are the only thing that matters.

To him, you are.

Again, you grind yourself into him.

Moans escape the both of you, parting only briefly to rest your forehead against his own. You can feel his thighs tensing beneath you, and a small whimper escapes you from the feeling.

With dark eyes, you shift your position.

Settling your hands on his shoulders, you stare deep into his eyes. The corner of your lips twitch upwards as you see his gaze flash just as you settle your core right over his one thigh, straddling him as his hands grip your waist.

Teasingly, you grind yourself against him.

Moans escape both of your lips, Jongho’s gaze darting down to look at where your bodies meet. His breathing deepens, each exhale but a low growl on his lips.

“Go on, My Queen.” His voice rumbles out, eyes shining encouragingly. “Make yourself feel good on me.”

The way your fingers subtly press that much firmer into his shoulders as you begin to grind your hips down onto his thigh has a shiver caressing his spine. Already, your scent surrounds him, his skin igniting with the flames of his passion everywhere you touch. He can already feel his cock straining against his pants, just aching for you. All of you.

Tonight, though, Jongho plans to take his time.

“Fuck, Darling-“ his breath catches in his throat as he continues to help guide your movements over him, “I can already feel you soaking the material of my jeans. Is riding my thigh turning you on that much?”

“Yes.” Nothing more than a moan escapes you as your eyes flutter shut in bliss.

“Is that what you’re thinking about every time I catch you drooling over the sight of them? How badly you want to grind that tight little cunt of yours over me until you’re dripping onto my skin?” He hums, hands tightening ever so slightly around your waist as he flexes his thigh beneath you.

Shamelessly, you moan, pressing yourself down a little firmer as you continue to shift your hips against him.

“I could ride you all day, Baby Bear.” Your voice is a low drawl, the corner of your lips quirking as you stare deeply into his eyes with hooded ones of your own.

The snarl that tears from his throat is nothing short of feral, gaze flashing black. “Don’t tempt me, Darling.”

“You’re making me feel so good, Jongho.” A desperate whine escapes you, hands shifting to grasp at the back of his neck. “I fucking love your thighs. I love everything about you.”

Greedily, he pulls you back in for another kiss, pouring all of the emotions he feels into the movement of his tongue against your own. He swallows all of your sounds, helping to guide your hips against his thigh. Again, he flexes the muscles, hearing the way your breath hitches, whines becoming more and more frequent. Even your movements become that much more desperate, clinging onto him as you continue to drip onto his thigh.

Only, before you can feel that sweet, sweet release building any further, his hands on your waist still your every movement.

A whine of disappointment escapes you, pulling away to look at him with a slight pout tugging at your features.

“My Queen,” Jongho breathes, staring deeply into your eyes. “Of all the things we do tonight, I have but one final request.”

You blink, waiting for him to continue as you attempt to catch your breath.

“The first time I make you come, I want it to be with me.” His voice is low, and were he not already clinging onto you for dear life, he knows that his hands would be trembling from the sheer amount of want coursing through his veins right now. All he can see is you. All he can hear, touch, taste, smell. You are invading his every sense, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. “I want to feel your warmth squeezing me so delicately as you fucking drench me in you while screaming my name.”

Your lips part as your breath catches in your throat.

“Is that alright with you, My Queen?” He wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him as he buries his head into the side of your neck. “If you’d rather not wait, I can-“

“I would love nothing more, My King.” Despite the airiness to your tone, your words come through loud and clear.

His lips finding purchase on yours is all the answer you get as he holds you close. You can feel his pleased growl reverberate against you, his tongue darting out to trace your bottom lip before taking the tender flesh between his teeth.

The feeling of your fingers pressing into the skin of his back, drawing him in closer has another shiver caressing his spine. The way your hands feel, roaming all over every free inch of his body that he presents to you has a pride building in his chest. There is no doubt in Jongho’s mind that you absolutely adore everything that you see. A fact of which is mirrored in him. You are perfect in every way, and he will spend as long as it takes proving that to you tonight.

You pull away from him once more, only for your body to sink onto the floor between his legs.

His hands begin to shake, eyes hooding over as his lips part. A breathless moan escapes him as he feels your fingers trailing up the inside of his thighs. Yet, nothing could prepare him for the feeling of you cupping him over his jeans, palm rubbing against him tenderly.

Not even a moment later, your fingers begin fumbling with the clasp of his belt, tugging the material down his legs eagerly once you’ve undone everything. The way your hungry eyes take in the bare skin of his thighs has him twitching eagerly. A dark wet patch stains the fabric of his underwear where his tip continues to leak precome, and he cannot prevent the way his stomach clenches as he sees you licking your lips.

“My beautiful Jongho,” slowly, your hands spread his legs wider apart, fingers digging into the muscular flesh. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy these thighs of yours are?”

His lips part in answer, but all that escapes him is a moan. His cock throbs eagerly, aching for you in every way imaginable.

The minute he feels your lips pressing against the skin of his inner thigh, his muscles tense. His legs tremble, breathing deepening as you bite down quite sharply, laving your tongue soothingly over the mark shortly after. The way your eyes dart up to meet his own has his heart thundering inside of his chest.

You’re looking at him akin to how he knows he’s always gazed upon you. There is love in your eyes, that is for sure, but there’s also a certain feralness found there as well. A desperation inside that swirls with want, lust, but also, faintly, possession.

“I can’t count the amount of times I’ve fantasized about them,” you admit, and a low groan escapes him as you bite down on his opposite thigh. “So fucking thick. Perfect for riding. Perfect for marking.” Your eyes darken, glancing up to meet his own. “Perfect for me.”

Jongho’s entire body heats, getting lost in your lustful gaze. His breathing is ragged, chest heaving as he moans shamelessly for you. So badly do his eyes want to fall shut, revelling in this moment here with you, but he forces them to stay open. Like hell is he going to miss a single second of the beautiful sight that is you on your knees before him, worshipping his body just as he will be sure to always worship your own.

“All yours, My Queen,” Jongho repeats his words from earlier, but they still have the desired effect.

You moan against the skin of his thigh, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers sink into his flesh. Your hold is desperate, marks blooming all over him, painting him in various hues of red. Painting him in you.

He wouldn’t trade that for anything.

The closer you get to his aching cock, the harder Jongho finds it to hold himself back. With every mark you make on his skin, your bites become firmer, the eagerness shining through with every movement.

“Do it, My Queen,” he pleads, voice desperate and airy. “Sink your fucking teeth into my flesh. Mark me as yours.”

It’s as if you had been waiting for his every command.

Pulling away only briefly to glance up into his eyes, you see him nod in confirmation. A moment later, you’re licking your lips eagerly, a sort of daze taking over your features as you zero in on an area of his right thigh that you have yet to mark. Leaning in, you place a gentle kiss onto his flesh before latching your mouth onto his skin.

You bite down. Hard.

A loud moan escapes him, his one hand moving to desperately cling onto the back of your head while the other shreds into the duvet beside him. He can feel his thighs shaking, that familiar tightening of his abdomen becoming all the more prominent as you keep your mouth latched onto him.

The moment he feels you pull away, tongue laving over the fresh set of teeth marks that drip faintly red with his blood, he shudders. The second he feels you wrapping your lips around the wound, suckling gently at his flesh as you moan against him shamelessly, he nearly comes right then and there.

The sensation is blinding, and he desperately holds onto whatever last bits of sanity that he has as he pulls you away gently.

You blink, seemingly coming out of your trance to see the bright red of his blood slowly dripping down the skin of his inner thigh.

His hands on your shoulders ground you, and you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Jongho, I’m so-“

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize,” his words are but a growl on his lips as he pulls you back up and into his lap. “That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced in my life.”

You cannot deny the way you seem to clench around nothing at the guttural tone he uses. The fact that you can feel his emotions flooding your every sense through that open mind link still only serves to make it all the more intense.

He wanted you to mark him. He wanted you to claim him in such a primal way. You, and only you.

After all, everything that he is, belongs to you.

You lick your lips, the faint taste of cinnamon clinging to your tongue.

“Then, why-“

“You are far too good at what you do, Darling.” Jongho grins, burying his face into the side of your neck as he pulls you flush into him. “You make it quite difficult for me to keep my own desires in check.”

“What is it that you desire right now, My King?” You hum, threading your fingers softly through his hair.

“You,” he breathes, placing a tender kiss against your pulse. “Always.”

You squeeze him tighter, heart swelling with nothing but love in your chest.

“I want to consume you, so that all you can feel is me.” He keeps his voice low, his chest rumbling with each word that he speaks. “I want to build you up slowly, allowing you to feel the deepest throws of pleasure that you can before pulling you back from the edge. I want to feel you dripping onto my hand as you squeeze my fingers so delicately, teasing me for what is still yet to come. I want you to absolutely cover me in you, in every possible way, and then I want you to consume me just as I’ve done with you.”

“Jongho,” his name is but a breathless whimper falling from your lips.

“There are many things I desire to do to you, to do with you, My Darling,” he pulls away to rest his forehead against your own, noses brushing tenderly. “I wish to start with pleasing you.”

You nod, leaning forward to kiss him deeply.

“I would love nothing more.” The words are but a whisper against his lips, and you can feel the way he smiles against you.

A blink, and he’s helped you back onto your feet. Another, and he’s switched your positions, angling you so that you’re both facing the mirror at the end of his bed. An object of which you hadn’t noticed until now.

He pulls you down onto his lap.

Slowly, Jongho trails his lips over your shoulder, biting at one of the straps still holding that delicate lace singlet to your body. Teasingly, he pulls at it with his teeth, a pleased rumble reverberating against your back as he lets it snap back against your skin.

“As much as I love seeing you in this just for me,” he growls out, nipping at the shell of your ear all the while. “I think I’d prefer it off.”

His hands, which had been gently holding your waist, move. You hardly even see him tear the fabric from your body, for one second, the lace still graces your skin, but in the next, it’s been torn to shreds and tossed somewhere in his room.

The tips of his fingers ignite a fire upon your skin as he drags them up your sides. Tenderly, he moves to cup your breasts in his hands, squeezing the flesh appreciatively as his lips find purchase against the skin of your neck. His thumbs begin to brush over your nipples, feeling them harden beneath his touch and causing him to smirk.

Ever so carefully, Jongho begins to spread your legs with his own.

“There’s a sight I could never grow tired of,” he sighs blissfully, eyes darting upwards to meet your gaze in the mirror.

The way your breath hitches in your throat does not go unnoticed by him. A chuckle escapes him, hands softly continuing to knead the tender flesh of your breasts as you catch your visage in the mirror.

He has you resting in the exact same position you had been in all those long weeks ago. Your legs are hooked around his own, his head buried into the side of your neck as he begins to roll your nipples between his thumb and index fingers.

A low moan escapes you, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“Fuck, so pretty My Queen,” Jongho hums, nipping at the side of your neck as he peers out to meet your gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “So fucking pretty spread out like this, and all for me to see.”

His hands never stop his ministrations, cupping your flesh tenderly as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck.

“Ever since that day, all I could think about was showing you how absolutely stunning you are when we bring you pleasure.” His voice is but a low drawl against your skin as he purposely places wet, open mouthed kisses along your racing pulse. “I’m honoured that I get to be the first one to do so.”

Softly, he begins to trail one of his hands down your body. His fingers dance along the skin of your inner thigh, the movement drawing your attention to his own resting just beneath yours. You can see the faint outlines of all of the marks you’ve given him in the mirror, but none are as prominent as one. One which sits proudly near the apex of his thighs, bright red and all yours.

You can feel his chest heaving against your back with every breath he takes, eyes locked on that same exact mark that yours are so focussed on. Each exhale is but a pleased rumble, grip tightening around your body as he presses you flush against him.

One of your hands comes up to tangle in his hair, the other placing itself gently over his own still cupping your breast. Your eyes flutter shut, absolutely revelling in this moment with him as he holds you close.

“My Jongho,” you breathe, feeling your body relax further into his touch.

The way you feel him twitch against the skin of your ass has a soft smile tugging at your features.

“I’m yours, My Queen.” He gladly voices his approval. “And you’re mine.”

“Yours.” You confirm, grip tightening over him slightly. A fact of which that makes his lips tug upwards, for you feel it against your skin. “All yours.”

A pleased growl escapes him, his one hand inching closer and closer to where you need him most.

You can feel yourself clenching around nothing, anticipation clawing at your chest as you blink your gaze open to meet his own in the mirror. Your eyes lock in on the way his fingers continuously dance across your skin, teasingly cupping you over your cunt.

The second his skin makes contact with your core, his eyes flutter shut in bliss. A low moan escapes him, pulling you even closer still.

“Do you see, Darling?” He bites down lightly on your neck, eyes peering into your own through the reflection of the glass. “See how wet I make you?”

As if to emphasize his point, Jongho drags the tips of his fingers lightly over your entrance, using his index and middle fingers to spread you open.

A moan escapes you at his touch, eyes focussed in on your dripping cunt as you watch yourself clench around nothing.

“Fuck, listen to you,” he groans, dragging his fingers through your folds once before circling your clit a few times. “You’re soaked, and I haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

“All for you,” your voice is breathless: airy and desperate as you continue to lean your head back against his shoulder for support.

He shudders, nipping at the shell of your ear in the next second as you feel him twitch beneath you once more. “Are you trying to make me come untouched again?”

Despite the uneven rise and fall of your chest, a devious smirk paints your lips in response. At the way his fingers begin to dip teasingly into your entrance, your lips part. A breathless moan of his name escapes you, shifting your hips in desperation to meet his every movement against your core.

His faint touches aren’t enough, and you crave more.

He smirks, “I thought I told you that the first time we both come tonight will be together, with my thick cock buried deep within your tight little cunt. Isn’t that right, My Queen?”

Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head as you feel him bury two of his fingers within your dripping cunt. Slowly. The way your walls squeeze involuntarily around him as the wet squelch reaches your ears from the intrusion has moans falling from both of your lips.

“Yes, My King.” The hand you have tangled in his hair tightens, pulling him in closer.

A smirk pulls at his lips at your answer, loving the way he can already feel your wetness dripping onto his hand with every drag of his fingers against your warm walls. The fact that he can hear every movement that he makes within you is simply icing on the cake.

“Good girl.” His eyes flash, words nothing more than a low growl on his lips as he tightens his grip around you.

The way you clench around his digits has his cock twitching beneath you once more.

“You like it when I say that, don’t you, Darling?” He hums, a smug upturn to the corner of his lips.

“Almost as much as I love when you call me yours.” As if to emphasize your point, you clench around his fingers.

A low moan escapes him, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder.

“How you always know to say just what I long to hear never fails to amaze me.” He admits, voice muffled against your skin as he nips at your flesh.

A choked whine of his name slips passed your lips as you feel him increase the pressure of his fingers slightly within you. The way the digits feel massaging your inner walls so tenderly has your lips parting, breathing deepening as you feel the fingers on his opposite hand begin toying with your nipple once more.

“Fuck, My King,” your eyes flutter shut. “Just like that.”

His teeth latch onto your skin, the growl reverberating against your throat as his eyes flash black. Jongho’s lips are quick to soothe over the mark, placing open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck as he gently suckles at the skin. Only, the faintest hint of something absolutely intoxicating begins to invade his every sense, his tongue darting out to catch more of the sweet taste.

That’s when he realizes.

Pulling his head away from you, his eyes widen in mild surprise. Turning towards the mirror, he’s quick to meet your gaze, a worried, yet somewhat remorseful look greeting you.

“My Queen, I’m so-“

“Don’t you dare apologize,” your tone is sharp, cutting him off easily as your eyes narrow slightly. “I offered myself to you, tonight, Jongho. That means everything.”

Jongho can barely control his breathing as he watches you tilt your head to the side, extending your neck out to him without another thought. Glancing down, he can see the faintest trail of your blood sliding down your skin from where his teeth had been only moments before.

The feral snarl that escapes him is unlike anything you’ve ever heard form him before.

He tightens his grip.

“I’m all yours.” The admission is but a pleasant sigh on your lips, hooded gaze meeting his as you clench around his fingers still buried deep inside of you.

Jagged pants escape him, and you can feel his entire body trembling beneath your own. You can see the way his eyes are locked onto that single drop of blood which slowly creeps down your skin, his chest heaving with every breath.

The feeling of his tongue gracing your skin is synonymous with the feeling of his thumb pressing against your clit. You moan, feeling the way he traces the trail all the way back up to your throat, beginning to circle his thumb in tandem with his movements. Softly, his lips encase the bite mark he’s just given you. Deep, guttural groans escape him as he circles his tongue around the wound in time with his thumb over your clit.

Your entire being pulses, heart pounding inside of your chest as you lean against him for support. You can barely keep your eyes open, watching him through a hooded gaze in the mirror as he becomes completely enraptured by you.

You clench around him again.

Softly, he bites down over the mark, teeth sinking the slightest bit deeper into your flesh this time in order to fully create his claim over your skin. The snarl he releases when he feels your blood flooding his every sense, unfiltered and with a newfound purpose, has his eyes flashing black immediately.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see his hand that had been massaging your breast so tenderly begins to raise.

Bringing his wrist to your lips, Jongho peers out into the reflection of the mirror, meeting your gaze with a desperate one of his own. You can feel his hard cock practically throbbing beneath you, skin heating as this moment fully washes over the both of you.

Briefly and reluctantly, his lips part from your throat.

“Please, My Queen,” he nearly whimpers as his fingers still within your cunt, “Drink with me.”

Your one hand comes up to support his arm, laving your mouth over his wrist sensually.

You meet his gaze in the mirror, the corner of your lips tugging upwards. “With pleasure.”

The feeling of your teeth sinking into the skin of his wrist has another guttural groan escaping him. Jongho swears that his heart will leap right out of his chest this very moment, offering itself upon a silver platter for you and only you. After all, it has always been yours. He has always belonged to you.

Softly, you suckle at his skin, the taste of cinnamon with a hint of iron flooding your senses as you drink him in.

His blood is addicting, your whole body coming alight with the flames of desire the longer you drink. You can feel the liquid burning through your system, igniting within your veins as the warmth spreads all throughout your body. You cannot prevent the way your core clenches rhythmically around his fingers as nothing but euphoria begins to flood your entire system.

The feeling of him removing his hand from your cunt draws another moan from you, but little do you realize just how dark your eyes have become.

“My Queen,” his hands find purchase on your waist as he pulls himself the slightest bit away from you. With hooded eyes, he watches your tongue trace over your lips, painted red with his blood. “Fuck- you’re so beautiful.”

“So good to me, Jongho.” You hum, attempting to catch your breath for the moment. “My handsome King.”

His grip tightens around you waist, pulling you upwards on his bed with him. A moment later, and you’ve turned, straddling his thighs as you stare down at him with hooded eyes.

A choked moan escapes him as he feels your hand return to palming him over his briefs. His cock twitches beneath your touch, chest heaving as he attempts to maintain a grip on his remaining sanity this evening.

“I can’t wait any longer,” his voice is low, nothing more than a desperate rasp as his hips involuntarily twitch upwards against your hand. “I need to feel you, My Queen. All of you.”

A nod is all he receives from you, an eager gleam shining within your eyes as you hook your fingers in the waistline of his briefs. You meet his gaze, waiting for that final bit of approval before you so much as begin dragging the material down his legs. Once you see him nod, quite enthusiastically, you remove that final piece of offending clothing.

A shameless groan escapes you as you see his cock resting against the skin of his lower stomach. The tip is red and angry, precome continuously leaking from the head as you wrap your hand around his base.

You lick your lips.

“Fuck-“ nothing more than a pleased hiss escapes you as you can feel your heart beating in excitement inside of your chest. “Such a pretty cock, My King.”

Jongho moans, and you notice the faintest bit of red beginning to bloom over his chest, creeping up his neck shortly afterwards.

Slowly, you begin to pump him in you hand, loving the way you can feel him twitch beneath your fingers.

“So fucking big, and all for me.” You shift above him, gazing down upon him with that same look of shameless lust that you’ve been looking at him with all evening. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me, stretching this tight little cunt and claiming me as yours.”

Jongho’s lips part, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as you teasingly drag his tip through your wet folds. Every breath that escapes him now is a mere snarl, fingers sinking into the flesh of your thighs appreciatively as he attempts to ground himself. This is everything that he could have ever wanted, and so much more.

A devious smirk pulls at the corner of your lips as you repeat your words from earlier in the day. “Let me go for a ride?”

“Please-“ a whimper falls from his lips, chest heaving as his eyes lock on the way you continue to teasingly rub your wet cunt over the length of his cock. “My Queen, please. I’m yours. I’m all yours. Claim me, Darling. Make me yours.”

His words nearly cause you to lose your balance above him, legs shaking as you steady yourself with you free hand pressing against his chest. Shamelessly, your thoughts continue to wash over him, the pure love and desire he can feel emanating from you causes his own head to spin. Never would you have been prepared for how those words make you feel, and you believe you’re starting to understand just why they all go so feral when you say that to them.

You meet his gaze, staring deeply into his eyes as you align his tip with your entrance. Ever so slowly, you begin to lower yourself down on his cock, lips parting breathlessly as you feel him stretching out your walls.

You can feel the way his hands shake against your skin, pitch black eyes locked on the space where your bodies meet. Jongho cannot bear to tear his gaze away from the glorious sight that is you sinking onto him for one second. He needs to see it all; feel you becoming one with him in such an intimate way. The way you feel dripping onto his skin, squeezing him so delicately with every inch you take has low, feral growls escaping him with every breath.

The moment he’s fully seated inside of you, moans escape both of your lips. You clench around him, feeling him throb within your tight walls as your eyes fall shut.

“Darling,” he can barely form a coherent thought, voice breathless as he practically chants the words out affectionately. “My Darling.”

“I just-“ you pant, head falling forward as you hold yourself above him. “I just need a moment.”

Your tongue comes out to wet your lips, core continuously clenching around him as the euphoric sensation of feeling him resting inside of you washes over your entire being. The buildup from earlier has made you so sensitive, and you’re worried that if you begin to move over him too soon, you won’t be able to continue to make his wishes come true. A thought which is only emphasized by how badly you want this, too.

“Take your-“ his breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut as he feels his stomach clench in pleasure. He attempts to catch his breath, “time.”

You swallow thickly, resting both of your hands over his chest and feeling the way his heart positively thunders beneath your touch. A fact which you know that yours is echoing right now, racing excitedly alongside his own.

“Feels so good, My King,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut as you give a tentative grind of your hips against him. You both moan. “Making me feel so full.”

“Yeah?” He hums, grinding his hips upwards slightly and loving how your whole body shudders in response. “You love having this thick cock buried in your tight pussy, don’t you, My Queen?”

“Yes,” you toss your head back, slowly beginning to find a rhythm as you grind yourself against him. “Fills me so well, My King.”

A deep guttural groan escapes him, cock twitching against your walls.

“Fuck-“ he hisses, hands tightening their grip over your thighs as he helps to guide your movements over him. “So tight. So warm.”

A choked moan escapes you, involuntarily clenching around him once more. A moment later, and you feel your stomach twist pleasantly, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as you lean over him.

His lips are on yours, swallowing every beautiful whimper you give him. One of his hands shift to squeeze at your ass appreciatively, helping you move over him. The other wraps around your torso, fingers pressing delicately against your spine as he holds you to him.

With every shift of your hips, he meets your every thrust, heartbeat racing right alongside your own. His head spins, and he can feel that familiar tightness building in his lower abdomen already. Every sensation is heightened, nothing but love shining in his gaze as you pull away from him to rest your forehead against his own.

“I fucking love you, My Queen,” he growls out, eyes swirling with that all to familiar blackness. “So fucking perfect, and all mine.”

You sit back to your full height, chest heaving with each breath as you still over him. The way you’re gazing down at him, nothing but that same look of tender love and affection dripping from your dark, hooded gaze has him completely mesmerized by you.

Slowly, you begin to trail your hands down his sides and to his arms, grabbing his hands into your own. With a loving smile pulling at your lips, you intertwine your fingers together, grinding your hips against his meticulously.

“I love you, My King.” The smile that pulls onto your lips is nothing short of sweet, eyes shining as you move above him.

The drag of your hips against him is slow, calculated in a way that makes Jongho’s head spin. You seem to be creating a pattern of some sort, and he cannot help but follow along with each movement that you make in his mind.

That’s when it hits him. His heart skips a beat before absolutely fluttering inside of his chest, mouth parting in a breathless moan. His eyes are staring, transfixed by the sight of his cock buried deep within your cunt as you move against him, claiming him in every way you know how.

The last threads of Jongho’s sanity snap as he feels you beginning to spell your name over him as you continue to ride his cock. His breathing deepens, every shift of your body over his own causing his eyes to darken even further. Growls escape him with each pant, chest rumbling as his fingers sink into the skin of your flesh. Barely, he contains himself.

Jongho will wait. He can wait. He’ll wait until you’ve finished claiming him in this way. For once you’re done, he will claim you.

A faint tingling sensation brushes against your upper thigh, the ghost of a touch dancing along your skin. It sends a pleasant shiver up your spine, but it’s not enough to break your concentration. Looking down reveals a thin, leathery tail with a spade-like tip wrapping itself around your leg. A sight that has you clenching around him once more.

An involuntary moan escapes you, hips faltering slightly as you feel him tighten his hold around your thigh with his tail. The way the tip teasingly caresses the sensitive skin of your inner thigh has you shuddering in response.

You turn your gaze back to him just as you finish the final letter, and you see him lick his lips.

His eyes flash, instantly pulling you down to his chest and wrapping his arms around your torso. Carefully, he plants his feet onto the mattress of the bed, rolling his hips up into yours.

The way you moan has nothing but euphoria flooding his veins.

He nips at your ear, arms squeezing around your waist. “My turn.”

The second those words leave his lips, he begins a brutal pace, thrusting up into you as he holds you to him. You body jerks with every movement, the wet sound of skin on skin filling your ears and making your head spin.

“My fucking beautiful Queen,” he growls, and the way you clench around him at his guttural tone has him smirking. “Writing your name all over this cock, as if it doesn’t already belong to you.”

You choke out a whimper, his name falling like a mantra from your lips as you cling onto him for dear life.

“Your fucking mine, Darling.” His grip tightens once more, snarls escaping him with every breath. “And now I’m going to claim you just as you’ve claimed me.”

Your eyes squeeze shut. The feeling of his cock brushing so tenderly against your walls, filling you so fully with every sharp thrust has you seeing stars. You can barely hold yourself together, the sensations overwhelming you and causing that familiar tightness to build quickly within your abdomen.

A broken moan of his name falls from your lips, your teeth latching onto his shoulder to ground yourself as more whimpers escape you.

“That’s it, My Queen.” His voice is pure animalistic as he snarls, his teeth sharpening into fangs as his fingers dig into your tender flesh. “Let yourself go. Succumb to the pleasure only Your King can provide for you.”

You squeeze him so sinfully, your essence dripping onto the skin of his thighs with every thrust he makes. You do whatever you can to hold yourself back for as long as possible, but there’s an intense feeling building within you. The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, and with every thrust, you can feel the tip of his cock brushing up against that tender spot within you.

“Jongho, I-“ your breath catches in your throat as you gasp, eyes practically rolling into the back of your head.

“What’s the matter, My Queen?” There’s a teasing lilt to the low drawl of his words. “Going to come already?”

A loud moan is all that greets him, whines and whimpers falling repeatedly from your lips. It’s as if those are the only sounds that you can make, and given the way your cunt is squeezing him so tightly, he knows you’re close.

His cock twitches.

“Fucking come for me, My Queen.” He growls, nipping at the skin of your flesh as he does whatever he can to increase your pleasure for the moment. “Come with Your King. Fucking drench me in you.”

The very moment those words escape him, you’re tossing your head back. A scream of his name tears from your throat as your orgasm washes over you. Your whole body shakes, eyes rolling as your vision goes white. You can feel your release gushing onto him, dripping out of your tight little hole and absolutely soaking him in you.

Jongho stills inside you, a feral snarl falling from his lips are he cries out your name in bliss. He can feel his whole body tingling as he collapses completely onto the bed, your figure covering his own as he feels your release dripping onto the skin of his thighs.

His chest heaves, senses completely surrounded by everything you as he attempts to calm himself down. Lazily, he grinds his hips up into you, hearing how you whimper for him once more.

Your breaths mingle, chests heaving as you hold onto each other for dear life. Neither of you wishes to move, absolutely revelling in the euphoric bliss that floods your veins. Still, his tail remains wrapped around your thigh.

Softly, Jongho begins placing tender kisses along the skin of your shoulder and up your neck. His one hand comes up to support the back of your head, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, sensual kiss.

“You did so well for me, My Queen.” He hums against you, feeling your warmth pulse around him from his words. He leans his forehead against your own, a smug grin tugging at his features in the next second. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Your lips part wordlessly, blinking at him as your vision finally clears. You shift your hips.

“Neither did I.”

Your admission pulls a pleased rumble from his chest, loving how he can still feel your release coating the skin of his thighs and dripping onto the mattress below.

“Are you-“ He swallows, eyes searching your features intently. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” You smile, and he unknowingly breathes a sigh of relief.

“I was worried I was too much to start.” He admits lowly, averting his gaze briefly.

You place a tender kiss to his lips, cupping his face reassuringly in your hand. “It wasn’t too much, Jongho. It was perfect.” You manage to get him to look at you. “You are perfect.”

A content rumble greets your ears. Softly, his one hand begins to caress your spine, his tail unwinding from around your thigh. His lips press tenderly against every free inch of your skin that he can find, littering kisses against your face as he holds you close.

Another pleased rumble shakes his chest. “My beautiful Queen.”

You nuzzle your cheek against him, burying your face into the side of his neck. “My handsome King.”

“I love you, Darling.” He hums, nothing but the deepest form of sincerity and love shining within his gaze as he looks towards you.

“I love you, Baby Bear.” Your eyes flutter shut. “So good to me.”

“Always, for you.” Jongho places another tender kiss onto the top of your head.

A brief pause before he’s speaking once more.

“Can I get you anything, Darling?” There’s a hint of concern in his voice as he addresses you. “Water? A bath? Maybe a snack?”

You shake your head lightly, a soft hum escaping you. “Just hold me, Jongho. I want to feel you against me for a little while longer.”

A soft coo greets your ears in response, him shifting slightly beneath you so that you’re both more comfortable.

“Alright, Darling.” He chuckles, hand continuing to stroke over your spine lovingly. “Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll make sure to take proper care of you.”

“You already have.” Your voice is a mere whisper on your lips, hearing his heart echoing alongside your own, and beating together as one.

His entire body warms. A pleasant warmth which fills his heart and spreads outwards to the tips of his fingers as he places another kiss onto the top of your head. The way your chest rises and falls in time with his own only serves to heighten the feeling.

“I’m never one to skip out on making sure you receive proper aftercare. None of us are.” He voices lowly, hearing you hum in response. “I want you to know that.”

Softly, you nod against him. A moment later, and your breathing evens out. From the way that you curl in deeper into his chest, Jongho knows that you’ve just fallen asleep.

Truly, this is everything he could have ever wanted, and so much more. Here your rest, completely naked in his arms, after allowing him the honour of making love to you for the first time. You came together, just as he’s always fantasized about. Just as he’s always dreamed.

Never before has he felt such euphoria flood his veins. Hell, never before has he come that hard in his life, and all because of you.

You, who lays atop of him, resting soundly as he cradles you lovingly to his chest. You, who he would give anything and everything for. In a heartbeat.

Jongho wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world. From the way that your thoughts continue to echo shamelessly throughout his own mind, he knows that neither would you.

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sinfullyrosey · 2 years ago

Text

Feral Follies - Part 1

Floyd Leech X GN!Honey Badger!Reader

Warnings: Biting, Violence, Enemies to Lovers (who are still enemies), Hate Fucking, Rough Sex, Dom!Floyd (he tops), Dom!Reader, Eel Slime as Lube (sorry not sorry)

No smut in this part, but will in the next. I haven’t really been posting any big fics as of lately due to school, so wanted to get something out there, even if it’s not any actual smut.

Also, it’s a chance for me to try something different by asking ya’ll whether or not I should give Reader male or female genitalia for part 2 of this fic. Originally, I was just going to have the scene play out and not specify anything, but I got stuck writing it and now am considering giving ‘em female bits just to make things easier on me. Or should I stick to my original plan and leave it up in the air? I’ll be able to be more descriptive with an actual set of naughty bits.

I’ll try not to use any pronouns regardless of the final outcome though.

Your relationship with the infamous Floyd Leech is rather… complicated to say the least. The two of you didn’t have the best foot forward when meeting and this had undoubtedly caused a sort of heated rivalry between you and the Leech brother.

It had been during lunch, while you were walking over to your dormmates’ table, food in hand, when you noticed a tall, Octavinelle student looming over your friend. Said friend was cowering from the looming figure, while a few of your dormmates bristled and snarled at the stranger but didn’t move to defend the quivering beastman.

This didn’t sit well with you, so you hurried over to the table and put your tray down, before climbing onto the table to gain some leverage. This got the attention of everyone at the table, including your friend and the stranger, and before the tall asshole could say anything, you promptly bit into his shoulder without any warning, just like how you were taught back home.

All hell broke loose after that, students were panicking and hollering as the scene unfolded before them. The student, who you currently were latched onto, didn’t take too kindly to your actions and retaliated in turn. He growled and grabbed at you, attempting to pry you off, swearing at you as he did so.

You responded by biting down harder, drawing a few more droplets of blood.

The next of what happened was a bit of a blur as you had been rather blinded by your initial fury during the whole ordeal. You remember the student trying to bite you back but being unable to reach your shoulder or neck properly. He settled for simply clawing and punching at you, and at some point, began wrestling your still latched on form to the ground.

He was on top of you, trying to smother you under his weight by the time faculty arrived. A few other students also from his dorm arrived, attempting to break you two apart without getting caught in the crossfire themselves. There was even one of them who looked oddly like the jerk you were mentally maiming, though he kept his distance and tried to defuse the situation with words aimed at his lookalike.

Eventually staff was able to pull you off him and separate the two of you before matters really got out of hand. It was a wonder how neither of you got expelled, but from the looks the headmaster gave, it appeared this wasn’t the first time this sort of occurrence happened involving the said Octavinelle student.

Crowley left you off with a warning and said that since it was only you and the other who got injured and there was no property damage, you only had to help clean the cafeteria for two weeks.

Whatever, at least that jerkwad got what was coming to him, so it was worth the punishment.

Since that day, the student you now knew as Floyd, had taken to referring to you as “Barracuda” in reference to your feisty nature and stubborn, yet powerful bite. You didn’t much care for such nickname, especially after learning that the name was slightly derogatory on his part, a way to belittle and distant you from him.

No matter, you took to referring to him as “Kinyesi” in return, an obviously derogatory term of your own. He didn’t catch on until much later when one of Savanaclaw’s students told him what the term directly translated to.

Though your relationship didn’t stop at just name calling, oh no no, it spread into verbal and physical confrontations as well. That first fight in the cafeteria certainly wasn’t your last. You and Floyd had gotten into plenty of other fights over the past few months, usually taking place outside of class, away from the other students and staff. Rarely did you two ever get in a brawl where you could get caught and sent to the headmaster again.

And yet, the bruises and scars still painted a very vivid picture to anyone who saw them to what has been occurring between the two of you since that first fight. Your arms, face, and torso were littered with healed scratch marks and bitemarks. The same was for Floyd, accept he was the only one with a deep bitemark scar on his shoulder. The mereel still hadn’t managed to pay you back for that one.

That is, until today.

Floyd managed to get the upper hand by ambushing you while you were alone in one of the infrequently used hallways on campus. He snuck up behind you and unsuspectingly picked up your smaller frame by your underarms and slammed your back against the wall.

Your bag clattered to the floor in the process and your head spun from the impact. Once you gathered your bearings, you glared up at that stupidly, toothy grin of his.

“Hehe, hi little Barracuda.~”

You huffed, baring your fangs, ears flattened backwards in a warning to back off. Floyd was unfazed by the threat, more so amused.

“Fuck off, Kinyesi.”

His grin faltered at that, but as quickly as it fell, it curled back up, wider, and more sinister. Before you could even think to react, the eel sprung forward and clamped his jaw right into your shoulder, sinking his sharp teeth into your flesh.

Your eyes widened and a sharp hiss fell past your lips. On instinct you struggled in his grip, but was unable to free yourself, let alone gain proper leverage given your dangling position. He managed to draw some blood, much like how your own bite did to him.

Your kicking and clawing did nothing to remove the eel’s maw from your shoulder, so you were left with raging insults thrown his way as you cursed him out. The bastard was unfazed by your violent attempts and only responded by gnawing at the injury, causing more jolts of pain to shoot out along your shoulder and neck area.

But as quickly as he sunk his teeth into you, Floyd soon released himself from you and pulled away to now face you once more. He had that same annoying grin on his face, this time painted in the scarlet red of your own blood.

He licked his lips.

“Now we’re even!”

He said it so nonchalantly, like a child who just hit the kid who hit them first in retaliation. He was trivializing such a brutal display like it was nothing. You couldn’t help but growl up at him, even after he placed you back down on the ground, still grinning down at you.

Your hand raised to inspect the damage. You winced at the sharp sting and hot feeling of the small amount of blood now clotting on your shoulder. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad, nothing compared to the nasty bite you initially gave him, anyways.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. Why didn’t he cause more damage? Try to maul you or rip a chunk of your flesh out? He had the perfect opportunity and just, squandered it?!

“The fuck you mean, “We’re even?” You just bit my shoulder, unprompted, asshole!”

He merely shrugged as if it was obvious.

“You bit me unprompted and left a mark, so it’s only fair I do the same to you little Baracuda!~”

Your tail swayed in irritation at his response. He wasn’t entirely wrong in what he said, but you technically attacked him to defend your friend. He attacked you because he’s a psychotic, violent jerk! Yours wasn’t unprompted, but his sure as hell was!

“And now we match!”

Ears perked at the statement, and you could only look at him in complete bewilderment at what he just said. His sadistic grin had turned to one of playfulness and contentment, almost sounding, friendly in a way. Not a hint of mockery or threat could be heard in his tone. He sounded genuinely happy at what he had just proclaimed to you, as if he hadn’t just bit into your flesh like a predator starved.

“You are some next level batshit, Kinyesi.”

Weeks had gone by since that day, with little change between you and Floyd Leech. Well, on your part at least. You still hated the twin, and the two of you still had your weekly brawls that usually ended in either a draw or you, somehow, coming out on top. You still hated his guts and he still found joy in annoying you.

But recently the fights had somehow… shifted.

They were still violent and full of loathing, but it felt as if the atmosphere surrounding you two had a new air to it. Like the heat was no longer just about the animosity shared between you and him. As if something else, something new and unknown, was present whenever either of you landed a particularly harsh bite to the other.

The bites had become less painful, less about causing damage and more aimed towards a direction you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was a foreign and strange feeling that built up in the pit of your stomach and festered there, growing hotter and hotter the more you fought.

The foundation of your and Floyd’s relationship had changed at some point and neither have properly acted on it, let alone, realized the shift.

You and the Leech brother found yourselves once again duking it out in an isolated spot on campus, away from the prying eyes of the other students and staff. Floyd had provoked you like he always did and before thinking things through, you had already tackled him to the ground, growling and spitting insults with every attack you threw his way.

In turn, he threw some of his own punches right back at you and had even managed to get you in a choke hold twice before you clawed your way back out again. Both of you were already gaining some new claw marks and bruises. Floyd was loving every second of it and acting as if you were merely play-wrestling, despite your expression saying otherwise.

He had managed to pin you to the ground once more, putting all his weight on you and holding your hands down so you couldn’t use them. You were spitting and hissing at him, trying to wiggle your hands free and bucking your hips to try and push him off of you, but to no avail.

Floyd was unfazed by your efforts and was sending a slew of mocking taunts and insults right back. His red-stained, pearly whites flashing in warning, possibly about to sink into your skin for the hundredth time. You growled, baring yours right back as if to say, “Try me, bitch.”

Your efforts to remove him caused you to feel something you hadn’t felt before. Something that was not just his flat pelvic area… Something sharper… pointier…

You suddenly froze, body on high alert and aware of something hard poking at your lower region. You sniffed at the air, picking up a distinct scent. You slowly, forcefully pulled your gaze away from his face and down towards his lower half to spot a noticeable tent peeking out from his pants. Your eyes widened and breath hitched.

“Is… is that..?”

Oh Great Sevens, he was popping a boner in the middle of your fight.

A heated flush took over your face, removing the redness from your anger and replacing it with embarrassment. Your eyes widened up at him in disbelief and disgust. His eccentric expression hadn’t changed, lips curling up wider in excitement.

“Oh, my fucking-ARE YOU TURNED ON BY THIS?!?!”

The mereel let out an uncharacteristic trill sound you hadn’t heard before and got closer to your face.

“Maybe.~”

Maybe your ass. His dick was harder than those weak attempt at cookies Kalim made for that one celebration a few weeks back. You huffed hot air into his sleazy face and hissed.

“Neee, I’m bored of our usual game, Barracuda, let’s play something more fun!~”

He proceeded to emphasize his point with a quick thrust of his clothed dick against your crotch. The contact sent a sharp jolt of heat to your lower stomach, and you bit your lip to keep any sound down.

“What are you-” You were interrupted when you took a sharp inhale at the pleasant feeling building in your nether regions.

“I’ve noticed a change in our little game, Barracuda. I’ve notices that you smell different whenever we wrestle, different than your usual smell. Your scent is more… inviting.~”

A blush rose to your cheeks. So, it wasn’t just you who’s noticed, huh? Something was different that even the eel jerk had taken notice and decided to act upon it by grinding his hips down onto you. And you’d be lying if you said this shift wasn’t in the least bit welcomed. You were still trying to wrap your mind around these newfound feelings, but his blunt advances in the matter were aiding to convince you easier.

But did you really want this, truly? With him of all people? The big bad eel of Octavinelle Dorm? The giant thorn in your side for the past month or so? The guy who got your heart racing and blood boiling in a mix of frustration and odd attraction. The one who currently was on top of you, still pinning your smaller body to the ground and grinning down at you in that charmingly condescending way.

The guy you so desperately wanted to kiss and let rail you right about now.

. . .

Ah, fuck it.

You threw all doubt to the wind and proceeded to aggressively mash your mouth against his, teeth clattering together and lips sloppily molding together in a mess of heated aggression and hormones. The eel was taken aback at first, but slowly grinned into the kiss before returning it with just as much vigor.

You moaned into the kiss, pushing your hips up to meet his own grinding thrusts. Heat started to pool inside you and spread throughout your body as Floyd let go of your hands to instead roam free and grope around your sides and butt. With your own free hands, you quickly wrapped them around his head and neck to pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

When he tried to pull away from your kiss, possibly to say something stupid or make some quip at how desperate you were being, you growled lowly before harshly biting his bottom lip. The sharp nip drew blood and got a disgruntled groan out of the taller male. His bicolored eyes leered down at you, taking it as a challenge and trying to bite into your tongue, albeit unsuccessfully. Instead, you bit his tongue, much gentler in comparison to the one you did on his lip.

His attempts made you pull away, a string of reddish-pink saliva connecting you two before breaking off. You licked the copper liquid from your lips, grinning up at him while he snarled down at you in return.

“What’s wrong, Floydy-boy, badger got your tongue?” You teased, tail wagging beneath you.

The eel huffed, but matched your smirk, lips pulling back to reveal more and more of his razor-sharp teeth in a show of challenge. A challenge you were willing to accept with just as much vigor, if not more so.

“No, but you’re about to have an eel have yours, Barracuda.”

#Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland Smut #TWST #TWST Smut #Floyd Leech X Reader #honey badgers really just woke up and chose violence #for those of you wondering 'kinyesi' is Swahili for 'shit' or 'fecal matter' uwu #GN!Reader

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oceansssblue · 6 months ago

Note

I love Mermay! May I request a mer!reader x Sailor/Pirate!Fives? The reader is a siren and is technically supposed to be luring Fives and his friends to their deaths, but ends up not doing so after getting into a convo with him. When someone (Palpatine, Fox, random guy, whoever you want) does try to kill Fives, the reader is able to save him. Happy ending please!

Hi there! Yay! As I have said before, I will be writing all my requests, but MERMAY! requests have priority over others even though they have been requested on a later note!

Dear anon, ty for the request! We're def going for a "cruel" badass siren that will be to her surprise captivated with our charming pirate Fives. Palpatine is obviously the bad guy.

I don't know much about sailing and i'm trying to do a past era alternative universe thing, so ignore any incongruences and that.

I hope you like it!

Xx,

Sky.

"A CHANGE OF CURRENT"

FIVES/MER!FREADER 📩💔💖

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF DEATH, BLOOD, WOUNDS, CRUELTY, SIRENS KILLING/EATING HUMANS, BITES, SCARS. REFERENCES TO ECHO'S TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE. DON'T GET SCARED. THIS IS MOSTLY FANTASY&MISTERY&FLUFF.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Being friends with the Captain doesn't allow you to lounge around, Fives" a voice almost identical to his teases him at his back.

The man in question turns around and grins. Echo has a half-fond, half-exasperated tiny little smile on his face. He's dressed in a similar way to him; thin linnen shirt with a deep opened v-neck and rolled up-pants, just in different tones of blue.

"Actually, it allows me to do exactly that" Fives retorts cheekily. Before Echo has a chance to put him into place, always the responsible of the two twins, he adds. "And I'll let you know lounging is a very important task on the "79's".

Echo arches an eyebrow. He crosses his arms in front of his chest; his hook just grazing the still pale skin of his left peck. Too much time spent trapped away from the sun.

"Is that so?" His brother humours him. The sun is hovering right upon them, bringing darker shades on Echo's already angular face. He's slowly filling out a bit, though, and for that Fives is glad. "How does that work, exactly?"

Fives tilts his head to the side. Echo always thought one of his twin's radiant smiles could iluminate any ship at the darkest of nights. That's the way he could eventually find the way back home, back to the 79's; Fives.

"Keeping a good mood is crutial to a ship's crew" his twin continues, going on one of his tangents. "It makes everyone work better, faster. Reduces fatigue and dangerous thoughts like plotting a mutiny".

Sometimes Echo wonders if Fives has all of this little stupid dialogues planned in his head just because, waiting for their chance to come up. The silliness of his twin's mind never ceases to surprise him; even after so many years of living together travelling through the seven seas.

"Like any of us would ever plot something of the sorts against Rex" Echo rolls his eyes, amused.

Fives shrugs, big smile still in his tanned face. They used to look so similar, Fives and him, before the accident. Now there are just... resemblances. Similarities. Probably the thing he hates the most about what happened –besides loosing his limbs–; how they had visually differentiated him so much of his twin, of his other half. For all Fives could be tiring and obnoxious, Echo knows he couldn't live without him. Even though getting used to his new body has been incredibly hard, he's glad for this second chance with him.

"I dunno' " Fives voice quickly brings him back to present time. He mimicks something dropping onto his head with his hands. "I think I'd look great with Captain Rex's hat".

Fives imitates the Captain's fierce expression and seriousness, still holding onto his imaginary pirate hat; and Echo can't keep the chuckles inside.

"You're a jokester, Fives".

His twin grins again.

"Don't make me repeat why that's important, now".

Echo smiles. Softly, this time.

Around them, at this time of the early afternoon, right after lunch, the crew of the 79' is surprisingly quiet and calm. The sea is peaceful today as well; nothing like the day before or the previous night. They're delving into dangerous waters, now. Places that don't quite appear on the map.

"What were you doing here anyways, all alone?" Echo asks.

Fives hums distractedly and glances in front of him again, at the sea; one leg staying inside the ship and the other dangling over board. The two of them have always been a little reckless like that; specially Fives.

"Thought I heard something" he whispers, then turns back to his twin again. His eyes suddenly look innocently young again, and his twin is suddenly reminded of past memories, of the two of them enlisting in the 79' when they were barely kids. "Do you think sirens really exist, brother?"

Echo sighs. They have all heard stories; but no one on board has ever personally seen one. He doesn't really know what to believe; could they be truly real, or are they just stories invented by lonely men that live by the sea?

"I don't know, Fives" he answers, going for honesty.

Fives hums, scanning the waters again; looking for something it's not quite there.

"If they do, do you think they're truly evil, like the stories tell?"

Echo stays quiet for some minutes. Then, he glances down at his hook; at the wood that replaces his legs. The skin that stays in contact with them feels sore and pained; he really should get some rest. He sighs, tired.

"I don't think so. If they do exist, and they do have something against us, I guess they'd just want to kill us directly, eliminate what they consider a danger and threat for their waters" he pauses and breathes in deeply. "I don't think they'd slowly torture us like humans do. We're the cruelest beings on land or not".

Fives golden eyes silently travel back to Echo's. He reads between the lines. He understands his point.

"You're probably right" he quietly answers, the moment unexpectedly delicate now. He shakes his head and smiles. Softer, gentle, now. "Come on. Let's go shut some eye".

Fives stands up with renewed energy, abandoning heavy feelings behind; and pats Echo's back affectionately. His twin nods knowingly, and follows him through the ship. Even though it doesn't mean he doesn't feel just as deeply –Maker knows he does–, Fives has never been one to hold up emotional conversations for too much time. They weigh heavy in his heart.

Echo takes his space on the thin cot –if you could call a bunch of old shredded clothes and blankets pushed together that– beside him and closes his eyes. Both of them, that night, dream of sirens and mermaids and all those stories the sailors spread around. They aren't aware how close they are to see some of those stories become alive.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You've been following them for two days now. Your job is to patrol the very limits of your world with the human's sea; and you were instantly alerted of their presence when they arrived, that enourmous ship of them difficult to miss.

It's not the biggest one you've seen. You had a fight with another one once, years ago; it's wood almost a dark black and it's sails a vibrant red. You still remember its name; Death Star. An aproppiate name for such an evil captain, such an evil ship. That fight was the main reason you had been assigned to keep all humans out of this waters; they just take and take, leaving nothing but destruction behind. You're not about to lose anyone else; not to the unforgiving, beautiful, yet terrifying sea, and definitively not to one of them.

This humans don't really seem to be looking for anything in particular. You had waited patiently, trying to find out their needs and wants; but reached no logical conclusion. They just seem to be... Wandering. Exploring. Ah, perhaps they're the curious ones. Many humans seem to be, just in the way young sirens are in their first years; wanting to swim through every single corner of the sea. See the world with their own eyes, and not through what elders tell them. You had been like that as well, in the past.

Mm. No matter. You're not putting the lifes of your people at risk just because these ones are looking fairly innocent. You know how quickly the tide can change directions, how surprising and dangerous the currents can be; and you're not going to let yourself be dragged by it. You'll do what you have to do; observe, wait patiently, and at night, lure them in. Your tongue wraps delicately around your sharp canines, excitement running through your veins.

You swim deeper into the sea below the ship. You almost feel impatient to play with them.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You curse under your breath, quickly hiding underwater when he almost catches sight of you while scanning the sea. You've seen this particular human before; often staring at the water or the horizon, a contemplative look on his face. He's a dreamer, this one; sometimes looking younger than you suppose he really is, others quickly snapping back to reality and jumping to his work with surprising skill. He's handsome as humans go; bronze skin looking smooth under the unforgiving sun and trained muscles peaking under his semi-transparent shirt. He has a strong jaw and nose, expressive eyebrows and golden eyes; a trait that somehow seems common with his fellow soldiers, maybe sharing the same origin, perhaps even some of them being family.

Watching him carefully under the distortion of the dark blue water, you're developed hearing catch a second voice entering the scene; and the human turns around in his precarious position on the border of the ship. This one is named "79's". It must be a reference to something you can't quite place; or perhaps a year of relevance to them.

Human tongue is quite easy to learn, contrary to your native Mando'a; so you have no trouble following the conversation even underwater. Both men hold affection clear in their voice; indicating a closer kind of relationship than two normal sailors on the same ship would have. The second voice sounds more mature to you; perhaps simply because this first human –Fives, you learn, what a curious name for a person– doesn't seem to take life very seriously. But then his voice drops, quietly asking something that makes your heart beat faster inside your chest; if your people are real.

It's a common thing to ponder between sailors. Humans like the tingling excitement of being a bit afraid; of imagining situations that may never end up happening in their heads. But no, this one doesn't sound at all afraid; just curious, cautious. When he asks his brother –you confirm– if he thinks stories about sirens are real, of what they do to humans, anger spreads like a fire inside of you. Oh, yes, because they don't do anything of the sorts to other creatures on this earth. The second voice –Echo's– answers in a quiet, delicate way; and you have to swim closer to surface just to take a look at him. You suddenly put things together; something horribly traumatic must have happened to his human, for him to look like that. You can't imagine living without your tail. It saddens you, inevitably; he's still handsome even like this, he would have been even prettier without his injuries. He would look like... Fives.

You blink, a bit confused at the direction of your own thoughts. Fives own voice tinges with understanding and fondness. He pats his brother affectionately, and then forgets about the sea; both of them quietly retiring for now, their steps echoing against the wood as they wook away.

You're left with a weird feeling inside of you. This two seemed... Kind. It isn't a word you usually associate with humans; but here you are.

You shake your head, mumbling to yourself. You won't let them fool you. Humans still carry all that darkness inside of them; that evil. You want none of that in your home, your sea.

Tomorrow, you say to yourself.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fives smiles fondly at the sight of little 'Soka staring at the full moon in front of them. It's as big as they've ever seen it; very close to the sea, iluminating a silvery path towards the 79's in the otherwise dark night.

Ashoka is pure energy. The girl is hiperactive even at hours like this, were most of the crew has already gone to sleep; too excited to lay still in bed in the cabin she shares with Rex. The Captain of the 79's had adopted her many years ago, accepted her in his ship with a blink of an eye after finding out Ashoka had been abandoned in land by Captain Windu no less –an ex-friend and current enemy of Rex–; the small girl quickly falling under his wing like his own daughter. Fives can't understand how anyone could leave behind a kid like that; Ashoka is the only girl aboard, but she is like their own personal ray of sunlight. Hope. She's a special kid; has a perfect eye on when to pursue their enemies and when to abandon or change routes, an innate pirate even as young as she is. Fives can only try to imagine what things she would be able to do with more age and experience.

For now, though, 'Soka's just a kid. And kids do silly things; like playfully sticking out her tongue and precariously balancing her steps in the baupress of the 79's. Fives rolles his eyes good-naturatedly. He isn't too hard on the kid; he had been fearless and oblivious to danger once too. Hell, he still is, sometimes. It's just his way of being; free. He doesn't want to die by Rex hands if something happened to her, though, so he motions down with a flick of his hand.

"Get your feet down here, m' lady" he jokes, then extends his hand to hers in a courteous offer.

'Soka laughs, a sound that echoes softly in the silence of the night.

"Mm. I don't know if I shall accept such proposition, good sir" she answers, standing up in the thin baupress as if it is nothing.

Her dark black hair, looking almost blue, flies freely with the wind even with her white bandana wrapped around it. Her skin is as tanned as his, freckles tracing the outlines of the white scars that mark her otherwise perfect face. Like Fives and Echo, she has basically grown up on a moving ship.

"I'd like to keep my head, my lady, if you'd be so kind to help me" Fives insists, eyes turning to a gentle warning.

Ashoka rolls her big blue eyes.

"Okay..." she grumbles, then, abandoning the theatricality.

She turns her direction with flowless agility and starts her careful way back to him.

The ship rocks dangerously in the water –the sea not completely peaceful today–, and Ashoka stops in surprise and fear, holding her balance as best as she can. Fives also holds his breath. The 79's stops moving and they both sigh in relief, staring at each other well aware of the risks.

The girl chuckles nervously.

"Welp, that was a close one." She guiltily admits, restarting her way towards him. "I keep forgetting this waters are dangerous and not exactly what we're used to, huh?"

Fives doesn't tear his eyes from her.

"Yeah" he agrees. "Maybe you should leave your acrobatics for when we're back on the GAR sea..."

Big, angry waves splashes against the botton of the ship again; a sudden move that disestabilises Ashoka for a second time. It all happens too fast; the girl's right feet steps just on the edge of the baupress, losing balance, and her weight leans too much over one side with a terrified gasp. By the time Fives has rushed forward in a desperate attempt to catch her hand, Ashoka has already been devoured by the dark see with a dooming splash.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You smirk darkly when the sound of a body hitting the surface of the water is transmitted under the waves. You almost want to laugh at the way the small human desperately moves his legs to try to stay afloat; the sea isn't looking good for creatures without fins tonight, and it is obvious that this female doesn't even know how to properly swim even in calm circumstances. Maybe it's just because she's small, you're not sure.

You strike at her –harshly tugging her leg down and sinking her under the surface– right when another body drops into the sea. You snarl, irritated by the interuption, and turn around, scanning the water around you. Just five or six meters away, there he is; the human named Fives, the dreamer, the one who almost discovered you ahead of time.

This one does now how to swim. Even though his eyes are clearly pannicked, searching for her fellow human companion among the darkness of the black waves, his legs calmly move just enough to keep him afloat; conserving very much needed energy. His clothes are stuck to his body; both humans look so utterly small in the openness of the water...

The small female human screams, terrified, still not grasping her new reality; and the man shouts her name in a hoarse voice, squinting and desperately trying to find her. The girl goes to shout again; and your clawed hand quickly reaches up to close around her throat –not to really cut her breathing of, but as a warning–. You're not known for your patience, and you really can't stand creatures screeching.

Fives golden eyes, still having a shine to them with the moonlight, finally turns to your direction; and his whole face morphs into wonder, fear and shock, quickly taking in your claws and sharp teeth, the gills on the side of your neck and the dangerous swoosh of the powerful tail behind you. The small girl trembles in your strong arms; you glance down at her, bored but curious at the same time. She really is the smallest human you have crossed pass with. Are those marks that shine white on her face scars?

"Please" Fives voice barely picks up with the sounds of the waves and the wind. "You don't want to hurt her".

His words and his firm stare stuns you for a second. Then, you laugh out loud, the sound being carried away by the howling wind.

You haven't used the human tongue for so long... Since that fight. You'd be kind to humour this human for now. Perhaps getting to know them for a bit before eliminating them would help you understand them better and kill them easier in the future. For as small as humans are, they do make interesting big weapons.

"Don't I?" You smirk, tongue wrapping teasingly around your rigth canine. You caress the girl's hair with the hand that is not carefully holding her against her throat. You push your nose up to her neck and smell; then tilt your face back to the male. "Mm. Perhaps not hurt her. Just quickly kill her, no pain".

Fives trembles in the cold of the sea. The girl too. You grin.

"Why?" Is his pained answer. He's trying to remain calm, you can see that, even if his insides live in complete turmoil. "To eat her?"

You make a face.

"No. Human is not my favorite kind of dish" you inmediately answer, then shrug desinterested. "You kill us, I kill you first. It's the sea's law, sailor".

Fives frowns.

"We kill you? I didn't even know you truly existed until now" he points out.

Ah, humans are such natural spokesperson. Always finding an argument no matter their cause.

"You're people" you correct, drawing a claw down the girls face, not enough to draw blood from it, just a distracted caress.

Fives face... Pouts.

"That's pretty unfair, if I may say so. You can't blame a whole species in the name of a few".

You let your gaze find his eyes again. He's so determined it's entertaining to watch.

"You claim you're different?" You ask, observing him.

He nods.

You can see the fatigue starting to creep onto him. You're holding the freezing girl with your own strength, but he's on his own. You wonder how much longer would he be able to stay afloat. Maybe you should just wait and watch him sink.

"See those scars on Ashoka's face?" His words pull your attention back at her white marks. She tries to stay still while you study her. "They were made by bad people. Cruel humans. My brother Echo suffered by others as well. And yet here we are. I love Ashoka as if she were my own sister. I love my twin. I'd do everything to protect them. I don't want to cause pain to them".

You huf.

"That's easy. No one wants to hurt people that are dear to them. What about other's that aren't? Would you care?"

Fives is stubborn. You'll give him that.

"I wouldn't purposedly hurt others for the sake of doing so. Or if there's any other way. Look, there... Must be some bad sirens too. People who just enjoy killing and hunting indefense creatures just because they feel joy watching them suffer; not a matter of protecting their home or territory. And there must be good ones" he breathes raggedly. "It's the same with humans. There is evil and kindness in every living being. If you'd only gave us a chance, you'd be able to see it".

You hum. He makes a point. The excitement melts down. Your curiosity doesn't. Are all humans this interesting?

"What is your Captain looking for in this waters, Fives?"

His mouth opens in surprise.

"You..."

"Know you?" You chuckle, moving your tail slowly. "Mm. I've been studying you for days, I know some things. The answer, sailor?"

Fives forces himself to push through his shock and confussion to answer you.

"We've been paid handsomely to explore this part of the Unkown Seas. We have a cartographer aboard, he's been working nonstop since we crossed the GAR frontier."

You hum, recalling those maps the humans use to sail the seas without getting too lost of their way.

"So there's nothing you want from us?" You insist.

To your shock, Fives smiles; a small, almost cheeky tug of lips.

"Well, I do have a lot of questions about sirens now that I've seen you, but no, not really. Like I said, we didn't even know you truly existed. We just want to make our trip and return to land safely".

You observe him in silence. You feel the girls energy draining too; blinking heavily.

"Mm" you hum, pushing her against his arms in a second. Fives stares at you, wide eyed, not expecting you to move that fast. "You can call for your human friends to help, sailor. I've decided I will just keep an eye on your ship for now".

Then, before Fives has the chance to answer, you tear your hands away from the girl and dissapear under the sea.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fives receives the reprimand of his life at Rex's personal delivery. He's task with leaving the ship shiny up and down; Ashoka also punished along him. If there's something the Captain of the 79's doesn't show, it's mercy. Oh, he's polite and gentle enough, if the situation calls for it; but he doesn't let things slip by. He's always aware, always scanning his crew with his amber eyes; and even though both 'Soka and Fives had tried to make the incident sound less of a danger, just an unimportant accident, there's really no way going around the fact that they had had a very close, dangerous encounter with a Siren.

Rex doesn't believe them at first. But then he sees the light marks on Ashoka's neck; there's nothing deep or worrying, but they're definitely shaped like some kind of claws, and he know's his fair number of fish and sharks to know they can't have done anything of the sort. Fives is guilty, yes, but he seems honest when he retells the experience. Ashoka too, a pleading look of forgiveness in her big blue eyes. Rex has no other option than to accept the story as truth.

Everyone on board of the 79's has the chance to see said siren with their own eyes a pair of days later. It's at night, so no one really sees her for quite some time; til Ashoka suddenly gasps and points out towards the see with wonder –and a sliver of fear– in her eyes. Rex quickly squints and stares in surprise. Well, that's a siren all right. The Captain and his men only have time to observe her for a minute before she smirks and plunges down into the water, her tail a silent goodbye.

Fives grins and elbows Echo.

"See? What a stalker. I think she likes me" he jokes, and Echo rolls his eyes pushing him with an exasperated smile.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Morning, dear siren" Fives greets you, carefully using the ropes to lower himself with his feet against the outside of the ship's structure, still on his shining the 79's duty. "How has sleep being under there?"

You splash him with your tail in irritation. There's no peace with the sailor around; and he has developed the annoying habit of periodically coming to talk to you.

Fives gasps with the cold water drenching his clothes; but his face quickly morphs from surprise to cheerful amusement.

"Why, thank you. I did notice I had started to smell too" he then smirks and studies your body up and down in a way that makes you as mad as nervous. "Darling, if you just wanted to see me wet, though... There's better ways we can enjoy together."

Even though there's a blush fighting it's way through your face, you keep your expresion neutral and narrow your eyes at him.

"You're the most annoying human I've ever met".

Five grins; as if your words were a personal compliment for him.

"You're magnificent company as well, dear siren" he retorts, unbothered.

You tilt your head, glancing up at him. It's both funny and irritating the way this human talks to you. He should fear you; you could jump up right now and kill him in a blink, and yet he's always like this around you. Curious, awed, and cautious while being impossibly and purposedly irritating as well. You wonder if it's his weird human way of making friends.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fives reintroduces a wary Ashoka to you. It's only sensitive for her to be cautious; after all, you did have your claws around her neck not so long ago. After Fives' reassurance and a few patient words on your part, though, she quickly leaves the past behind; and watches Fives' careless and friendly interaction with you with bright eyes.

You grow fond of her as the days pass. It surprises you the way the girl seems atuned to other creatures of the sea; smaller ones like rain-fishes and seahorses always curiously coming up to meet her. You've heard of people like her before; humans with a special conection to the sea, with an instinctual understanding of it. Your people believe humans too came from the sea; and some just happen to conserve traits of their real origins more than others. If so, Ashoka is definitively one of them; and perhaps any of these sailors that seem for some reason persistent on spending more time at sea than in true land.

One late afternoon you ask Fives of this; of his will of travelling through the seas. You ask him wether he misses land, other human civilizations and things; but Fives shruggs with a smile. He tells you he likes it here, aboard on the 79's with his brothers, his family; and opens up about his own past as well. You listen to him mesmerised; feeling again like a kid whose being told interesting stories of lands far away.

After Fives finishes his and Echo's story –their misfortune making a strong feeling of protectiveness soar inside of you–, he glances at you with a tilt of his head, suddenly quiet and pensive.

"Plus" he continues, voice barely a whisper. "There's a certain peace you can't find anywhere else but the sea".

Even though his words are carefully soft and his demeanour almost shy –very uncharasteristal of him–, his bright eyes are full of heavy emotions; almost wanting to tell you a story different than what his words tell you. Almost whispering to you there's something more to his words than what they say.

You sink under the surface of the sea so only your eyes are peaking above the waves; needing the comfort of the water to hold his stare, this sudden shift on the atmosphere.

Fives hums, and you take a last look at him before dissapearing under the sea, running away from the human who's starting to make you feel things you haven't –and shouldn't– felt before.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Rutine makes you complacent. You get so relaxed at the knowledge that the 79's is no risk to you or your species you forget to stay vigilant; forget that they're not the only possible danger at the sea.

It happens at night; when your senses are dulled by sleep, your body curled in a tight space between the rocks at the bottom of the sea. Your return to consciousnes is a slow and lazy process. You open your mouth wide before momentarily clenching your teeth; the rest of your body muscles tensing and relaxing as well with your tiny stretch. Your eyes open and you focus on your surroundings; it doesn't feel like you've slept more than a pair of hours, and you usually don't have a problem to shut the eye throughout the whole night. Something must have awaken you subsconciously. You've long learned to trust your instintcs, so you decide to explore the sea around your little safe spot for the night before trying to get some more sleep. Maybe there's a predator around here.

It's when you swim away from the rocks you've hid in when you inmediately notice what's wrong; your too far away from the surface for the water to feel agitated here, but when you glance up, you see the usually dark ocean lit up in orange and red. The inmediate thought of the humans –of Ashoka and Fives– being in danger crosses your mind; and you're swimming up, up, up, before you're able to realise it yourself.

Your head peaks through the surface of the water and you can't help but gasp, eyes widenned in fear. The 79's wrecked. Besides it... So is the Death Star. Both ships have been fighting for who knows how long and you were peacefully asleep. It fills you with a dangerous wave of guilt; and unstopable anger. This is the ship that cost you the live of some of your best friends. This is the reason your people is no longer friendly towards humans; the pain of the past reflected on scars and lost ones. Some part of you is afraid –terrified– of facing said captain and crew again; the other part of you feels ravenous. This is your chance of revenge.

You sink under the water and sing. It's a song every siren child is taught by their elders; a call for help no one ever ignores. Sirens will stop at nothing for their people, their pods. Your voice carries easily through the water; and you hear a distant echo answering you. You know it's only a matter of time your people arrive. You'll help however you can in the mean time.

Your trained eyes and senses zoom in the fight aboard of the 79's. The men of the Death Star are dressed in black, like a bad omen; the colourful splashes belonging to Captain Rex' men. Both ships aren't the only battlefield; some are even fighting in the water, perhaps after pushing each other over board, some swinging their blades on top of smaller life-boats and lost planks of woods. The repair for what's left of both ships would be slow and costly.

You sink under the waves and move fast; jumping and dragging the 79's enemies with you underwater, drowning them or sinking your claws in their vulnerable throats, their screams futile under the water.

You can't see Fives or Ashoka yet; but just as the first of your fellow sirens arrive, you see Palpatine and Rex. They're fighting on the Death Star; blades swinging at each other while they expertly balance on the edge of the ship. You stop right below them and stare intently upwards; trying to catch the Captain's attention.

You do. Rex' eyes flicker downwards; making contact with yours. He quickly goes back to fighting against Captain Palpatine –how such an old man can move that fast you'll never know– and you wait patiently, licking your lips. You know Rex has catched on your idea and you only need to give him some time to bring him to you.

It's not a difficult move. With the knowledge that you'll be there to push him again back to safety and simultaneously kill his enemy, Rex throws his own body weight against Palpatine with all his strength and they both fall into the sea.

You almost see it happening in slow motion, such is your desire to claw your way through him. You're closing your hand around his throat in a blink, as soon as his body crashes against the waves; eyes shining and jaw opening to show your teeth while you push your face close to his. You want him to have a good look at you before you kill him.

"This is for Qui, Plo and Aayla" you tell him, eyes burning in hatred and vengance, his pathetic tugs at your hands only fueling your resolve. "And for those you'll never be able to hurt again".

You don't let him speak his last words. He doesn't deserve it; and he's not going to rat his way out of this. You snarl and sink your sharp teeth in his neck, closing your jaw before vicously pulling back and tearing his throat open mercilessly.

The carcass of his body floats away in the sea.

You turn to Captain Rex, scarlet blood dripping down your chin. He's not scared; but almost proud and relieved as he nods at you. You nod back and quickly help him get to the 79's again, reuniting with your people and organizising the counter-attack.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Once Palpatine is out of the way, the rest of his forces crumbles easily. In a matter of an hour, the few survivors of the Death Star scramble away in the remaning of their ship. You chuckle darkly. You know it's all for the enjoyment of your people; they'll do a slow hunt over the next couple of days, kill them one by one. Take their own personal revenge.

There's a conmotion up on the 79's. Rex is there, and so is Echo and Ashoka, the last two leaning down on the floor next to... Fives.

"What's wrong?" You quickly voice up from your place on the sea. "Is he okay?"

Captain Rex glances down at you worriedly.

"Blade sunk into his liver. He's loosing a lot of blood very quickly" he turns to look back to Echo and Ashoka. His expression saddens. "I... Don't think he has much time left".

Your heart starts beating out of your chest.

Fives, even gravely injured, lets out a wet laugh and jokes about it.

"I always thought you were a tad dramatic, sir".

Echo snaps at him, still squeezing his hand. You understand the sentiment. Now is not the time.

"Shut the fuck up, Fives".

You know he's scared. Everyone is scared. Echo, Ashoka, Fives, Rex... Even yourself. You've never felt this scared.

"B-bring him down" you whisper, then clear your voice and repeat yourself. "Maybe I can do something to help him".

"What can you do to help him?" Echo laughs, the kind of maniac sounding laugh that comes from a place of pure panic and terror from losing a loved one. "You're what, going to sing a song and magically cure him?"

It would be surprising to know that yes, that's...

"Something like that, yeah" you whisper, lost in your own feelings and thoughts.

You feel some of the other sirens splashing and moving their tails underwater hesitantly, wary. Nervously.

"Sister..." the voice of your friend Kid calls you from somewhere at your back.

You glance back at him. You know what he's going to tell you. You take a deep breath.

"I want to do it" you answer him, and everyone else.

They stay in silence, acepting your decission. It's a sacred thing for your species; for all sirens. The air feels heavy with understanding and expectations.

"Bring him down" you ask again, in the quietness of the night, and Rex gently squeezes Echo's shoulder before putting his faith on you and carefully laying Fives down in the last life-boat.

His brothers slowly lower it down til it softly contacts with the surface of the water and the small boat floats peacefully with the small waves. Two sirens quickly move to take a carefull hold of it so it doesn't drift away.

Fives turns his head to the side to look at you; hovering besides the boat with your claws lightly grassping the wood at the sides of it, head peaking over the water just enough to be able to look at him.

"Hey there, gorgeous" he smiles, and such brightness sends another painful dart to your heart. "Here to give me a goodbye kiss?"

Your own smile is wet with tears. It makes you let out a wet chuckle too. You haven't cried in... So many years.

"You should have thought of this strategy before" you decide to indulge him in his joke.

You know he's scared even if he doesn't want it to show. It males your decision easier; to know he's such a good person he doesn't want to make this more difficult for the people that woud be forced to watch him go.

Even though you feel almost eager for it, the need crawling up your throat, you're still afraid yourself. You've only got one chance for this. What if... It doesn't work?

You feel Kid's hand gently dropping on your shoulder, giving you the strength you need for this. You nod to yourself. The rest of the sirens form a circle around you; as tradition tells. They'll make sure nothing interrupts this sacred moment between you and Fives. Your hands tremble as you carefully place them on top of Fives' stomach wound. He makes a whimpered sound of pain and trembles, scared confused eyes quickly searching yours.

You look at him, soft.

"Trust me" you whisper. "And don't stop looking at me".

Fives doesn't understand what's happening, what's going to happen, but relaxes and nods. He can feel the exhaustion creeping in on him, the tempting feeling to close his eyes and surrender to the darkness. He focuses on you with the last of his strength.

You stop holding yourself back and let your voice sing your Song. You have never practiced it before; it's something that simply can't be, as it's not written before the moment arrives without announcement. It's instinctual, as simple and easy as breathing, and yet sounds so magical to all of those who hear it.

The first notes echoes in the silence of the night. It starts very quiet, almost a hum between your pressed lips, that slowly and unhurriesly turns into a whisper full of longing and melancholy. Fives is a human and you're a siren. It's not going to be easy. You have a feeling he won't care.

The Song fills with some softer, happier notes; lively and changing, more rythmical than the soft melody from before. A tiny smile makes it over to your face.

Fives is still looking at you. He wouldn't have been able to tear his eyes from you even if he tried. You're raw magic; raw beauty. And the sounds leaving your lips... He had never listened to anything so breathtaking in his life. He's hooked up in you.

Your gaze turns soft. You see his wound closing and healing by its self with just the corner of your eyes; and a warming relief spreads through your body, along with something sweet and gentle, painfully raw, longing and understanding. It's love.

The Song reflects those feelings; growing quieter as you keep staring into Fives' soul. You feel the notes slowing, your mind and heart finally wrapping around your feelings, accepting them, making them part of your own; and a last hum leaves your lips before the night is silent again, only interrupted by Fives' heavy breathing. Even if the Song is finished, he keeps looking at you like there's nothing else.

"That was beautiful" he whispers, dizziness still numbing his body and mind even if he's completely healed, now. He'll take some time to adjust. "Thank you".

You smile softly.

This is not your ending, Fives. But you need to...

The sailor squeezes his eyes shut. A painful headache stars at the side of his temple. He can barely concentrate in his surroundings now.

"Rest, Fives" you tell him, and he finally falls into unconsciousness almost instantly.

You glance up, noticing the wowed stares of the crew of the 79'.

"What was that?" Ashoka whispers in wonder.

You make Captain Rex a sign to let him now they can pull the small boat back up. You smile at the girl.

"My Song" you answer, misteriously. You glance at Echo, anxiously curved forward as if in a try to reach Fives quicker. You try to soothe his worries before dipping under the waves. "He'll be okay, just needs some hours of rest. I'll come back tomorrow".

With that, you nod to your pod and you slowly swim away. Your soul tries to tug you back towards him, but you comfort yourself thinking you'll be back to talk with him after some very much needed rest.

Patience.

You feel like a baby Siren again.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Care to explain to me what kind of voodo magic you did to me to turn me from a corpse to my handsome self again?" is what Fives first chirps at you upon seing you arrive the next morning, him waiting patiently for you in the small boat again, this time a bit further away from the 79's.

You smirk and place your folded arms over the border of the boat, resting your right cheek on top of them.

"I already told Ashoka" you answer playfully. "It's my Song".

Fives snorts and carefully pushes himself closer to you. You track the movement, distracted.

"Yeah, your song" he repeats, squinting and tilting his head in questioning. "Echo told me the other Sirens acted as if we were getting married or something".

You laugh freely, Fives smiling unconsciously.

"Well, singing your song to another holds pretty much the same meaning for my people. Your circumstances pushed me to do it way earlier than I would have prefered but... It's okay. You're okay".

Fives eyes turn soft.

"I know you love being all sexy and misterious. But tell me what has really happened, please?" His voice is also gentle and full of warmth.

He should know.

"All Sirens have a special personal Song. It's something instinctual that can't be repeated or prepared; born of raw feelings, desires and needs. It's different to other songs we sing. We don't use our normal vocal cords for this; it comes from somewhere within, deep in your soul. Sirens believe our kind are made of magic and music combined into one, and protected by a physical body shape; that of a predator so it can defend the pureness it holds. This Song... Can only be sung once, to just one other being, and it will create a special bond no-one but the two of them would be able to break. From that day on, this two beings will always be linked to each other, perhaps even able to feel or hear the other; and the Siren won't be able to sing in this kind of way to anyone else, ever again".

You grow quiet; waiting, patient. Expectant. Fives barely blinks.

You're not afraid to him not corresponding your feelings now. If it were that way, your Song wouldn't have worked the night before. A Song can't be an impossed thing; it must be accepted by the other's soul. Fives has subsconciously done that already; if his present mind needs more time to process it, nevertheless, you're willing to give him that.

Fives finally takes a deep breath in, noding in quiet understanding, before showing you his own signature smirk and closing the distances between your faces so that your nose is barely grazing his.

"Well. I think I'm definitively finally winning a kiss" he tempts you, eyes shining with mirth.

Your small laugh is pure unadulterated happiness. With your soul almost vibrating inside your chest, you cup his strong jaw and close the insignificant distance between you.

You kiss him –passionately, then gently– and Fives smiles against your lips.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I'm sorry this took me ages to write! I got a bit blocked on how I was going to put Fives in danger and I also started with my finals.

I'm aware there are some errors in this but I prioriticed publishing it as soon as possible over having a second read to correct them. Sorry!

I hope you've liked it, dear. Second Mermay fic done, go check Tech's first one on my profile! (It's on: sw masterlist> 2 part of requests > Blue dreams).

Got requests closed cause finals and already a few of them in the line. I'll prob reopen in a month. If you want to you can still send them, just notice I'm not gonna be able to write it anytime soon.

Lots of things to come, stay tunned!

Xx,

Sky.

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