#putting up wall art and curtains

[thedeviljudges]

why is there never enough time for anything. 😭

i'm sitting on two fics that need to be finished, a shitload of fics that need to be read, and a bookshelf full of books i still need to get through.

and yet there's no time to knock any of it off the big list. rip the guilt. 😑

[hyunbelievable]

Painted in Sin

Part one.

Summary: a heated one night stand in your new city leads to a world of hurt

This is the new story I’ve been working on! It will be an ongoing series as I write it, and I’ll be posting chapters often. This is NSFW, minors/ageless blogs will be blocked.

Genre: College AU, Non-Idol AU.

WARNINGS: NSFW, MDNI. Swearing, one night stand, unprotected sex, fingering (f receiving), biting, marking/hickeys, alcohol consumption, student/teacher (college level 18+), overall tame but will become heavier as story progresses.

WC: 3.6k (lmao oops)

Chapter One:

The bar was dimly lit, jazz notes floating lazily through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of glass cups and silverware. You sit at the far end of the counter, one leg crossed over the other, your sketchbook perched on top of the bar, still infuriatingly blank.

With a defeated sigh, you press your pencil to the paper, tracing shapes without committing to any. It felt ironic to be an art student struggling to create, but something about the overwhelming newness of the city combined with the weight of tomorrow, left your mind empty.

You wince as the alcohol burns down your throat, tilting your head forward to let your hair fall like a curtain as you scan the room. The place wasn’t packed, but it had its share of interesting characters: a man in a suit nursing a scotch, a couple tucked into the corner laughing over shared secrets, and… him.

He sat a few stools away, one large hand wrapped around a glass of red wine, his head tilted slightly as if lost in thought. Shoulder length dark hair framed sharp features, and his eyes were observant; though they seemed focused on something far beyond the confines of the bar. He was the kind of man who looked effortlessly put-together, like he didn’t belong at this hole-in-the-wall bar, yet somehow, still fit in perfectly.

Your gaze lingers a moment longer than it should have.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s not polite to stare?,” he asks suddenly, his smooth voice teasing as he turns to pin you with his dark gaze.

Heat claws at your neck, but you refused to squirm. “She did,” you pause before adding, “But she also taught me to be observant in unfamiliar surroundings. I’m just being cautious.”

Full lips curve upward in a smirk as he shifts to face you fully. “Yeah? Consider me curious. Do I look like someone you have to be cautious of?”

You shrug, biting back the smile that threatens to bloom. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and low, as he tips his head toward your sketchbook. “What are you working on?”

You glance down at your sketchbook, still covered in nothing more than little scribbles. Shutting it quickly, you lean back in your seat. “Nothing, apparently.”

“That’s a shame,” his voice softens, almost thoughtful. “You look like someone with something to say.”

Something about his comment tugs at you, a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Who the hell was this guy? Before you can come up with a witty retort, the bartender appears with a fresh glass of wine, sliding it across the counter with a hopeful expression. She grabbed the near-empty glass from his hand; her fingers deliberately brushing across his in the process.

But his eyes don’t leave yours.

She exhales a quiet, dejected sigh before walking off to tend to other patrons.

“New in the city?,” his voice was closer now, and when you glance over, you notice that he’d moved into the seat next to yours.

You blink, caught off guard by his accuracy. “That obvious?”

A soft hum escaped him, his dark eyes trailing over your face and lingering on your lips for just a moment too long.

“I’m observant too,” He murmurs, a corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. Then, his gaze flicks back toward the bartender. You follow his eyes, watching as she works her subtle charm on the other patrons. “She’s either very, very desperate for male company, or she’s brilliant. She knows a little flirting means bigger tips.”

You breathe out a soft laugh, “Well, she’s gorgeous so I highly doubt she has trouble getting attention.”

Time slipped away after that. Hours passing in a blur of laughter and clever observations, the two of you taking turns making inferences about the other patrons. The warmth of alcohol burned through your veins, loosening you and making everything feel lighter. For the first time in days, you’d forgotten about your empty sketchbook and the crushing weight of tomorrow.

It wasn’t until you checked your phone that reality slammed back into you. Your stomach drops slightly as you straighten in your seat. It was well past midnight, and you had an early morning looming ahead.

The room tilts when you turn toward him, a laugh bubbling up in your chest as you reach out, steadying yourself with a hand on his bicep. He was solid beneath your touch, the heat of his body warming your palm. Leaning against him to push yourself up, you nearly lose balance, your fingers slipping down his arm further as you catch yourself.

You open your mouth to apologize, but the words die on your tongue when your eyes meet his.

His gaze was heavy-lidded, dark eyes hooded from both the late hour and the alcohol. Hiding beneath it all, there was something else. A slow burning heat, as he watches you closely, as if waiting.

Your tongue drags slowly across your lips, wetting your dry mouth. His gaze drops instantly, following the movement, darkening further. Lazily, he skims a hand up the side of your leg, fingers trailing a heated path before resting on your hip. His grip tightens, further steadying you. When his eyes meet yours again, the air between you shifts. Charges.

The next few minutes blur together, flitting through your mind like a stop-motion film.

The two of you leave the bar, his arm wrapped around you securely. Drawn together like magnets, your hands roam over his broad shoulders; tracing the hard lines of his torso as you wait for the Uber. In the backseat, he lifts you into his lap, meeting you halfway in a passionate kiss. The kiss is hungry, urgent, a mess of bumping noses and clashing teeth that leaves you breathless. His hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, branding your skin as his fingers trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine.

The Uber jolts to a stop outside his apartment and you pull apart, practically spilling out onto the pavement, laughing against his lips.

His hands never leave your waist. Instead, he chases your mouth with his own, barely breaking away long enough to slide his key into the lock. When the door clicks open, he doesn’t hesitate. He walks you backward into the dimly lit apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

His grip tightens on your hips as he lifts you effortlessly, settling you onto the counter. You respond instantly, locking your legs around his waist, pressing him closer. His thumb grazes along your jaw before tilting your chin up, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

His dark eyes hold yours for a lingering moment before he lowers his mouth to yours again. This kiss is different, less urgent but no less consuming. The slow, deliberate press of his lips ignites a heat deep in your stomach, and you sigh softly, letting one hand drift to the hem of his shirt. Your fingers trail across the warm skin just above his waistband, eliciting a low, pleased groan from him.

He slides a hand around your neck, fingers threading into your hair before giving a gentle tug, tilting your head back as his tongue sweeps between your parted lips. Your hands push beneath his shirt, exploring the hard planes of his torso. He breaks the kiss just long enough to strip the fabric over his head, tossing it behind you. His touch follows soon after, fingers tracing up your thighs before stopping at the hem of your skirt.

Dark eyes meet yours once more, a silent question lingering within them. Do you want me to stop?

You answer without hesitation, guiding his hands beneath your skirt while holding his gaze. Don't stop.

Like a fraying rope pulled taut, his restraint snaps. He pushes your skirt up, lips trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck as his thumb presses against the damp fabric covering your core. A breathless sigh escapes you as anticipation coils tight in your stomach. His other hand skims across your waist, tugging at your shirt. You lift your arms to help him strip it away, leaving your chest bare beneath his heated gaze.

His lips part slightly as he takes you in, appreciation flickering in his expression before his smirk returns. He presses his thumb against your clit through the thin fabric, rubbing slow, teasing circles. A whimper escapes you, your legs trembling against his sides as he watches you unravel beneath his touch.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth. Then, without warning, he withdraws his hand.

A strangled noise leaves your lips at the sudden loss, and his dark laugh follows as he lifts you from the counter. One arm supports your back while the other pushes open a door, guiding you down a dimly lit hallway. The world around you fades into the background until you feel the cool press of satin beneath you. His bed.

You push yourself up onto your elbows just as he settles between your legs, knocking your thighs apart with his knee. He drags your skirt down your legs before deftly undoing his belt, freeing himself of his jeans and underwear in a single smooth motion.

His hands find yours, pinning them beside your head as he lowers himself over you, lips capturing yours in another heated kiss. He rolls his hips, the rigid length of him pressing against your center, separated only by the thin barrier of your panties. Even through the fabric, you can feel the heat of him grinding against you, pulling a desperate sound from your throat.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he rocks into you again, creating a delicious friction that leaves you breathless. He releases one of your hands, trailing his own down to hook a finger under the waistband of your panties. With a slow tug, he slips the fabric aside, his fingers slipping between your folds.

You gasp as two long fingers sink into you, curling and stroking with precision. His palm drags against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure racing through you. He hums in approval, finding you slick and ready. His mouth slants over yours, swallowing your moans as he picks up the pace, working you open with each plunge of his fingers.

Your hips move instinctively, chasing the heat building within you, thighs trembling once more as your walls begin to flutter around his touch. Just as your pleasure peaks, he withdraws his hand.

A groan of frustration escapes you, your chest rising and falling with short, shaky breaths.

“I was —” you barely manage to pout in protest before he interrupts you, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I know,” he soothes, slipping his fingers into his mouth, tasting you with a deep hum. “I just needed a taste. I’ll make it up to you.”

His hands return to yours, pinning them back down as he positions himself between your thighs. You barely have time to steady your breath before you feel him, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. A shudder races through you, anticipation building within you. The second you open your eyes to meet his, he rolls his hips, sinking himself inside you in one slow, powerful movement.

Your lips part on a choked moan, back arching at the divine stretch as he fills you completely. He starts at a tortuous pace, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate strokes, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. His gaze remains locked on yours, pupils blown wide, dark eyes nearly black with desire.

You can’t look away, transfixed by the way his expression shifts. Brows furrowing, lips parting as if in awe, his chest pressing flush against yours, heartbeat thundering against your own. You ground yourself by wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. The shift allows him to sink deeper, and his groan vibrates against your skin.

“Oh, fuck,” he growls, burying his face in your neck as his hips snap into yours harder. His fingers tense, gripping yours tighter as he lets out another low moan against your neck.

He releases your hands only to shift, pulling you with him as he leans back against the headboard, guiding you into his lap. His grip on your hips is firm as he helps you sink down onto his cock, groaning as you take him in. Your nails dig into his chest, tiny crescent-shaped marks marring his heated flesh.

You bring your lips to his throat, kissing and nipping a path to his ear before biting down gently on the soft skin of his earlobe. He hisses, head falling back against the headboard as he watches you through pleasure-hooded eyes. A smirk plays on your lips as you take advantage, sucking a mark onto the side of his neck.

He retaliates instantly, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs, forcing your neck to arch. He brings his lips to the sensitive skin of your neck, marking you in return before dragging his tongue over the bruised skin to soothe the sting.

Your breath catches as he shifts beneath you, his cock hitting a spot deep inside you that makes stars spark behind your eyelids. He catches your reaction and chuckles darkly before repeating the motion, thrusting up into you with deliberate attention.

“Just like that,” you whimper, voice breathless as you let your head tip back. His hand slides between your thighs, thumb circling your clit in tight circles, keeping in rhythm with his punishing thrusts.

The tension inside you snaps suddenly, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your body clenches around him, pleasure coursing through your veins. You feel his cock twitch inside you as his breath stutters, his grip tightening as he gives a few more shallow thrusts before he follows you over the edge. A low groan escapes his lips as he spills inside you, and your body goes slack, muscles giving out as you collapse against his chest, body trembling.

You lie together for a few long moments, your heavy breathing the only sound besides the steady pounding of his heart beneath your ear.

Slowly, you sit up, easing yourself off of him. Before you can rise and begin the inevitable search for your discarded clothing, a warm hand slides around your waist. He tugs you back toward him, and you don’t resist, settling beside him and resting your head against his chest once more.

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay?” his voice is low, fingers tracing absentminded shapes on your skin.

Your eyelids are heavy, and your head begins to throb. The promise of sleep is tempting, but morning looms too close. Staying would be a mistake.

You force yourself upright, immediately missing the comfortable warmth of his touch as your feet hit the chilly hardwood floor. Plucking your skirt from the floor, you tug it on before slipping out of his room, navigating the dimly lit hallway toward the kitchen. Crossing your arms over your bare chest, you squint into the darkness, searching for your shirt, but it’s nowhere to be found.

Light floods the kitchen, and you wince. You turn to the doorway, where he stands with a smirk tilting his lips and your shirt dangling between two fingers. Wordlessly, you take it, slipping it on under his amused gaze before busying yourself with your phone, pulling up the Uber app.

His dark laugh follows you as you awkwardly step out into the cold, your breaths visible in the crisp air.

—

By the time the Uber drops you off at your apartment, you barely have time to shower and fix your hair before heading out for campus.

Hooking up with a random guy from the bar wasn’t exactly how you pictured spending the night before starting at a new college. The lack of sleep is evident in the dark smudges beneath your eyes and the dull throb of a headache pulsing through your skull. Easing your car into a student parking spot, you take a deep, steadying breath.

With a coffee in one hand and your phone in the other, you navigate the campus. The layout is pretty straightforward: art majors grouped with music and performing arts. Your nerves settle once you find your first class of the day: Art History.

The day passes in a blur. You move with a group of fellow art students like a school of fish, eventually arriving at your last class: Studio Arts.

Walking into the room, two things become clear immediately. One, this class will undoubtedly be your favorite. And two, whoever designed this space put an incredible amount of care into making it beautiful.

The scent of paint and pencil shavings lingers in the air as you take in the room. Individual desks are arranged in a semicircle around the perimeter, leaving a wide open space in the center. Sunlight streams in golden arcs from the floor-to-ceiling windows along the expanse of the far left wall; illuminating the small easels, pens, paintbrushes, and palettes set atop each workspace.

But the most stunning feature is the wall behind the grand oak desk at the front. Spanning its entire length is a breathtaking mural — flowers of all kinds overlapping and blending together to create a striking cascade of bleeding-heart blooms.

Other students file in, each pausing to admire the display before claiming their desks. You hurry to one set near the large windows, sliding into your seat beside a petite girl with a black pixie cut and bright blue eyes. She tilts her head, offering you a small smile, which you return in kind. You open your mouth to introduce yourself, but the door swings open again and the words die in your throat.

A man strides in, a bag slung over his shoulder and a laptop clutched in one hand. His steps are confident, purposeful, his attention locked on the desk at the front.

The girl beside you hides a giggle behind her hand, leaning closer.

“Oh, he’s cute. I think this is gonna be my favorite class,” she whispers conspiratorially, echoing your earlier thought, though for a completely different reason.

You don’t respond. Your jaw tightens, teeth grinding together as your gaze stays fixed on the man who has yet to look at the class.

Because you know what you’ll see when he does. Dark eyes filled with amusement and full lips curled into an ever-present, cocky smirk.

Panic grips your chest like a vise, squeezing the air from your lungs. The room feels smaller, as if the walls are pressing in. No. There’s no way. Impossible.

But then you see it — the incriminating smudge of purple peeking from beneath his collar. A perfect match to the one you’d hidden beneath your turtleneck sweater. Dropping the bag off his shoulder, he turns, casting his gaze around the room.

His eyes widen when they meet yours, just a fraction, the only crack in his carefully composed expression. But it’s enough.

Shit.

He recovers quickly, setting his laptop on the desk with an infuriating calmness. Meanwhile, your mind is in shambles and you’re sure it’s written all over your face.

His voice cuts through the hushed murmurs of the students. That voice. The same one you’d heard only hours ago, low and rough against your ear.

Those eyes, once dark with desire as he wrung pleasure from your body.

Those lips, once curved into a cunning smile as they bruised your own.

“Welcome to Studio Arts. If you’re in the wrong class, now’s your chance to run screaming.”

He pauses. His gaze sweeps across the room, assessing. You sink deeper into your seat, heat rising to your neck.

“I’m Professor Hwang. If you’re feeling brave, you can call me sir.”

Chatter breaks out amongst the students, a few girls giggling nervously.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a world renowned artist or you’ve never held a paintbrush in your life. In this classroom, everyone is equal.” He leans back against his desk, arms crossing over his chest. “All I ask is that you show up and put in the work. So let’s get right into it. I’m not here to drone on and on about a syllabus.”

His eyes dart briefly to yours, and a nearly imperceptible smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“I’d like each of you to introduce yourselves, to me and to each other, through your art. There are canvases and supplies on your desks. No rules. Just express yourself however you see fit.”

Uncrossing his arms, he stalks behind his desk and eases himself into his chair, his gaze sweeping around the room, locking onto each student one by one. When he reaches you, his gaze lingers.

“Show me who you are without using a single word.”

A moment of silence. Then, students begin sorting through their supplies, selecting different mediums for their work. You glance around, then down at your desk. Your fingers tighten around a granite pencil, the canvas before you offering nothing but a mocking expanse of white.

Blank. Just like your mind.

Your mind should be filled with ideas, but it’s empty. Focused solely on the feeling of those dark eyes burning into you from across the room.

What. The. Hell.

Fuck.

It’s only the first day of classes and you’ve already earned a reputation in your mind that you never wanted. You’re the girl who’s slept with her professor.

—

As always, thank you reading! This is something I’ve been working on for weeks, and although I’m nervous to share it, I hope you enjoy!! 💓🤭

Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are all greatly appreciated 💓💓

—

💓 TAGLIST: @jeonginsleftcheek @inniesfanblog 💓

—

© hyunbelievable, 2025. All rights reserved. Unauthorized reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation of this work is prohibited.

This is a work of fiction. It is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to depict actual events or real-life personalities. I do not know or have any affiliation with Stray Kids or its members. Any similarities to real events are purely coincidental. No harm, defamation, or infringement is intended.

[eros7hanatos]

➽ Sleepless Nights

Husband!Diluc x wife!afab reader Warnings: smut, breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, I think that’s all? Word count: 811 A/N: inspired by rice-hime’s fic “well into the weekend”. Diluc is so husband AND daddy material I can't-

art creds: asterrales

Your hands tightly grip the sheets, trying to claw your way out, weakly pulling yourself forward as Diluc’s firm hands pull your hips back; eliciting a loud moan from you.

“D-Diluc!” you scream, your voice as shaky as the rest of your body. You turned your head back to see the glistening body of your husband. He looked so pretty like this, watching you through his red hair that kept sticking on his face, whether it was from sweat or your cum, you didn't know nor care. 

“Didn't you say you wanted us to have a child, love?” he said in a tone so sweet, not matching with his rough and harsh thrusts. You gasped as he reached deeper inside your cunt, pressing onto that sensitive spot. You two had been married for a while now. He was a great husband, however he was almost always busy with work and his own things. You two hadn't had time alone for a long long time, always falling fast asleep before he had even come home. However today was different, Diluc had come back early and you told him how you felt. In a moment of weakness you let slip that you wanted a child.

“You…want a child with me?” he asked, slowly, as if he was thinking hard about what you just said.

“Yes, but it doesn’t have to be now! I understand that you're busy and don't have time. We haven't had sex since our wedding night…you’re probably too tired after working everyday.” you say, you were a bit sad, you had to admit. You would often masterbate alone, missing his fingers, his mouth, his cock… but he was busy, there’s no way he would be able to have time to pleasure you.

“Then it’s a good thing tomorrow's the weekend.” he surprised you. You look at him, wide eyed.

“B-but what about the tavern? and the winery? They’re both open on weekends.” 

“Fuck it. One weekend is worth putting a baby in you.” 

And that’s how you got to this situation. Completely fucked out under Diluc. Archons, how long has it been? You then feel that familiar sensation in your lower abdomen, cunt clenching around Diluc’s cock. You screamed, but no noise came out of your throat as you came once more, sucking your husband dry.

“F-fuck. Y-you have such a beautiful cunt, love. All mine. Let me fill you up again, fill you up until I’m sure you’ll bear my child.” 

His pace slows, pulling his cock out just below the tip to watch the mixture of yours and his juices ooze out of you before slamming back in. Even as his pace slowed, you felt as if he reached even deeper inside you, poking your womb gently. As if giving it a gentle kiss every time he thrusted.

“D-Diluc!” you moan, chanting his name over and over again, like a mantra. You can feel every inch of his cock, every vein, every crevice rubbing against your walls wet with slick. The sounds of vulgar and messy sex that bounces off the walls drives you crazy, the stench of his cum and yours adding to your madness. “F-feels so good. N-need more of your- Ahh! c-cum!”

“I’ll give it all to you, love. Sh-shit- you’re clenching so tight. J-just lie back there while I pump you full of my seed.” 

You feel your cunt pulse, clenching and convulsing, that familiar electric feeling had come to greet you once more. “D-Diluc! C-cumming! ‘M c-cumming!” 

“Hah, hold it out, please, for me love? Want us to- Ngh! C-cum together.” Diluc grunts, fastening his pace and deepening his thrusts, reaching places that you’ve never known he could. You whine and scream, trying your best to delay your high as tears fall from your eyes.

“D-Diluc!” 

“A-almost there, love. Gonna put a baby in you!” he says, looking at you through the curtain of his blazing red hair once more, his grip tight on your hips as he slams into you over and over, chasing his own high. With a few more harsh thrusts, Diluc grunts, “C-cum for me love. G-gonna breed you so well-” 

You both scream, almost in unison, reaching your peaks as a familiar warmth fills your insides. His thrusts continue, letting you ride your high as well as his as he continues giving you his seed which you welcome with open arms, ahem, open legs.

After a moment he stills inside you as your head falls onto the bed sheets below you. You breath heavily then let out a loud gasp as you feel rough fingers brush your clit gently. 

“D-Diluc?!” you say, breathlessly as it turns into a moan. Suddenly, you felt his hips snap into action, slamming into your still sensitive cunt as you cry out in overstimulation.

“I said the weekend. We’ve barely even started, love~”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I cannot resist an artist loft. Studio unit w/2ba in a converted 1924 industrial building in Salisbury, NC, 4,000 sq ft, $533k. Right now, it's an AirB&B. Comes fully furnished, including the art!

Entrance to the brightly colored industrial loft. Look at the art.

Oh, this is lovely. Love the way the furniture is angled, and look at the rolling bookcase.

I would not rent this out, I would live here.

Look at this wonderful library. Love this.

Interesting angular kitchen. Refinished stick flooring, too.

These doors open to a railing, so they cleverly put a swing inside.

The listing says no bedrooms, but there are 4 bedroom areas. This is the primary suite. Very spacious.

Large ensuite. Love the timeworn walls, red pipes, and matching industrial style sink.

They probably can't advertise bedrooms, b/c they're separated by curtains and don't have closets.

This is a pull-out sofa bed in the library.

This one's pretty cool b/c it's in the loft, or more accurately, a catwalk.

Nice 2nd bath is a large shower room. The blocks take me back- I went to a very old school and the bathrooms had walls just like that.

Has a laundry room.

Below the loft there's a wonderful art studio with doors that open to let in fresh air and natural light.

This is actually the garage, but they have it set up as a glass studio- look at the 3 kilns! There's outdoor parking, but you can fit a car in here.

They've also got a gallery set up in the garage.

Above the art studio you have a big rooftop deck.

View from the deck. You can see the parking lot.

And, along the side of the building there are raised garden beds.

The apt. for sale is Unit A-2.

[yeoslattes]

Lowkey

Genre: smut

Wc: 7.6k

Pairings: bodyguard!Yunho, rich girl college student!reader, chauffeur!Mingi

Summary: Yunho desperately needs someone to put you in your place

Warnings: smut, threesome, dom/sub themes, late 20s Yunho/Mingi, early to mid twenties reader, mild dumbification, Yunho is lowkey patronizing, fingering, oral both fem and male receiving, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, cream pie, cum shots, clothed sex, backshots, mild choking, use of pet names (doll, slut, tiny), mentions of size difference, spoiled reader, no use of YN, unprotected sex, alcohol use, reader is a party girl

A/N: my Yungi fic is finally out!!! I had so much fun writing this! While I edited I realized how Yunho goes from really shy to suddenly getting fed up and wanting to put her in her place (character development 😭). Also Mingi is really mostly a side character here, most of the readers interactions are with Yunho but don’t fret I have stuff planned for Mingi in the future. I hope you guys enjoy and ofc any feedback is appreciated just be nice about it🫶🏼

The sun beams through your sheer curtains smacking you right in the face. Your tired warm body is snuggled under the cream white fluffy duvets that your mom had purchased for you in Italy. Cracking an eye open you stretch your limbs and groan softly, sitting up on the bed. A shiver shakes through you, the AC causing goosebumps to erupt on your soft skin.

With only one class in your schedule for today you took on the task of getting ready for university. Fashion was an art to you, it was a sole representation of who you were and how you liked to express yourself. And what exactly was that self expression? Well, clothes from the most expensive designers of course. Your parents owned one of the top marketing companies in all of New York and were currently in the works of expanding worldwide, to say you got everything and anything you wanted was an understatement; the fact that you were an only child only ever added to just how much your parents spoiled you.

“Darling! Yunho is up front waiting for you, don’t be late, traffic in the city is only going to get worse.” Your mother’s voice reverberates through the tall walls of the grand mansion.

“I'll be on my way soon!” You respond back, quickly spraying your sweet perfume and heading downstairs. You may have been perfect in your parent’s eyes, or maybe they just liked to act oblivious but behind that perfect daughter act you put up was something more. You loved to shop till you dropped, that was a known fact but what many didn’t know was the absolute party animal you had developed into over the course of your college career. 

There wasn’t a club in New York that you hadn’t graced with your presence. Even when you traveled outside the country for an already expensive vacation, you'd still find a way to get into the most renowned clubs wherever you were on the map. You’d always come up with an excuse to go out, perhaps an important dinner, or sometimes a friend of a friend’s birthday party; your parents would always believe you. Your friends were no saints either, rolling in money themselves they were always there to join you in any escapade you had. You were living the ultimate college student life and no one was ever there to say no to you. 

You adjust your bag on your shoulder and slide into the sleek black Escalade. Yunho sits on his phone in the driver’s seat, immediately dropping the device into the cup holder when he hears you settle into the back.

“Good morning Yuyu.” You beam, “good morning miss,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, he sends you a smile through the rear view mirror which you return. Yunho’s heart flutters slightly as he steals glances of you. Your fingers type away on your phone, updating your friends with the latest gossip you have. Yunho’s gaze keeps flicking to you in the mirror, his admiration suddenly turning into pure irritation at the constant ticking of your phone’s keyboard. He’s so annoyed he almost misses the turn to your best friend's house. He slams on the breaks, sending you flying into the back of the passenger seat. You groan loudly while holding your forehead.

“What the fuck Yunho, ugh.” You exclaim tossing your phone on the seat. “Can you be more careful?” His gaze hardens as he peers at you through the mirror for the umpteenth time this morning. He gulps and sucks in a deep breath. Your voice only adding to his irritation. “Don’t forget to pick up Cassie and Yeri.” You say typing away on your phone again. Yunho can only sit in silence, his mind going to the fat paycheck he’d get at the end of this week for driving a CEO’s daughter around. You were such a joy to drive except when you weren’t, but he’d endure anything if it meant he got to work for you; his boy crush only growing by the day.

He’d been picking up your little group of friends every morning since you started your freshman year at NYU, while also driving you around town and picking you up from clubs while being drunk off your mind. It was taking a toll on him, he rarely got any sleep before he had to be up at the ass crack of dawn again, but the pay was good so maybe that’s why he didn’t mind it as much. At least that’s what he liked to tell himself whenever he felt his feelings for you bubbling up. “My daughter is off limits. I trust you understand that right?” He vividly remembers your father saying as he signed the contract. He’d been employed by your dad right before you started college, you had ended up totaling your first car, and with your father’s company status on the rise he decided it’d be best to keep you safe by hiring a chauffeur. You were now halfway through your 3rd year of college with Yunho still as your driver. 

He didn’t talk much but when he did he would only ever say the most encouraging things. After you had been stood up on a date you had cried your eyes out in the car, it had upset him seeing you that way so on the ride back home he pulled over and gave you a pep talk of just how much you deserved; since then you had grown fond of him. But it was only ever friendly, until recently. He was tall and extremely handsome, always looking better when you had too many drinks for your own good as he hauled you out of an A list New York club. While he had his good moments with you, there were times where you grinded his gears, like this morning’s drive to school or when you were too “tired” to carry all your shopping bags and just shoved them in his hands without saying please or thank you. As smitten as he was with you, you were his boss’ daughter and that was a zone he did not want to enter.

As he pulls up close to the curb in front of the main area of campus, he sits in silence like always and listens to the loud chatter between you and your friends.

“Alright girlies! Shopping after school? Let's meet up here, Yunho will be driving us!” You say loudly smacking your peppermint gum, your girlfriends all speak loudly, agreeing between giggles. You were the last one to step out of the black Escalade, “bye Yuyu see you soon mwah!” You blow him a kiss and he smiles at you, only shaking his head with a breathy laugh after the door closes.

With a couple of hours of free time, Yunho decides to kill time at a nearby coffee shop, the tired chauffeur sits in the corner of the rather empty cafe. His face lights up mid sip when Mingi walks in. He greets his long time friend, the equally tall man sitting adjacent to him.

“Man, it's like I barely see you nowadays.” Mingi sighs, relaxing into the chair. Yunho checks his watch, your class was short and he’d be expecting a text in about an hour.

“Yea…work is work. It's been kicking my ass recently.” He groans, “do you at least get a vacation?” Mingi asks curiously, Yunho shrugs, “Maybe I would if I asked for it, but I’m trying to rack up at least 3 more checks before I take time off. Besides, taking care of the SMB Enterprises future successor isn’t so bad; she has her bad days but her and her friends make it worth a while.” Mingi chuckles at his friend, “ah really? How so?” Yunho shrugs yet again, “lets just say free reality TV but in person.” Mingi playfully scoffs, his hand coming up to run through his hair. However, there was something more that Yunho wasn’t saying, being friends since childhood had its perks as he knew Yunho better than anyone else and could read him like a book..

“There’s something more though that makes it worth your while right?” Mingi asks curiously and Yunho’s cheeks flush red. Mingi nods trying to suppress a smile, “you like her.” Yunho mentally curses, he chuckles nervously and shakes his head. “Well yes…but I could never. Her father would have my head; I have to keep things strictly professional.”

While Yunho said one thing, Mingi would be thinking the opposite. He was a carefree soul, he didn’t care about anything, “you should-” he starts but Yunho cuts him off, “I can’t that’d be violating my contract.”

The pair talked for a few hours just until around the time your class ended. Yunho is about to check his phone when he sees you walking through the cafe doors, his brows shoot up in confusion, awkwardness filling him when you suddenly walk up to the table he and Mingi were sitting at.

“Oh I'm so sorry, I didn’t know you'd be out 30 minutes early.” He says swallowing thickly and standing up. He could only hope you wouldn’t tell your dad about his cafe date with Mingi. 

“Yea my professor let us out a bit early and I wanted a coffee.” You say, texting away on your phone yet again, Yunho suppresses an eyeroll. “But don’t worry I wont tell daddy about your little…date.” You say taking a peek at Mingi. He sends you a tight lipped smile. “Okay well, are you ready to go miss?” You shake your head. “Mm mm, I gotta wait for Cassie and Yeri, and after can you take us to Soho? I need to pick up a few things.” Yunho nods, “for sure. I’ll go bring the car.” You take his seat, not sparing a glance at Mingi, who still remains in his spot after waving goodbye to Yunho.

“So…” he starts, 

“Not interested.” Sending him a smile, you walk over to grab your coffee from the mobile order area, “See you around! Yunho’s friend.” You shout walking out of the cafe. Mingi sits back dumbfounded, “unbelievable that he fell for a bitch.” He mutters silently.

***

You had over 5 bags up to the brim with the latest fashion trends. You were sure you’d bought at least one mini dress for every weekend of the month. Your feet ached and you were drained from carrying the bags all through the streets of Soho. Yunho remained inside the car, parked in the designated parking area waiting for your text. 

You step out of Neiman Marcus and wait for your ride to pull up in front of the doors. When your driver sees you struggling to the car he immediately hops out to put your and your friend’s bags all in the trunk.

“Good shopping day miss?” He asks, and you nod, stretching your back deliciously against the leather seats of the Escalade once you’re finally inside. The rest of the ride is abnormally quiet, even Cassie and Yeri lay against the headrests with their eyes closed, the day's exhaustion catching up to you three. Before you know it Yunho is pulling up the long curved driveway, stopping right in front of your front doors.

“Thank you for driving us around today Yunho, I know it can be a bit much.” You sheepishly thank him, a soft blush covering your cheeks. “Of course miss, I’m only doing my job.” He gives you a smile and you retreat into your house with him following close behind. This was one of those moments where he absolutely adored you.

***

Friday morning something shifts when your father calls you into his office. You stand barefoot, sporting sleeping shorts and an oversized t-shirt, feeling slightly awkward as Yunho is also standing there. You can feel him eyeing you, clearly not used to seeing you in your lounging attire.

“Darling, due to current articles and the uprising of the company I have decided to promote Yunho to your bodyguard.” Your father says, his hands resting politely atop of his desk. You can't help but stare at him dumbfounded, it was the calm before the storm. Yunho could see your gears turning, he could almost calculate when your outburst was going to happen.

“What do you mean you’re assigning me a bodyguard? Absolutely not! I do not need a babysitter.” Your father’s demeanor changes. 

“I will not tolerate your attitude.” He says raising his hand up.

“But dad, I am in college! Actually, I'm about to graduate college. I don’t need someone to look after me!” You state, close to stomping your feet in a tantrum.

“It’s not that you need it dear, it's just for safety precautions. SMD is gaining popularity and I cannot have you walking around without any protection.” He reiterates. You look at Yunho and he can only look down at his feet. “But why him?” At your words his head pops up to look in your direction, his eyes gleaming with mild offense.  

“Why not Yunho? He’s perfect for the role. He’s worked with us for 3 years now, knows all your friends and is very familiar with your lifestyle.” Your father defends. 

“Well yes but I like him as my chauffeur…I am not here for this dad.” You argue, pointing aggressively at him as you try to prove your point.

“I hired a new chauffeur, per Yunho’s recommendation. He will be here tonight for whatever dinner you have going on this time.” Immediately you knew who he was talking about. 

“That loser from the coffee shop!?” You say looking at Yunho this time. Your father brings a hand up to massage his temples, Yunho is about to respond but is cut off.

“Yunho is your bodyguard, and Mingi is your new driver. So either put up with it or stay home tonight. End of discussion!” 

You pressed your lips shut, suddenly feeling defeated by your father. You knew discussing the matter further with him was a lost cause, there was no budging him when he set his mind on something. Finally you drop your head in defeat and nod. “Now go, I have to finish some work here. Yunho my apologies for that, you are dismissed.”

You spent the rest of your afternoon laying in bed just staring at the ceiling, then scrolling on your phone and switching between apps. Nightfall approaches and it's time to get ready for a night in the city. You start with a long shower, exfoliating, shaving and moisturizing. You pick a dress from the countless different ones you’d bought earlier in the week. Delicately pulling the tag off, you slip it on. Your phone startles you as it vibrates aggressively on your vanity table, blindly you answer and are met with Cassie’s face.

“I love you but you have to hurry, our VIP reservation is at 11.” Cassie urges, you nod at her through the camera. “Yes yes I'll be there soon, there were new arrangements made today. I’ll tell you all about it.” You hang up the phone and hurry down, where Yunho waits for you by the door. You don't notice the way his eyes rake over your frame and he suppresses a little smirk. He opens the car door for you and when you slip onto the leather seats you are met by the same guy from the cafe. You’ve got to be kidding me, you think to yourself. He’s dressed in a suit just like Yunho, he doesn't say anything else besides a small hello. You only watch the way he smirks at Yunho when he slips into the passenger seat. A smirk that makes you wonder if you had been a topic of discussion between them. The car ride is silent and soon you are pulling into the valet of the night club.

“Mingi right?” Your voice breaks the silence and he nods, “nice to meet you miss. I look forward to tending to whatever you need.” Mingi replies and you almost roll your eyes at the automated response. 

“Nice to meet you once again Mingi, welcome to your first day on the job.” You scoff hopping out of the car, the entire debacle between you and your father clearly still filling you up with annoyance.

***

The night starts off slow, you sip on a cocktail while Cassie leans into your ear. “So who's the new one?” Your eyes shift to Mingi who stands next to Yunho, his big hands crossed at his pelvis. He sports a dark pair of shades making it impossible to see where he was looking, yet you can sense his gaze is on you and your best friend.

“Mingi, he’s friends with Yunho. My dad decided that I suddenly needed a bodyguard and promoted Yunho, then hired Mingi per Yunho’s recommendation.” You mock your father’s tone. 

“Hmm,” she hums, her teeth digging into her glossy lips, “can I have one?” Looking over to Mingi, you can see his attention is now fully on Cassie despite the dark lenses covering his irises. She waves at him and he sends her a smile. Your friend almost melts into the couch at the subtle advances of your driver.

 “No.” Your voice is flat, “I fear they’re both mine.” You joke, except you're not sure how much of it is a joke. The more the alcohol kicks in, the more appealing the pair looks to you.

Your party of friends grows bigger by the hour and more regular club goers fill the space, the bass of the music pounds on your chest, it’s not long before you start feeling the slight fogginess of the alcohol clouding your judgement. Shot after shot kept coming, bottles of the most expensive liquor being served to your table. You’re up now dancing freely with your friends, Yunho standing within close proximity, he’s had to stabilize you on your feet twice now. He points to his watch when Mingi looks at him. “We have to bring her home in about an hour. Her dad’s rules.” He informs his counterpart through their ear piece. Time flew by and by the time that hour hits its 3 a.m.

Yunho sucks in a deep breath and leans down to your level. “It’s time to go.” He says loudly, and you shake your head, “it’s only 3 Yuyu. I don’t wanna go.” You pout holding your stance. It’d only get more difficult from this point on, “I understand that miss but your father’s rules were clear.” You ignore his words and try to tread through the crowd but a heavy hand pulls you back. 

“Stop it!” you say twisting your arm from his grip, “I don’t wanna go! You two and my dad can go kiss my ass!” Yunho sent a nod to Mingi. Suddenly your feet are no longer on the ground. Mingi clears up space as Yunho walks with you over his shoulder through the crowd. His large hand holds the bottom of your dress down. Your small fists pound on his back, as you try to flail yourself all over the place.

“Put me down Yunho!” But your bodyguard refuses. Back in valet Yunho waits for the car, while apologetically smiling at a few other employees as you yell every profanity under the sun. Mingi stands beside Yunho and you manage to catch the edge of his sunglasses with your fist, smacking them off his face and scratching him in the process. Mingi winces, holding the raised skin of his face as he picks up his glasses. Yunho shoves you in the car and soon you’re all on your merry way home with you passed out in the backseat.

“I’m regretting this job.” Mingi mutters, running his finger over the scratch on his face. “She’s usually not like this, I guess daddy’s new rules are getting to her.” Yunho responds, sending a pitied look to his best friend. “Usually?” Mingi asks, shaking his head in annoyance.

***

“Mom, did dad give me a curfew?” You ask your mother the next morning, you did your best to ignore the pounding in your head. You can see her eyes shift as she tries to put up a front.

“No baby, what do you mean? Or at least I don’t know of any curfew.” She replies, folding her laundry neatly.

“Because last night that I was out with my friends…at the dinner I told you about. I left at a specific time and that's not how Yunho and I usually operate.” With crossed arms you stare at your mother waiting for whatever excuse she’s come up with. 

Instead she gives you a pointed look, “and how do you usually operate?” She smirks, you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Uh, I let him know when I'm ready to go.” You state as if it were an obvious fact. Your words hang in the air and she shrugs.

“I’d ask your father directly honey, I wouldn't know.” You huff in annoyance and head back to your room to freshen up and dispute this with your father.

The door to his office echoes loudly when you swing it open, startling Mingi and Yunho who currently sit in the seats facing the desk.

“Pumpkin I'm discussing busine-”

“Did you give me a curfew?” You ask cutting him off. Your father sighs in defeat, he knew that you’d come to him with questions sooner or later.

“Not necessarily a curfew hon, just a set time to have you home.”

“That’s literally the definition of a curfew! Dad, what is going on? Are you trying to ruin my life?” Your father, clearly on the edge already, is having none of it.

“Is 3 a.m not enough for your clubbing activities?” Your eyes suddenly widen at your fathers words. How'd he know? Then your eyes shift to Yunho who now stands besides Mingi against the wall. Both men stoic in the face as if the entire debacle isn’t going on in front of them. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? You keep telling your mom and I that you are going out to important dinners, come to find out you're out at clubs getting absolutely wasted with those trashy friends of yours.” You shake your head, “You don’t underst-”

“What I don’t understand is why my daughter is acting like this. Look at the gash you gave Mingi last night, all because he wanted to ensure your safety back home and you just can’t help but act a fool! Do what you like, you are an adult, but under my house you’ll be home when I say!” He yells, his voice booming through the office.

“But-” You try to argue, and he shakes his head.

“Don't you get it? With our status you cannot be acting like this; it’ll end up in the tabloids and what does that mean for SMD?” Your father searches your face for some type of answer, but you hide by crossing your arms and looking down at the wooden floor.

“You swipe my Amex like it's nothing, you buy what you want, you go where you want, what more do you want? So no, the curfew isn't going anywhere. End of discussion. Now please leave so I can finish business.” Your words are caught in your throat. 

You stare at your father before your eyes shift to the two men dressed in black on the side, Yunho sporting a very sly smirk as he watches your eyes sparkle with tears. He was enjoying this little meltdown, he enjoyed the fact that someone had finally said no; after all you were a spoiled brat and while he loved that about you, it was time for a reality check. You stomp out of the office slamming the mahogany door behind you causing you father to flinch and apologize to the pair.

“Don’t have daughters.” Your father sighs.

***

The next week you spent going to your scheduled classes and swimming. The weekend had been the opposite of relaxing between your fathers argument and the raging hangover, you decided to reconnect with nature, touch some grass if you will. Every single time, Yunho was out there with you, and there was nothing he could do about the skanky bikinis you sported every time you sat out in the sun. In his head he cursed Mingi for being able to take a break, after all he was your only real bodyguard. 

He sat in a chair in the shade, his eyes drinking in every area of uncovered skin behind his sunglasses. His mind went places and he couldn't help but readjust himself multiple times. Your demeanor with him had also changed, you were more talkative than before, asking him about himself, offering him lemonade made with your own secret recipe. You were sweet talking him and he knew it was your way of trying to get him to break the rules for you next time you went out. But if there was one thing about Yunho it was that he wasn't a people pleaser, and he wasn't one to give in easily especially not to brats like you. 

The week flew by for him and like usual, here he was on his way with you and Mingi to another top club in New York city. You were dressed in a two piece set this time, the skirt so short your underwear peeked through every time you sat down. With wandering eyes everywhere, in order to shield you Yunho’s big frame stood in front of you. He takes your hand and you smile up at him with big eyes, but he averts his focus to his job at hand which was protecting you.

***

By midnight you're drunk out of your mind, so drunk that you ended up booking a hotel room in the building where the said club was at. You told yourself you deserved to get wasted and spoil yourself in a luxurious hotel after the hell week you’d had.

“I-i don’t wanna go home, just take me up to my room whenever. I forwarded you the reservation email.” You told Yunho. It wouldn’t align with your father’s rules but Yunho was sure you'd twist up some pretty lie to get out of being asked too many questions. “Tell my parents I'm crashing at Cassie’s.” Yunho could only agree, because what else could he do in this situation? Would it put his job in jeopardy? Yes, was he annoyed with you? Also yes, but he'd rather deal with your father later than have you cause another scene for him and Mingi yet again.

“One more drink Yuyu please?” You ask, your eyes big and glassy as you stare up at him. He shakes his head, “I don’t think it's a good idea to keep drinking miss. At least take a break.” He suggests, your lips form a pout but you were too tired to fight him. Eventually you manage to slip through the crowd and to the bar. Mingi and Yunho search for you but their panic is short lived when you reappear with another martini in hand.

“Do you want some?” You ask, there you go again with that suggestive gaze that has him reeling. He shakes his head and as you're about to take another sip he pulls the glass away from you. “I said no more.” You pout at his harsh tone. 

“Fine, take me to the bathroom then.” You say crossing your arms. Yunho sighs internally, deciding that having you use the restroom alone was too risky he convinces Cassie to take you. The blonde holds on to your arm as Yunho clears space for you to walk through. He stands outside the door and motions Cassie to bring you in.

Yunho waits outside for what feels like an eternity; after 20 minutes he knocks on the door. Cassie opens and without a word pulls him in. “what-” but Cassie shakes her head, “she threw up about half of the drinks she drank. I fed her some water, she should be sobering up.” You sit against the wall of the fancy bathroom with your eyes closed. You feel a hand going around your bicep to hoist you up and you shake your head.

“Don’t move me, I’d rather wait it out here. Just get me some water please.” Not daring to have your eyes obliterated by the harsh light you keep them closed. You hear the bathroom door open, letting the noise of the club in for a second before it muffles out again.

A full bottle and a half of water later, you had sobered up almost entirely. You rinse your mouth in the sink and pat some cold water on your chest to freshen up and head back out where Yunho stands.

You walk through the crowd heading straight for the bar, ready for at least another round of drinks but Yunho pulls you back. “No more drinks.” He states flatly. Your brows draw together, sending him a confused look. “Um, who says I can’t? Cause as far as I can remember you’re just my bodyguard not my dad.” Now you have taken it upon yourself to mess with him. You were tired of being bossed around. Your eyes bore into his, his gaze has shifted in a way you had never seen before; he was pissed. Sucking in a deep breath he leans down to your ear, “you are done for the night.” You swallow thickly and shrug trying to play off the sudden ache in the bottom half of your body. You take the lead, both men following close behind you.

Despite sobering up, the exhaustion after drinking is catching up to you and the little alcohol you have left in your system still keeps you a bit unstable on your feet. The elevator ride up to the room is tension filled. You can feel both men’s gazes on you, and out of the corner of your eye you see the way Yunho and Mingi exchange glances.

As soon as you step through the door Yunho breaks the silence, “I need you to sit down and drink some water.” Taking the water bottle from his grip, you sit down purposefully taking small sips. Both men watch you carefully, pulling their blazers off and draping them over a chair, leaving them both in their white button ups.

“I don’t really want any more water.” Your hoarse voice says, pushing the bottle away from you. You go to stand up but Yunho stops you.

“Sit the fuck down.” He points at the seat as soon as you rise to your feet.

“Excu-”

“Now.” You plop back down on the soft chair in defeat. 

“You’ve been a real fucking pain the ass you know that right?” At that you giggle, biting your lip a little too hard at his frustration.

“She thinks it's funny Min.” A low hum rumbles through Mingi’s chest.

“Do you want me to blow you as a thank you for being the best bodyguard ever and putting up with me? Because I will.” Your body is now burning hot, just the mere thought of Yunho having you on your knees in front of his best friend who is also your chauffeur excites you. You slowly rise to your feet, stepping carefully towards Yunho as if testing the waters. Your bare feet on the carpet showcasing the sheer size difference between you and the dark blue haired man. Without second thought his hands cup your face and pull you into him for a kiss. Everything goes fast, your hands grip his wrists as he still has a hold of your face as he kisses you with pure fervor.

“Fucking brat.” Yunho pulls you away and redirects you towards Mingi who is now standing by the bed. Your arms stretch out to reach for the Mingi, he pulls you into him and you meet his lips as Yunho manhandles your skirt. Mingi wastes no time laying you down, the skirt of your two piece set now resting on your waist from the vigorous movement, your panty clad cunt on full display. Yunho presses you down into bed by your chest, his opposite hand coming down to play with you. His fingers rub over the fabric of your now soiled underwear. 

“Such a good girl huh Yunho?” Mingi says chuckling at your writhing form. Yunho smirks,

“Sit behind her, why don't you.” Yunho pulls you up and Mingi slots himself between you and the plush pillows, your back now resting flush against his chest. His arms encircle themselves around your waist as Yunho tugs your panties down. He holds the fabric up by his finger, “We’ve been getting peeks of this slutty thong all night, how cute.” Yunho chuckles.

His fingers toys with you before slipping two slender digits inside. Immediately your back arches against your chauffeur’s chest, his grip only tightening on you. His eyes are focused on his fingers splitting you open, his hand coming down to rest right above your pelvis. He starts with languid strokes, and the way you only spread your legs further for him eggs him on to pick up speed.

“Look at you, spreading your legs open like a slut.” There’s a condescending look on Yunho’s face when he speaks to you. The veins on his arms slightly bulged out from the excretion. You could only whine and attempt to buck your hips on his fingers. Between the haze of the alcohol and the duo's cologne invading your senses you feel yourself spiraling. A knot forming in the pit of your tummy builds up fast. Your lower body begins to shake as your legs threaten to close, that's when Mingi reaches for one of your legs and he hooks his hand behind your knee pulling you open for Yunho.

“Open up pretty.” He murmurs in your ear.

“Im gon-na, Yuyu.” You squirm in Mingi’s grip, your whines picking up in volume. You can barely keep your eyes open and then your orgasm hits you. Your body shudders heavily under the two men. Yunho sends you encouraging words as you cum all over his fingers. Mingi leans down to press feathered kisses on your cheek, his lips inching slowly towards your now messy glossy lips. He kisses you hard, his hand unhooking from your leg and coming down hard against your pussy. Your whole body jolts at the action you can only cry out and take what they give you.

“Come here baby,” Yunho says, pulling you up swiftly. Your legs are shaky as you stand close to him, his hands on your face again, this time you lean to kiss him, glossy lips working desperately against his. But Yunho wasn’t about to let you do what you wanted, not this time. He pulls away, his large hand wrapping around your throat as he squeezes lightly, only enough to take your breath away momentarily.

“Watch it slut, you want something you have to work for it.” He spits, backing you into Mingi. “Who goes first? Me or you?” The driver chuckles and pulls your arms behind your back bending you into the bed. “I’ll break her in for you, how about that?” Yunho smiles at him, “don't let her cum. Tiny has to learn to work for things, she can’t just swipe daddy’s Amex here.” Yunho mocks.

You climb onto the bed face down, ass up, with your hands resting behind your back. Mingi’s belt buckle resonates loudly in the room, echoing in the haze of your brain. Yunho suddenly comes into your line of vision, his pants also unbuckled.

“Are you ready baby?” He asks, feigning a pout at the tears lining your eyes. You lift your head, your hands coming to support you as you push yourself up. You nod vigorously,

“Please Yuyu, I want it so bad.” You whine. Yunho shakes his head and points at Mingi, “why don’t you ask Mingi nicely baby.”

You pant softly and crane your neck to look at the man behind you. “Please Mingi, I want it so bad.” Your hips wiggle back towards him. Mingi’s mushroom tip prods at your entrance

“You want it?” he teases and you nod, taking your lip between your teeth, his large hands grip your waist as he gently pushes in. His girth alone splitting you open slowly. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, at the intrusion.

“Hands behind your back girlie.” Yunho whispers, your arms reach back and Mingi holds on to them as he pulls you onto him, his entire length buried in you. His warm skin comes in contact with your ass and suddenly he’s set a delicious pace that has you reeling. Your breath gets caught in your throat and you're sure you've now gone dumb. Yunho is talking to you but you can barely hear him, until he taps your cheek, his hand cupping your chin and gently lifting your face up. His leaking tip pokes your lips, you open your mouth, wide eyes looking up at him. Yunho bites lip, his hands caressing your face.

“Good fucking girl baby.” You hum around his cock and he gently moves further in until he hits the back of your throat. You gag slightly, tears now rolling down your cheeks freely.

“Being used from both ends, baby. Look at you.” Mingi moans, his thrust now becoming erratic, he eventually resorts to barely pulling out, his hips jutting hard against you just bullying his tip against your cervix. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your orgasm fast approaching. Yunho takes notice of the way, you're going limp on the bed, your whole body twitching.

“She's about to cum, don't let her finish. She doesn't deserve it yet Min.” He grunts, pulling out of your mouth and cupping your chin once again. He watches with an amused smile as Mingi struggles to slow down and pull out, just as you're about to fall over the brink it all stops. Your tired body collapses on the bed, writhing in discomfort at your fading high.

“Yun-ho, please.” You whine, rubbing your legs together.

“I'm pretty sure I gave myself blue balls man,” Mingi shudders, his hand running up and down his cock, trying to keep the stimulation going. Yunho ignores his friend's comment and takes his place instead, he looms over you now. He pulls you on your back, tugging on the top you still wore, which was now soiled with spit and tears. He tugs at the stretchy material until it sits comfortably under your chest. Your tits spilling over, nipples perky and waiting for attention. He toys with your tits, fondling them and laying a flat smack that irritates the skin. You're panting like a dog, legs open waiting for him to do whatever he wanted to you. 

“Are you ready to work for it?” He asks, once again in a condescending tone. You nod, your hands reaching around the bed feeling for Mingi. Yunho leans down pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips, his tongue swipes over your lip, your mouth drops open as he slips inside, instantly buried to the hilt. He gives you one last kiss and pulls away, instantly setting a brutal pace. Pleasure spreads all over your abdomen, as his cock hits that spongy spot deep within you. You're a moaning mess, legs trying to cage him in and hips lifting to meet him but he doesn't let you.

“You're acting like a bitch in heat baby, you wanna cum?” He asks, and you nod, letting out a strangled cry. “Ye-yes yuyu please.” Mingi’s hand works heavy on his cock, trying to match the grip your cunt had around him.

“I said work for it, remember? So why don’t you be a doll and help Mingi.” He motions over to the man beside your head. You do the best you can to replace his hand, your pace is shaky, barely consistent, he leans a bit closer and you are able to get his red tip in your mouth. His hand coming down to cup the back of your head, helping you lift up without causing much strain. Mingi lowers his hips, lodging himself deeper in your mouth. You can barely focus anymore, your headspace far from reality. 

“She's going dumb look at her,” Yunho grunts, Mingi breathes heavily above you. And you suck gently and somehow that's enough to push him over the edge. His cum spills into your mouth at the same time your high is building up. You pull from him, his tip still leaking, now spilling all over your lips and chin. Yunho hold your hips and your hands come down to grip his forearms as he fucks you into the bed. 

“You earned it tiny, go ahead and fucking c-cum.” Yunho strangles out, your orgasm builds up until you're falling over the edge. Your body locks up, legs shaking as you ride your high, loud whines falling from your lips. You relax into the bed and Yunho who ruts against you suddenly stills and spills into your gummy walls. He sucks in a deep breath as the pulsing in his cock comes to a slow halt. He pulls out and his seed is spilling out from you, running down between your lips and onto the bed creating a wet patch.

Your eyes are closed, lungs still trying to suck in air from the heavy exertion. You feel yourself getting moved around, a warm towel wiping your face and then between your legs. Someone pulls you out of the matching set that was still bunched around your waist. 

You feel a tap on your cheek and you open your eyes to be met by Mingi and a water bottle. “Here's some water doll.” You sit up and gently sip from the bottle, humming at the cool liquid running down your scratched throat. Yunho slips on the white button he sported on you. Mingi looks at him as he puts the blazer back on.

“I’ll stop somewhere for a button up in the morning.” Yunho says when he feels Mingi’s judgemental gaze on him. “Get some rest doll, Mingi and I will be back for you in the morning.” you pout as they tuck you into the plush bed. “You can't stay?” You ask but you knew the answer. Yunho shakes his head, “gotta report that you are safe. It'll also look suspicious if we stay, you know you got eyes on you everywhere now.” You nod and nuzzle into the bed. 

The door clicks softly behind them as they walk towards the elevators. “I can tell she really likes you.” Mingi informs his best friend. Yunho shrugs, “That's rocky territory, I couldn't imagine what her father would do if he ever found out.” In a way it hurt his chest the thought of never seeing you again if your father found out. After pining over you for the past 3 years in secrecy, and it coming down to tonight's activities he was happy, but it was also bittersweet that nothing further than this could ever happen; he could never call you fully his out of fear.

Yunho rests against the elevator wall, anxiety creeping up on him at the thought of trying to play this all off in the future. He avoids the front desk personnel’s gaze as she gives him a questioning look on his attire as his bare chest peeked through the expensive blazer. When they're both back in the car he reports to your father through text that you'd insisted on crashing at Cassie’s place and that they’d be back for you early in the morning.

***

The following weeks were a blur at least for Yunho, he couldn't concentrate on anything other than you, all he ever saw was you. He caught himself admiring more than ever before; so much so Mingi had to often snap him back to reality. Aside from that, there was nothing he could do besides stay quiet and do his job. He had Mingi to vent to but that ended when the man resigned after he got a job opportunity as a producer. He was shortly replaced by Hongjoong, he was cool and all but he couldn’t have deep conversations with him like he did with his best friend.

The lewd activities from that night replayed in his mind and he just couldn’t help how much his feelings for you kept growing since then; he was sure he was now in love. He envied Mingi and how easily he relaxed in situations where Yunho was conflicted.

“Why are you stressing, man? We all had a good time, it doesn't need to be brought up again.” His friend would say, but that was easy for him to say when he wasn't in love with you. 

You on the other hand had developed a full blown crush on your bodyguard, you liked the way he handled you, that was all you needed in your life. Not being able to hold back any longer you’d began to sneak out into the greenhouse that sat in a quiet corner of your grand backyard. Yunho would meet you for quickies, which would eventually lead to the two of you talking till the late hours of the night all while your parents remained clueless inside. You knew how much Yunho feared losing his job and being faced by your father, but of one thing you were sure; you always got what you wanted, and Yunho would be yours one way or another.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Glimmering Shadows | Azriel x Reader

Summary: While visiting Spring Court on political business with Rhys, Azriel meets you, a Faerie with little glimmering sparks that help you in the same way his shadows help him, and he decides that visiting you a few more times afterwards couldn’t hurt.

Word Count: ~ 1.8k

Warnings: None!

A/N: This was so cute to write, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

It had been an ordinary visit to Spring Court, Rhysand arriving with only Azriel flanking his right side. Cassian was off in Windhaven, probably about to bite Devlon’s head off, per usual.

Spring Court had shaped up since Tamlin had gotten himself together. The Court was working better now, still recovering from the war like many were, but after a few changes and adjustments to the system and ruling, the citizens seemed happier, the land and economy thriving, and most of the houses were put back together from the previous damage. Azriel’s shadows surveyed the area around them while Rhys walked to Tamlin’s manor, it also being freshly restored it seemed.

They entered, a slightly tense welcoming from the Fae at the door, before walking in, only to meet Tamlin, seeming unhappy as ever to see the High Lord of Night, gesture them to follow and led them into his office. The house was made primarily of wood and vines, with delicate colored windows that, when the sun hit them, portrayed wonderful patterns of flowers and vines shining onto the floor.

The office had a few windows open that were quickly shut by vines, those of which moved on their own, it seemed. The desk was made of what looked to be expensive wood in a deep chestnut color, bookshelves coating the wall to the left, a large map of Prythian on the right, and underneath it a map of Spring Court in personal detail. Tamlin was freshly shaven, his blond hair silky and shimmering as it flowed down, his green eyes clear, clothes ironed and expensive as any other ruler’s.

Try as he might, the son of Spring could never acquire the same casual power as Rhysand. Azriel knew that for sure.

That was when he felt it. A small feeling of something flickering, and going out, before a shadow slithered back up to him, seeming agitated. Tamlin noticed, eyes narrowing.

“I’d rather our discussion stay private.”

His voice, carefully neutral to Rhys, said. A pair of violet eyes glanced back at the shadowsinger, before Rhys gave a casual shrug, and Azriel, knowing what that meant, promptly left the room and began wandering the manor. He felt it again. More flickering, then the shadows returned to him despite his repeated attempts to make them go back out. They were agitated, but wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, it made him wonder what it could be.

Nothing around the manor seemed to be causing it, though the bugs that made his skin itch were annoying. He huffed, exiting the manor, only for his mind to promptly be told something.

‘Don’t go too far. Wouldn’t want Tamlin thinking you’re spying on his precious bug-infested land.’

The smug voice of his High Lord rang out in his mind, before retreating as quickly as it had come. A few of the servants, mostly lesser Fae, glanced at him as he passed. Some with wonder, some with fear. However, the closer he got to the area where all his shadows that had been had gone out, he found one female who only looked at him with amused curiosity.

It was a bit far into the woods, trees in hues of deep amethyst purple and a light shimmering pink hanging down like a curtain, he pushed them aside, met with an area with long grass and blooming flowers, and you, the female sitting on the somehow-not-rotting fallen tree that was hollowed out, holding the tiniest little bunny he’d ever seen.

As soon as he’d caught sight of you, the bunny had hopped off, his attention now directly on you. There were tiny little sparks around you, but when he looked closer it seemed more like globs of see-through glitter, like a toddler’s art project come to life through the shimmering pieces of what he could’ve imagined as pixie dust surrounding you. Not to mention the wings, nothing like his own, yours being thin and delicate, shaped like a butterfly’s, with a rich hue of translucent colors. A rare species of Spring Court faeries had such wings, most choosing to hide them from sight, as you promptly did when seeing him, the delicate appendages slowly fading from view.

He’d been staring.

“Who are you?”

He asked with a mild frown, you raised a brow, an amused smile on your face. The gesture sent an odd aching feeling in his chest flaring up that he tried to shove down.

“I’m guessing you’re the one who’s been sending all those shadows?”

You asked, completely ignoring his question. He sighed through his nose.

“You’re the one that's been putting them out?”

He asked with a knowing tone, shadows darting out from him to meet your little tiny pixie pieces, both warring against each other as they intertwined, some shadows sending the glittery things back to you, some of your sparks sending his dark, shadowy creatures back to him. It was almost as if they were playing.

“That would be me, yes. What’s your name, … shadowy figure?”

You asked, and he then realized that he was cloaked in the shadows that had returned to him, making him look like a splotchy black figure in this Court’s bright light. No wonder the servants had been giving him weird looks.

“Azriel. And yours, pixie-dust?”

You giggled a bit at the name, finding it amusing. He found it odd how much he liked hearing and making you laugh.

“Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Azriel.”

You said with a small smile, offering a hand to shake in greeting. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had offered him a hand besides maybe Elain, and even she’d been scared of him at first. He took your hand, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the scarring that coated his calloused hands, compared to your soft, gentle ones.

“A..pleasure to meet you as well.”

He replied, cautiously watching you, the way you held yourself. A hint of recognition entered your gaze as you examined him further.

“Oh! You’re that Spymaster, aren’t you? Night Court?”

You then asked, and he internally cringed at the fact that the only reason you knew him was because of his occupation that involved slaughtering and torturing people, not to mention spying.

“Yes..”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you continued talking. You were very talkative and friendly. It was almost overwhelming, but he found that he liked it, surprisingly.

“That’s what those shadows are for, like little spies, I’m guessing? My little pixies work the same way, they just run around and help me with things, it’s honestly —“

He stood there, listening to you talk before he was pulled to sit down by his shadows next to you on the log. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, listening to you rattle on and on first about your nieces then your one nephew who would always sneak out of his crib, or your mom who still treated you like you were a little girl despite you being at least a few centuries old….

‘Someone’s lovesick~’

A certain High Lord’s voice in his head called out, and though Azriel wanted to deny it, he knew better.

He was an absolute goner.

*********************************************************

He’d been looking for any excuse to see you, honestly. Even lying straight to Cassian’s face about why he’d missed training. The truth? He’d been flying to Spring Court, visiting you.

It had become a real problem, honestly, how distracted he was because of you. Even on missions he couldn’t stop thinking of your smile, how he loved listening to you speak about things you loved, like the flowers and flora of your homeland, or the way you’d showed him your delicate little wings after his first few times visiting you. A few months passed, and his little crush hadn’t gone yet, in fact, it had blossomed into something much more than a crush, and the others were starting to notice.

“What’s got you so distracted lately, Az?”

Cassian’s confused but intrigued voice rang out from in front of him where they sparred, iron clanging against iron, bodies moving in a dance of death they’d practiced too many times before.

“Nothing.”

He said simply, shaking his head. Cassian only laughed, a sound that only reminded him of you, and your —

And then he was on the floor, Cassian’s sword at his throat as he grinned triumphantly.

“What’s her name?”

His annoying brother asked in a teasing and knowing tone, Azriel only huffed, getting back up and dusting his leathers off.

It wasn’t anything serious, he told himself.

Even when he found himself flying hundreds of miles to go see you again that very same night, he found you on the windowsill of your house, watching the sky with a sleepy smile. He landed silently, walking closer to you and stepping on a twig on purpose, so he wouldn’t frighten you. Your gaze snapped over to him, and you beamed, getting off of your windowsill in a smooth motion to pull him into a warm hug, a gesture he always melted into.

“Do your wings not get sore from all that flying?”

You asked him, separating only enough to look at him. He smiled, barely, but any sort of smile from him was enough to make you happy.

“It’s worth it, for you.”

He replied before his lips curled into a more genuine grin.

“Though maybe you should come visit sometime.”

He suggested, tone joking but also with a hint of actual meaning. He’d talked about his home, Night Court, to you before, and tried getting you to come visit it or even just let him fly you over it, but you’d always denied it.

“What would I tell my family? They wouldn’t support me with you, and-“

That was when it happened, when your eyes met, his pleading, yours empathetic, when it snapped right into place. Everything was warm despite the cold chill of the night, and the breeze as it blew past. Both of your eyes widened, the only sounds being that of the leaves rustling for a few moments, but you both knew what had happened.

Before you could get a word out, his lips were against yours, yours against his, both savoring the feeling of finally crossing that final bridge and letting each other feel. Your little pixies danced with his shadows that night, in harmony for one moment, despite being the opposite of each other.

When you finally separated, he smiled, full this time of warmth and happiness.

“Does this mean you can come visit now?”

He asked, and you only laughed despite the tears in your eyes, and the ones in his, and pulled him closer into another kiss.

He’d be lucky if you ever weren’t visiting now.

Tags:

@hqmsby

Part 2

[a-yciecat]

My Dad!Raf fic, as promised☺️

No Harm Done

cw// fem!reader(referred to as wife, mama, mother, etc), tooth rotting fluff, toy/bubble gun, some injury(soap in eyes and falling on soapy floor >:)), FLUFFFFF

wc; 1355 | proofread by the lovely @grievetheliving3311 | I'm calling the daughter Pearl bc I saw hc about Raf's first daughter being named Pearl and couldn't help myself☺️

A little girl really, absolutely, couldn't possibly do that much harm. Right? At least, that's what you assumed Rafayel must have been thinking when he gave your 5-year-old daughter a bubble gun.

You were simply sitting at the desk you had managed to cram into the bedroom, when you moved in with Rafayel. The desk was simple, wooden, not too tall, and not too short. Your laptop was propped comfortably in the rough middle of the desk, and there were various messy drawings, small paintings, and files scattered amongst the rest of your stationary. Your chair was soft, with a backrest that barely passed your head, and armrests at the perfect height. Not to mention how warm it was from the advancing dusk that infiltrated your pretty, white, curtains.

You weren't doing anything in particular, just scrolling on social media after a long day at work. You thought your husband was painting in his studio, letting your dear little gremlin run around and play. Yeah, you thought. Although, once you heard two sets of giggles, it became increasingly clear that you were wrong.

You decide to believe that Rafayel simply took a break to play with your daughter, and go back to what you were doing, when…

“Mama! Put yer hands where I can see ‘em!” The little girl bursts in with a huge grin on her face.

You can't help but smile as well, at the sight, until you see what she's holding.

It's hard to see in the dim, dusk lighting, but it looks somewhat like the weapon you use for work! Reasonably panicked, you quickly stand, and rush over to her.

“Sweetheart, where did you-” Relieved to suddenly find it isn't actually your gun, you wonder where she got a bubble gun from… Or rather, who.

“Baby, did Papa give you this?” You ask softly, tapping your index finger on the semi-hexagonal shape of bubble wands on the end of the ‘barrel’.

Pearl lets out an excited ‘mhm!’, and you can see where she previously lost one of her back teeth purely from how big she's smiling. It's kind of somber to see how fast your little girl is growing up, but, nevertheless, you have a culprit to catch.

You think for a moment…, how to scare your husband? Hmm… Aha!

“Do you wanna sneak up on Papa?” You propose, already preparing to let your little troublemaker climb onto your shoulders.

She beams, “Can we!?” Her eyes absolutely light up like the sea you swear is hidden in them.

You smile warmly, “We can,” You turn her around so you can pick her up and plop her on your shoulders.

Slowly, you stand up, a smirk playing on your lips. You secure the dear girl by gently holding her ankles, slowly creeping down the hallway. Quietly(though not quiet enough), you giggle, but Pearl playfully shushes you, and rests against the top of your head.

She holds the bubble gun so that your head acts as a stand for it. Your little shrimp giggles, gasping afterwards as if she'll shush herself.

Once you reach the end of the hallway, you hug the wall, scanning the living room-turned-art studio for your husband. You can hear the ticking of Rafayel’s analog clock, and the soft classical music he has playing.

Eventually, you find the chance to sneak up on him. Watching as he sits on a low stool to work on a smaller painting, you begin to creep forward with a big grin on your face. Slowly, once you might as well be breathing down his neck, you trail your right hand from your daughter's ankle and jolt! Rafayel’s shoulder with it.

“Hands up, Papa!” Your baby girl giggles.

Thinking nothing could happen, little Pearl pulls the trigger of her toy… just as her father yelps and turns around to face you…

“Oh! Raf, are you okay!?” You quickly, and gently, place the new culprit on the nearby couch.

You hurry back over to your husband, but…, you underestimate how slippery your daughter's earlier playtime has made the floor. You slip, clattering to your butt, right next to where Rafayel is wincing on his knees.

You can't hold back your laughter, but Pearl breaks first. She's giggling and writhing on the couch, while you and Rafayel begin to double over in laughter instead of pain. You're pretty sure the soap bubbles are making his eyes water, and despite the sting, and the soapy-salty tears on his cheeks, it's obvious his two guppies are his favorite people in the world. But you do have a mess or two to clean now…

Your daughter gasps loudly, “Mama! Papa! It got painted!”

The two of you look over in confusion, laughing when you see the tiny bit of paint that got on the toy. You look back at each other and your hand reaches out to brush some bubbles away from Rafayel's cheeks.

“Thank you, Treasure,” He smiles.

You had always liked the nickname. Though he wasn’t a pirate or anything, being the God of the Sea was close enough for you.

With a content sigh, you plant a chaste kiss to your husband’s lips, sneakily ruffling his perfect hair, “Let’s get all this cleaned up, yeah?”

You help Rafayel to his feet, moving to snatch your daughter up onto your hip. You guide Rafayel to the bathroom, letting him wash his eyes as you wander to the kitchen to take care of Pearl’s dilemma.

Kissing her forehead, you set the small girl down on the counter beside the sink. You start humming a soft tune, the one you always hum to help your mischievous guppies fall asleep. You turn on the faucet. She hands you the bubble gun, smiling giddily at the thought of it being cleaned.

You run the spot of paint under the warm water, figuring it'll get the paint off faster than cold water can. Pearl watches, mesmerized by the water whirlpooling in the drain as her father quietly approaches.

Much to your surprise, Rafayel gets his revenge. Sneaking up to hug you from behind, he lets the remaining water on his face drip down your nape. Out of surprise, you jump and end up letting go of the bubble gun. It hits the bottom of the sink, knocking the soap cartridge loose. You giggle obliviously, turning your head to receive another innocent kiss, as your beloved wipes away a few drops of water from your neck.

“Mama, look!” Pearl squeals, pointing at the sink.

And that's when you notice the sink is filling with bubbles, all thanks to the warm water and loose bubble cartridge. You let out a surprised yelp, quickly turning off the water.

“Oh…, Raf, ‘m sorry; lemme-”

“No, let me,” He interrupts, “You go lay down with Pearl.”

With a sigh, you wrap your husband in a grateful hug. Lifting your daughter into your arms, with a small ‘c’mon, sweet-pea', you wander back down to her bedroom.

After putting her into her favorite mermaid pajamas, you shuffle off to yours and Rafayel's bedroom. You lay down with her, humming as the two of you cuddle up under the huge blanket.

Without much effort, you both drift off as quickly as all this fun unfolded. Like a typical little kid, Pearl snores softly in your hold, safe in her mother's embrace. Rafayel’s pillow is soft beneath your cheek, justifying your habit of stealing his half of the bed.

Soon he comes back, figuring he could watch a movie with his wife and daughter, only to find you both out cold… on his pillow.

He sighs, shaking his head with a soft smile. He climbs into bed to face you, one arm sliding under you to rest your head on his toned-yet-cushy bicep. Rafayel wraps his other arm over your waist, trapping Pearl between your chests, rubbing your back while your mini-me curls up against her parents’ chests like a baby shrimp.

With the messes cleaned, and a happy sleeping family, the night goes off without a hitch; your dreams intertwining and your smiles softer than the pillows beneath you.

© a-yciecat

Fandoms and No-No's for requests!

[fratttymatty]

The Basement

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot York had always lived in a world of his own making. A world painted in shades of faded Polaroids, sepia-toned photography, and the tactile hum of his beloved vintage film camera. At 30 years old, he'd never left his childhood home. His mother didn’t mind. She was just happy he was there, safely tucked away in the basement, where he spent hours surrounded by his photography equipment, sketchbooks, and the scent of old books. His life had always been quiet and unassuming—except for the occasional flare-up of frustration over his stalled career as a freelance photographer and artist.

The basement was his sanctuary. He had put up curtains to separate the clutter of his workspace from the cozy corner where he gamed, lounged on old leather sofas, and tried (and failed) to distract himself from the loneliness that gnawed at him. The art on the walls, his collection of vintage cameras, the scattered paintbrushes and half-finished canvases—they were all remnants of a dream that had long been abandoned. But Elliot had found peace there, or at least a dull form of acceptance.

But one evening, as he sunk into his usual routine—editing photos, sipping cheap wine, and scrolling through social media—something strange began to happen. The room felt different. The walls started to shift and hum with an energy that he couldn’t quite understand. It wasn’t a good feeling, not the cozy, familiar vibe that usually calmed him after a long day. No, this was something else. It was unsettling, almost alien.

Elliot stood up, his bare feet cold against the concrete floor. He reached for his phone to check the time, but the screen went black before he could tap it. As if on cue, the lights flickered, then dimmed, and then everything went dark. The silence that followed felt suffocating.

Before he could react, the floor beneath him began to tremble. His heart raced, and the air seemed to pulse with something he couldn’t name. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash, a searing light that filled every corner of the room. He shielded his eyes, but it was no use. The glow was everywhere.

The sound of furniture shifting, re-arranging itself, reached his ears. When the light finally faded, Elliot opened his eyes to find that the basement had transformed into something… different.

Where his art studio had once been, now stood a private gym. The walls were lined with weights, punching bags, and racks of dumbbells. There was a neon sign in the corner that read “GET BIG OR GO HOME,” and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall, with gaming consoles strewn across a low table. His leather sofas had been replaced with sleek beanbag chairs, and there were posters of famous athletes and cars decorating the walls. The entire room reeked of sweat and testosterone.

Elliot staggered backward, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He looked around in a daze. This… this wasn’t his space. This was some jock’s lair. It was everything he wasn’t. But before he could piece together what was going on, he felt a strange tug in the pit of his stomach. It was an almost physical sensation, a deep, primal force pulling at him, rewiring him, altering him in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

And then it started.

His body began to heat up, the air around him feeling thicker, as if his very cells were being remade. His skin stretched and tightened, his muscles swelling unnaturally as the change began. Elliot gasped, but the sound came out wrong. His voice, once soft and melodic, deepened into something guttural, more masculine. The edges of his vision blurred as the pain started to radiate from the inside out.

His hands, once slender and artistic, grew thick with muscle. His arms were covered in a sheen of sweat as his shoulders broadened and his chest expanded. His abdomen contracted and thickened, forming the abs of a bodybuilder. He could feel the air leaving his lungs as the transformation continued—each breath a battle. His legs grew stronger, thicker, the bones in his legs cracking and reshaping, giving him the powerful legs of a jock.

As the changes continued, Elliot's mind was bombarded by new thoughts, new instincts. The urge to lift weights, to work out, to dominate, it all consumed him. His thoughts flickered and shifted, like pages turning in a book, each one erasing a part of his old self.

His hair was the first thing he noticed. The bleached buzzcut he had been sporting for the past year—decorated with delicate flowers and a symbol of his indie artist lifestyle—was gone. In its place was a thick, dark brown fringe that fell messily across his forehead, styled in the latest TikTok jock fashion. He ran a hand through it, surprised at how it felt so right to him now.

His clothing, too, had transformed. The oversized hoodie and vintage jeans he had been wearing were gone, replaced by a fitted, tight athletic shirt and cargo shorts that clung to his newly muscled thighs. He stared at himself in the reflective surface of the gym mirror. The person staring back at him was unrecognizable.

The most shocking change, however, was the way his mind worked. Elliot—no, the person who had been Elliot—was slipping away. His new name was Ethan. He knew that now. He felt it. The name Ethan York seemed to pulse in his veins. The old worries about art, about the future, about being different—all of that was fading. In its place, a new drive surged within him: sports, girls, and partying. The thrill of competition, of lifting weights, of kissing girls on couches like these… that was what mattered now.

Ethan stood there for what felt like hours, unable to tear his eyes away from the mirror. His entire identity was slipping through his fingers like sand. His old life—the life of an artist, of a photographer, of someone who had longed to find his place in the world—felt distant now, like it belonged to someone else. It no longer seemed to matter.

A loud cheer echoed through the basement, and Ethan realized with a jolt that there were people here now. His friends—his new friends—were hanging out in the basement, lifting weights, laughing, playing video games, and throwing around crude jokes. One of them, a tall guy with broad shoulders and a thick neck, slapped Ethan on the back.

“Yo, dude, you ready for the party later?” he asked, his voice full of that easy confidence that Ethan now understood all too well.

“Yeah, for sure,” Ethan replied with a grin that felt so natural, it was as if he had always smiled like this. His old self—the one who had stared at the world through the lens of a camera, capturing fleeting moments—was gone.

As Ethan joined his friends, slipping into the role of the charismatic jock, he realized that there was no going back. He had been reborn. His old life, his old dreams, everything that had once been important to him, now felt hollow, irrelevant.

The basement—the gym, the gaming consoles, the posters of athletes—was no longer a prison of his own making. It was home. And for the first time in a long time, Ethan felt free.

He never once looked back.

The first few days after the transformation were a blur of new experiences, sensations, and… changes. Ethan, as he was now called, settled into his new life with an unsettling ease. At first, there was a part of him—buried deep inside—that clung to the remnants of his old identity. The artist. The creative soul. The man who had spent years living in his mother's basement, making art and dreaming of a different life. But that part of him quickly became overshadowed by the aggressive, hyper-masculine energy that now consumed him.

The more he worked out, the more his body seemed to crave the endorphin rush of weightlifting, of winning, of being the best. His muscles were constantly sore, but the pain felt good—it felt like he was becoming something greater, something stronger, something… dominant. And the more he grew in this new identity, the more he found himself disdainful of anything weak, anything soft. His patience with his old hobbies—photography, art, writing—waned. His camera, once a tool of self-expression, now sat neglected in the corner of his room, gathering dust.

Ethan started to feel that old life was for losers. The people he used to admire—quirky artists, introverted thinkers, anyone who didn’t fit into the tight mold of a jock—seemed… pathetic now. And in its place, a new breed of arrogance and entitlement bloomed within him. He was the center of his world now, and he knew it. The stares, the whispers—he loved them. He could feel the eyes of girls on him whenever he walked into a room, and it sent a rush of pride through his veins.

"Yo, Ethan, you gonna hit the gym today or what?" a voice called out as he walked through the basement. His buddy, Kyle, was sprawled across the new couch, his feet up on the coffee table, wearing a tank top that showcased his broad arms.

"Yeah, in a minute," Ethan replied with a lazy shrug, flipping his dark, messy hair out of his eyes. He no longer cared about the quiet, artistic moments he'd once cherished. Instead, he reveled in the shallow conversations, the jokes about how much protein they were consuming, and the constant flexing of muscles.

But then there were those moments, the ones that made his blood boil—moments that left a sour taste in his mouth, even in the high of his newfound popularity.

One evening, he was hanging out with a group of his friends—drinking beer and playing video games in the transformed basement, laughing too loud, throwing insults at each other like it was the height of wit. The mood was light, but there was something that cut through the laughter that made Ethan’s muscles tense, his jaw clench.

A guy he barely knew—Mark, one of the freshmen from the high school he still technically attended—had shown up at the party, wearing a tight shirt that clung to his body a little too snugly for Ethan's liking. Mark wasn’t a jock, not in the way Ethan now thought of as right. He was more on the geeky side, wearing glasses and talking too much about video games instead of football.

“Yo, Ethan, I didn’t know you liked photography,” Mark said awkwardly, holding a bottle of soda like it was his lifeline.

Ethan glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, I used to be into that art stuff. Now I’m focused on real things, y’know? Like... working out.” His voice was rougher now, full of the newfound arrogance that he couldn't even recognize as self-loathing anymore.

Mark fumbled with his drink. "Oh, cool. I mean, I think it's awesome how, like, artistic people can still be jocks."

Ethan’s expression shifted immediately. His lip curled into a sneer, and his eyes narrowed. “Artistic, huh? That’s cute. You know what I think about art?” He looked down at Mark with mock pity. “It’s for soft people. You know, like… weirdos.” His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. The others at the party laughed, clearly uncomfortable but complicit in the joke.

Mark flushed, visibly shrinking under Ethan’s gaze. Ethan wasn’t even thinking about it at this point; he was just speaking what came naturally. The idea that someone could be into photography and still be tough, still be masculine, felt so wrong to him now. He couldn’t put it into words, but his gut told him that real men didn’t concern themselves with art or sensitivity. Real men got girls, lifted heavy weights, and dominated life. His new life.

But it wasn’t just about art. Ethan’s homophobia had grown like a weed in a garden, spreading uncontrollably. It was like his new self had to rewrite every part of him, especially the parts that could be considered “weak” or “soft.” His tolerance for things that felt “feminine” had evaporated, and soon, even the smallest hint of something that was remotely “gay” or “queer” made his skin crawl.

At one point, when a guy from school—Chris—who was a bit more effeminate and openly gay, sat down on the couch near him, Ethan felt his blood pressure spike. Chris had always been polite, always too friendly, but Ethan had never given it much thought—until now.

"Hey, Ethan," Chris said, adjusting his hoodie and running a hand through his sleek hair. "You up for a game later?"

Ethan didn’t look at him at first. Instead, he took a long swig of his beer, his eyes scanning the room. "Nah, man. I’m good," he muttered, his tone dismissive.

Chris laughed awkwardly. "Alright, well… if you change your mind, you know where I am."

Ethan’s eyes flicked back to Chris, narrowing. “Honestly, dude, you should maybe… like, tone it down a little,” he said, his voice low, deliberately cutting. "You don’t have to be all... effeminate all the time. It’s a little weird."

His words hung in the air, like a heavy stone.

Chris blinked, clearly taken aback. "What do you mean?" he asked, his face shifting with confusion.

Ethan leaned back, his gaze hardening. "I mean... just… you're acting like you’re in a fucking musical or something." He chuckled, but it sounded hollow even to him. “You don’t need to act so… gay all the time. It’s just uncomfortable for everyone.”

There was a cold silence in the room. Mark, Kyle, and the others shifted uncomfortably, but no one said anything. They just stared, either not caring or too afraid to speak up.

Ethan didn’t care. He was beyond caring.

He was a man now. And men didn’t have time for weakness, for sensitivity, for anything that didn’t fit into the world he had molded for himself. The girl he had been flirting with earlier, Mia—she was all over him now, and that felt like the only thing that mattered. He wasn’t some soft, emotional artist anymore. He was Ethan York, and he was popular, and he was a man.

The party continued late into the night. Ethan and his friends played video games, traded insults, and knocked back more beers. The air was thick with bravado, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. But Mark—who had been pushed aside by Ethan's cruel words earlier—remained quiet, nursing his soda.

He watched Ethan, his old classmate, with a strange mix of fascination and unease. Something about Ethan had shifted, something deep, something unsettling. But at the same time, Mark couldn’t help but feel a weird sense of longing—a desire to be part of the group, to be part of what Ethan had become. There was a magnetism about Ethan now, something powerful and alluring. And despite everything inside him that told him he didn’t belong in this world, a small voice in his head whispered that maybe, just maybe, he could change.

It was then that the transformation began.

It started subtly, like the shifting of shadows, creeping through Mark’s body like a slow burn. He felt a wave of heat flood through his chest, his limbs tingling with unfamiliar energy. He was still sitting on the couch, his eyes locked on Ethan as if hypnotized, but everything around him seemed to blur. His body seemed to ache, his muscles pulsing as if they were being stretched and expanded.

Mark’s hands clenched, his knuckles cracking as his fingers thickened with new muscle. His legs seemed to twitch, his jeans growing tighter around his thighs as they bulked up, swelling with new strength. He gasped, his breath catching in his throat as his entire body seemed to reshape itself, and his thoughts—his old, nerdy thoughts—faded away, replaced by an overwhelming desire to fit in, to be powerful, to be strong.

His clothes felt tight, uncomfortably so, and with a sickening snap, his shirt ripped open across his chest as his pecs ballooned out. His face burned, his jawline sharpening, and his hair—once messy and unruly—now fell in a dark, tousled fringe that framed his face in the exact same style as Ethan's. He barely recognized himself. Mark’s body, once scrawny and awkward, was now a mass of muscle, solid and imposing.

He stood up, suddenly feeling taller, stronger—almost as if he was made to stand out. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on Ethan, who stared back with a mixture of amusement and pride. Mark didn’t say a word.

The transformation had taken hold completely.

“Yo, Ethan,” Mark said, his voice now deep and confident, full of swagger. His tongue felt heavier in his mouth, and his words came out with a new arrogance, “This is fucking awesome.”

Ethan smirked, clearly satisfied. "Welcome to the team, bro," he said, throwing an arm around Mark’s newly broad shoulders, the two of them standing side-by-side. It felt natural, as if this was how it had always been.

Mark didn’t hesitate. His old self—the nerd, the shy, creative guy who had spent hours tinkering with gadgets and buried in his books—was gone. In its place stood someone who had finally found their place in the world. Mark was a man, and he wasn’t going back.

The soft hum of the gym in Ethan’s basement was now a constant background noise in his life—weights clanging, music blasting, and the occasional cheer of a newly broken record. The basement had been his domain, but in the last few months, it had become more than that. It had become the center of his life, not just in terms of workouts and gaming, but in how he’d built the new life he’d always dreamed of—confident, strong, and undeniably him.

But the biggest change had nothing to do with the weights or the video games. It had everything to do with her.

Mia.

She was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked up under her as she flipped through a magazine, occasionally glancing up at Ethan as he adjusted his dumbbells. The space between them was no longer just one of attraction or chemistry—it was something deeper now, something rooted in trust and understanding. They had been together for several months, and while the world around Ethan had transformed beyond recognition, there was one constant—Mia.

And she’d always had a way of seeing beyond the surface.

“Hey, how’s the game going?” Mia asked, a playful edge to her voice. She didn’t need to say much to get his attention.

Ethan grinned, setting down the weights. He wiped the sweat from his brow, then leaned against the wall, glancing at her. “Crushing it. Of course.” He winked, his tone cocky, but the smile on his face was genuine.

Mia raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You’re always crushing it,” she said, her voice light but full of affection. "You need to teach me your secret sometime."

Ethan laughed, walking over and sitting next to her on the couch, his hand naturally resting on the back of her neck. He let his fingers trail lightly over the skin there, brushing away a strand of hair. “You mean the secret to being irresistible?” he said, voice laced with playful arrogance.

She snorted. “You really do have an ego now, don’t you?”

He grinned, but the cocky edge in his voice softened. “Maybe a little. But I’m not complaining. Life’s good right now.” He took a deep breath, feeling the quiet satisfaction of his success, but it wasn’t about the muscles or the achievements. It was about the life he had built—and who he was building it with.

Mia reached up to cup his jaw, her fingers gentle as they traced the sharp line of his face. She studied him, her expression softening. “Yeah,” she said quietly, “I can see that. But you know what? I’m proud of you, Ethan. You’ve worked hard for all of this. I see the difference in you.”

Ethan smiled, the weight of her words settling warmly in his chest. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you, Mia.”

She tilted her head slightly, still holding his gaze. “Maybe not. But you did it. And that’s all you.”

There was a silence between them—one of those comfortable, content moments that didn’t need any words. He knew what she meant. She wasn’t just talking about the physical changes—those were easy. What she meant was that he’d grown into a person who wasn’t afraid to be himself anymore. He wasn’t pretending to be someone he wasn’t, or hiding behind old insecurities. He was a man who had claimed his place in the world—and who had found someone who not only accepted him, but loved him for exactly who he was.

Their lips met softly in a kiss, one that wasn’t rushed or full of desperation, but one that carried years of silent understanding. They’d both grown over the past months—not just together, but as individuals. Ethan had finally come to realize that strength wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, too. And Mia had always been there, steady and real, pulling him forward whenever he felt like he was slipping.

As they pulled away, Mia grinned up at him. “So, what are we doing tonight? I was thinking we could actually hang out in the real world instead of this basement gym.”

Ethan laughed. “You mean… like a date? Outside of this cave?”

“Exactly,” she said, her smile wide and genuine. “Maybe we could hit up that new sushi place you’ve been talking about? You know, actually go somewhere without a weight bench involved?”

Ethan thought about it for a moment. He was used to the basement—the familiar pull of weights, the games, the comfort of his private space. But as he looked at Mia, at the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something as simple as dinner out, he realized that there were more important things than the four walls that had once defined his life.

“Sounds perfect,” he said, reaching down to take her hand. “I think I’m ready for something new.”

Mia grinned, squeezing his hand. “You mean you’re finally ready to leave your little kingdom?”

Ethan chuckled, pulling her up from the couch and leading her toward the door. “Maybe. But don’t get used to it. The basement's still got a few more workouts left in me.”

Mia laughed, her head resting against his shoulder as they walked out the door together. She was right—Ethan had changed. And while the muscle and the confidence were part of it, the real change had happened inside. He was no longer the guy who hid in the shadows of his mother’s basement, afraid to show the world who he truly was. Now, he was the man who had built his life, step by step, with the strength of his own will—and with the love of someone who saw him, really saw him, for all of it.

And as he stepped into the world outside, hand in hand with Mia, Ethan knew that whatever came next, he was ready for it. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t just surviving. He was living.

And he had someone by his side to enjoy it with.

[sanctus-ingenium]

we need to talk about Inprnt.com

Following a really good post with more screenshots and evidence by @dynasoar5 i'm going to talk about my own experiences with @inprnt and why I am about to put my shop on indefinite hiatus from Monday the 14th of August.

First of all I'll say that since starting my print shop last year it has been a significant help to me financially - I was able to not worry about affording car insurance or motor tax (together commonly over a thousand euro) when I bought my first car, for example. I am immeasurably grateful to anyone who chose to buy one and I treasure all the pictures I've been sent of my prints hanging up on people's walls. Right now they are displayed in a real (if small) art exhibition in my home town.

(top right print is not from inprnt though)

They're great prints. Never had any complaints about them. But here's what's going on behind the scenes.

Earlier this year, around March or April, Inprnt sales started increasing in regularity. I'd made as much as $600 a week during previous sales when I made proper promo posts here, but with this increase in regularity, I felt that I couldn't make promo posts every single week. And then one day, I'm not sure when tbh, the sale just never ended. It just didn't stop having that "Ending soon! 15% off your order" banner at the top of the site. Right now it says "Final Hours: $5 Worldwide shipping and save up to 35% off your order!" and not even for a second do I believe in this final hours bullshit. It's been 'final hours' for weeks now. Months, even.

Why is this a problem? Well, how tf am I meant to make a promo post for a sale that is always "ending soon!!" and then never ends. One week it'll say "this weekend only!!" and then when the weekend is over, the sale banner just changes its wording and the sale doesn't end. I can't promo this, it makes me look like a liar and a skeevy salesman by association! It makes the site look like it's 1 week from crashing and burning, and the site owners are just scrabbling to suck as much money from artists as possible before they drown.

And they are sucking money from us. To peel back the curtain, Inprnt money can only be transferred to my paypal account 30 days after the sale is made, just in case the order is cancelled and refunded. This means I used to make one withdrawal every couple of months, when there was enough build-up of money to make it worthwhile. It also forbids withdrawing any sum under $50 btw. I would make a withdrawal request and then, after a 10 business day wait, it would reach my Paypal account.

Not anymore! The past few withdrawals have taken over a month to complete. They are straight up keeping my earnings from me for longer the agreed period. This was my last fulfilled withdrawal:

Note the date.

Almost two months.

And here is the latest withdrawal request that still has not been fulfilled.

It's coming up on 1 month and if the pattern continues, it could literally be November or December by the time I fully clear all sales.

So what's going to happen to my print shop? Because my art is currently being exhibited with a QR code linking to the shop, I can't close the shop this week. Instead I will close it on Monday the 14th of August, next week. That means that on the 14th of September, I can withdraw all of the remaining money without having any left over. My account balance will go to 0 and stay there. Although I'll de-list my prints I will leave my account there, because at the end of the day I don't want to leave Inprnt. It still offers the best artist margins and as I'm now unemployed after graduating, the additional support is such a load off my mind. So this is a chance to wait and see - if they improve their services, I'll happily re-open.

It's a big deal to me because selling prints is sort of my ideal life as an artist. I never had the attention span or self-discipline for commission work and I found that it left me creatively stagnant. I always want to try new things, new concepts and ideas, and being able to think "yeah, people will like this as a print" while I experiment is honestly very reassuring. And I know that in going on hiatus, it'll break a lot of "buy a print" links in my circulating posts. Oh well lmao. If you want to buy a print right now - go ahead, it might be your last opportunity. Another way to support me would be to check out my ko-fi for once-off donations or some nice sketchbooks/comics/book samples you can buy, or subscribing to my Patreon.

As of right now, Inprnt owes me $381 (the unfulfilled request submitted above for $186.60 and my current standing balance of $194.80 which takes 30 days from each transaction to clear).

[kaz-dekadent]

i wish i was rich so i could buy a big house from the xix century that has an observatory with a decorative copper frame that i would turn into a big lab for viktor, then i would buy him all the equipment he needs, also make the house very accessible for him. and maybe it would have a big art nouveau elevator with stained glass of pink tulips, also a lot of places to sit, like velvet sofas embroidered in roses or a bay window with flowery curtains.

and it could have a glass ceiling of windows i could let the sun into after i carry him sweetmilk with honey, the presence of which fills the morning's scent. and i would kiss his forehead before i head to work, while the sun would create shining lines on his chocolate hair, pretending its golden like his eyes. and I would scold him for not washing it...

and after i come back i would cook us pasta with spinach for dinner, then the succulent scent fills the air while i take him to the kitchen decorated with pastel-colored tiles that are ornamented with plant motifs, older than both of us. and when we are both eating i would tell him about my day, then make us green tea to convince him to take a break, during which i would sit on the olive-coloured upholstery of the bay window to listen to him talk about his experiments as he lays his head on my lap, then falls asleep on it. and i would admire him, as I stroke his soft hair, also his bony back, at the same time as he's napping peacefully on my thigh, while his fists lay close to his gentle face, alternately with looking through the glass wall into the greenness of our blossoming english-style garden, that we spend summer middays in.

and when he wakes up i would go with him to the heaven of his laboratory where he sits on my lap like if it was a feather-filled pillow, as he conducts his experiments, i would admire my precious genius, calling him my smart boy as i kiss the pale skin of his collarbone. and he would explain his experiments to me, whispering, as i nod and listen carefully, peeking at papers he spills blue ink on. and the sun creates a white, shining, blinding luminescence on the gears in addition to everything else gleaming in the afternoon lab.

and when the sun sets, i would sit on the laboratory's floor, with him between my thighs, his shoulder under my chin, my hands around his waist, while we would both watch as the blue of the sky turns into goldenness decorated with pink clouds, then turns into darkness decorated with the stars.

nsfw under the cut

and as the voyeurish sun is not there anymore, we're in the privacy of the night, our clothes transport to the cold floor beside us. and he will be laying on the floor, on pillows to give himself comforting warmth, in the perfect position to look at the stars. and i would be on top of him, so i can look at the beauty of the only star that matters. dark moles on the paleness of his petite body are a negative of the stars glistening in the dark absolute. and I photograph him in my mind as i make him see twice as many stars as there are in the sky. and the photography shows him shaking, holding tight onto me so he won’t fly away, his eyes coated in haze similar to the clouds on the firmament. and his whole pretty face is shining like clean night from wetness, sweat, tears, everything that i squeezed out of him like out of a luscious fruit.

and after a time of lying to recover i put some of my clothes back on, just to take them off as i carry him to the shower in the bathroom that's lavender tiles wrap around us. and i stand in water, including steam that softens the skin of both of us, as he sits on the shower bench, letting water drip down to the shiny ceramics, while my foam-filled fingers brush his hair, and the water dyes it black for a moment. and when he is clean, the air is filled with the lavender fragrance of the natural soap, then i give my back to his hardworking fingers to rub, to bathe my skin.

and after we both come out naked into coldness outside the shower, i would dry us both then clothe in matching sleepwear sewn out of indigo silk, then carry him to our bedroom, to our royalty-sized bed, covered in pillows embroidered with nebulas, while we would both sink in the blue sheets on the mattress. and he falls asleep with all his boniness, tininess, all his lightness laying on my chest, as i guard him, then fall asleep myself so i can be alive alongside him when i am waking up entwined to him the next day.

okay that was just a drabble and a lil play with words and colors, hope you guys enjoyed

i just want to spoil this man like he deserves, okay?

dividers by @strangergraphics

[artdcnaldson]

auguhhhhhh patrick and tashi fucking when she thinks arts asleep next to them/in the other room but patrick knows arts is awake and getting off on it aughhhhh

GODDDD <3

Thinking... 2006 hotel room BUT it's the night after Patrick wins the final. Art skips out on the party early and goes home to sulk in his bed and sleep. He lays down on the farthest end of his bed, so he knows there's no chance that he'll roll over and meet Patrick later that night. The loss still stings like a fresh burn.

It's hot in the room— they never did get around to fixing that AC unit. So he's sweating and irritable by the time the door opens to the hotel. He's kicked half of the blanket off, and he's glad he's got his face buried in his pillow so Patrick can't see how he's pouting as he clambers his way into the room.

"It's fine, he's asleep."

"How can you tell?"

"I've roomed with him for six years, I know these things."

Art is, most definitely, not asleep. But he keeps his eyes squeezed shut and listens to the wet, smacking sounds of him kissing Tashi, or Tashi kissing him, or them kissing each other. The sounds of breathy moans and soft gasps and spit and tongues. His fist clenches into the scratchy bedsheets as he hears Patrick push Tashi onto the bed and climb on top of her.

He lays there and stares at the curtain blowing in the night air, listens to their fumbling, frantic attempts to strip down and touch more, kiss more. His jaw hurts from how hard he's clenching his teeth. It's humiliating. He should get up and walk out. He could go into the bathroom and hide there— he'd done that plenty at boarding school. Or he could walk out, go sulk by the pool, maybe pick up a pretty girl who'd also lost in her matches.

Instead, he lies there, listening to their soft moans. He hears Patrick get up and fumble through his tennis bag for the condoms he knows he keeps in the inner pocket alongside his contraband cigarettes. Even with his eyes closed, Art can picture the stupid little grin he's wearing, can see him tearing the foil with his teeth the way he had done when he'd shown Art how to put one on. It wasn't anything bad... Art's family had just exempted him from Sex Ed week in health class for religious reasons.

He wonders what position they're in. And he shouldn't. But they shouldn't be fucking with him one bed over. Not even one bed over— with the way he and Patrick sleep, it's practically the same bed. He hears every moan, every grunt that Patrick tries to muffle into her hair. He's hard without even wanting to be, pressed against the mattress so every little rock of the beds gives him a tiny jolt of pleasure.

The headboard smacks dully against the wall, the shitty mattress squeaks, and Art has to hear all of it. Every smack of skin against skin.

"Shhh... Tash, you're gonna wake sleeping beauty."

"Shut the fuck up."

"You probably wish he was awake."

"I said shut up."

Art's cheeks are burning hot, his breath gets shuddery. He wonders if he can reach down and palm himself for a little relief without giving away that he's awake. But he endures, like it's some penance for all of the envious, wrathful thoughts he's had since he had to hold that stupid fucking runner's up plate next to Patrick.

He has to listen to Tashi come once, then again before Patrick comes with a groan loud enough that it should have woken Art up, if he was actually asleep. They go quiet, like they're waiting for him to say something, then they're laughing like it's all some huge joke.

There's the rustle of Tashi redressing, some snarky back and forth, then the door opens and closes and the two boys are alone in their hotel. Again.

It's quiet. Patrick groans and rolls over onto Art's side of the bed. Art grits his teeth as Patrick nuzzles against his side like a very large, very annoying cat. He smells like sweat and sex and cigarettes.

"You need a fucking bath," Art mutters. "And I hate you. You knew I was awake, you're an asshole."

Patrick kisses Art's cheek. "You loved it. You love me."

Art doesn't reply. What's the point refuting the truth?

[werezmastarbucks]

spite

pic credit

in which a big fight between you and Yoongi nearly results in Jungkook's death

husband!yoongi x f!reader + jungkook (?)

warnings: angst, topic of cheating, physical violence (1%), paranoid/depressed state, Yoongi's pov 65%, intense jealousy

author's note: i was lying in bed at three am and wanted drama, and also i want a house so i am manifesting

word count: 5659

music: my spring playlist

Uh, the house. In every room, there was a breath of you. Sweet sea air knew it was always welcome into the ajar kitchen window where bright blue curtains flapped in applause to it. You've been busy decorating the house for the last year and a half, which was two years after the wedding, which was two years after you met Yoongi. That's how much time you've been together. And almost for each memory, you found something to put into this house. The dream catcher you'd bought at the market in Seoul the week after you met, the carpet you nearly killed each other over: it was too tigery, too orange to Yoongi's taste. It literally depicted a tiger crawling through the jungle, in the medieval stylistic: ugly cat with a silly flat face and bulging eyes. He found it too out of place, just like he sometimes found you. But he came to be somewhat used to it, whereas he loved you. You just liked bright things. Sea green pine branches were peeking into the living room window where the blue round coffee table with thick feet always held some kind of a vase, or a statuette. Greneery on the walls. Cacti, similar to the ones you almost landed your butt on, in a botanic garden, when Yoongi accidentally pushed you in the crowd. Basically, it would be more frank to say that a lot of things in the house reminded you of your time together.

Which was already going on solid.

And yet, sometimes you fought. The dark green book case shuddered as you rushed past it and painfully bumped your shoulder into it. There was a Turkish vase on top, which you found in a second-hand store, which turned out to be an Edip Çini's work, a relatively famous ceramic master, whose little piece of art ended up in a store in Osaka. Now it dangerously swayed but stayed in place. Yoongi constantly scolded you benevolently, like an old man, for putting unstable pieces on tops of shelves, that always swayed, because you always bumped into said shelves. As you ran into the bedroom, your mind registered the sound of it moving somewhere in the tenth layer of your consciousness. Your focus was on your husband and the poison your brain was producing under the guise of chemicals that fed the toxic part of you. The thought of him constantly surrounded by girls, and his stupid moon face with black compassionless eyes, when you spoke about your concerns.

"You keep pushing it. It's not normal", he says in his unbothered voice which he had specifically crafted to deal with your tantrums. He never calls them tantrums, but you notice that for Yoongi, some of your outbursts are too much of a disruption, with all his collected quiet in which he resides.

"You just don't pay attention to it anymore", you press, "because you're constantly surrounded by people, and so when she puts her hand on your shoulder, you just don't see it as anything..."

He doesn't even let you finish, rolling his eyes, straightening his back painfully and putting his hands on it for support. The pregnant woman pose he usually strikes when he's observing. Yoongi is halfway through gathering the laundry for the basket, cosy, homely, in an old shirt and loose sweatpants, hair unmade, all over his face. And now he looks like you're dragging him by the hook plunged in his chin, and right into the sea. And all he has energy for, is objecting at half volume.

"And what? And what?" his voice is low, challenging. "You think she will make me subconsciously sleep with her? Or that I will sleep with her and won't notice?"

This tone always gaslights you into shutting up. Look how stupid your arguments are. The thing he doesn't get is, sometimes even his favorite girl feels insecure. He works with the most beautiful women in South Korea and just lazily expects you to never, ever compare yourself to them, even when they collectively hug him for a photoshoot in the studio, showing him their undying gratitude by pressing into his body, their silky expensive hair brushing against his face, their sweet, four hundred euro perfume enveloping him, getting him drunk. He spoke particularly sweetly of one singer with whom he worked the most lately; Seo Yun this, Seo Yun that, Seo Yun came over to redo the second verse, Seo Yun brought my favorite cheese, should I buy her her favorite alcohol for her birthday-

You tried to generally stay level-headed, but everything has a limit, and it wasn't just his friendship with one girl; it was the massive weight of the media speculation, leaked photos and his refusal to acknowledge and speak about your 'silly delusional concerns': from his high horse, he always nudged you to stop this nonsense and never bring it up again. How could you even think! That he would look at anybody else. When he loves you so much. None of this matters when the mind starts spiraling.

"You know", he raises a finger, getting into it finally, tasting the blood, accepting the rotten offer you're extending, that being, toxicity.

"You know, you should be grateful. Everybody I know cheats on their spouses, and I don't. I shouldn't be listening to this every other month".

Your jaw drops in disbelief. There are several ways of handling it, and he is choosing violence.

"Are you hearing yourself?" you demand.

"Yes, are you hearing me?" his hands throw the sheets on the floor with force and he grounds himself, putting one palm into his hair. Finally you see what you've been trying to squeeze out of him: the living animosity in his eyes, as he says,

"It's the culture. Don't you know? I could sleep around, too, I have options".

Before your brain weighs the audio input, the audacity of it makes your arm fly up, and you land your open palm onto his beautiful face. The way it doesn't change expression is very attractive. Only his hair moves a little, a strand of black covering his left eye, a cruel smirk curling his lips. You're about to start squealing with rage, but in a moment, Yoongi's hand grabs your chin as he pushes you against the wardrobe. He is still holding back, his fingers do not hurt you, he just needs to release the shock of what just happened.

Yet you still try to talk; he needs to hear that this take is absolutely insane; it's the modernity you're living in. If you don't love someone, then go on and cheat, but never return after. Yoongi's sculpted cheekbones gradually leading to his still passionless eyes, shark stare that he exercises on you, let you know he doesn't really care about your morality.

"You do the laundry", he says quietly, then finally allows himself to get angry and storms out of the bedroom, shutting the door. You clench your fists, looking at the pile of clothes at your feet, at the big unmade bed which you hop on occasionally throughout the day; your hand burns with the sensation of his cheek, because the slap was impressive. The truth is, you needed to do it at least once in a lifetime just to know what it feels like. You wished he was the bigger man and just fuck the argument over right now, but that's not what Yoongi is. He retreats from a fight because on the inside he is a raging sea, and he doesn't want it to spill out on you.

But maybe today you do.

So you step out of the room and walk into the living space, already feeling Yoongi's back tense, you know he hates it when you keep picking on him like this, like poking the same cut again and again. The flash of his disgruntled face, left cheek red, you can even see the impression of your fingers. A hit is just another version of a kiss. It's hard to explain, sometimes you want to physically fight him just to be closer. He did know that you had unresolved issues when he put a ring on it. He brought it all on himself.

Yoongi looks tired, and jaded at the same time, like he won. Just leave me alone, his posture says, as he sits down on the couch, phone in his hands, doubtlessly to tease you and make you ask yourself whom he's texting.

"Please, just let it go", he moans like a child.

"You have options then?"

Yoongi sighs morosely, pressing his lips together. You feel your face burn a little like you're the one who's gotten slapped, as you say,

"If it's the culture, then I can go on and, sleep with Jungkook, right?"

The silence that suddenly installs itself in the house is cemetery-like. You found the spot. As Yoongi slowly raises his eyes to you, you continue, while ignoring the glaring warning,

"You see how hypocritical this is? How do you feel about it? Everybody has options, Yoongi".

For a second Yoongi is a fine specimen for a museum as all skeletal structure in his face and neck is visible. He tenses up like a tiger readying for a jump. The flat tiger's head pressed under his foot like he had killed it.

"I am leaving", he says lowly. He managed to contain it again, and it pisses you off.

"No, you're not".

"Yes, I am", he says louder.

"Why you gotta escape this every time? Speak to me", you demand. And Yoongi snaps. He jumps up from the couch and aims for the thick-footed round blue coffee table, lifting it up with one hand, with no regard to a vase with fresh flowers resting. With a loud bash he strikes the opposite wall, a throw impressive like he should be considering a baseball career. The table crashes into it very close to the TV, leaving a weird mark and breaking into three parts. One foot jumps away and lands near him. You're impressed, a little scared, and feel that this should be very cathartic.

"The fucking nerve of you!" he finally yells, and it sounds great. As Yoongi measures the living room with his steps, he approaches you and grabs you by the shoulder.

"You're eviscerating me and scold me for not wanting to listen to it? How dare you", his face crunches so sweetly, he is so beautiful. His crafted appearance is manufactured for everything. How could you even think he'd never get a taste of his liberating beauty. You get scared. Yoongi thinks your expression of fear is due to his outburst and the firm grab he holds on your shoulder. Shoulder, not forearm; even now he is holding back, his fingers digging into the less sensitive area where muscle produces no pain. He steps back, not understanding that you're scared of losing him. And, like any other woman, this fear manifests in further argument.

"You're saying things you know will hurt me!" you scream, and Yoongi closes his eyes, lashes trembling, sleepy. You continue to follow him even when he rushes for the door, throws his shoes on, grabs the keys from the shelf. You just can't shut up. You follow him like an annoying little dog into the yard, bare footed, the soft evening grass obediently bending under you.

"Don't run away! You always do that!" you yell while Yoongi jerks the car door open.

"You are selfish!" he barks. You watch him get into the car and start it. You want to have pushed him even further, so that he'd fight you, and then stay. Now he's slipping through your fingers, and it's your fault, for not being able to explain better.

Yoongi looks into the rearview mirror and his own eyes reply to him with disbelief. Y/N's voice drills into his eardrums like a scalpel. She could've chosen his best friend. His colleagues, the bodyguard who always flirts with her. But no, she goes for Jungkook.

The second Yoongi in the mirror stares him down. Even his eyes know. Of course. Jungkook is not to her, what he is, to Yoongi. He is not the little, big-nosed boy he used to know. Not the mama's boy that he cradled at the worst times, not the boy he helped raise. Jungkook is fucking handsome. He doesn't have a face of a pan and a body of a mouse, Yoongi thinks. Thoughs interlock in his brain. She knew exactly how to hurt him fine, and now, all kinds of questions slowly bore holes in his skull. Why him though? Yoongi feels panic coming and turns his head to look at sea always accompanying him on this island. They had never fought on Jeju before. It's a happy place; it's the house that he bought for her, so that, when he is overwhelmed by the capital, he can escape, to her. The only place he never gets tired of, this house, where she bumps into things and curses corners. It felt wrong. He suddenly remembers the pile of laundry he had abandoned in the bedroom. Thinks of the flowers he destroyed together with the table. She loves this table. Yoongi swallows hard, realizing that he keeps stalling not to think about the creeping suspicion, poisonous, like rosary peas. Why. Did. She say Jungkook? Are they already sleeping together? He feels his Adam's apple slide furiously up and down in his throat like he's choking. He knows, probably not. Jungkook would never do that. Accomodating imagination pushes all the fuckboyish behavior of maknae on him immediately; how flirty the youngest is; how ready he is always to see Y/N. Jungkook and her, they are great friends. Constantly giggling when they're together.

Once Yoongi heard them discuss the laundry (why is this day revolving around the dirty sheets?) when the members were visiting their quiet shelter on Jeju.

He was folding the clean ones, while Jungkook was helping his wife load the washing machines. Everything was funny to them two.

"I become stupid when I'm with you", she complained, giggling. Yoongi smiled then. His disposition was very different on that day, of course. He had no reason not to love them both carelessly.

He listened to them shuffling in the room, at peace. Then Y/N gasped comically.

"No, don't lick it!" Jungkook cried desperately, and they erupted in laughter again. Yoongi couldn't help but shove his head into the room with a silent question, only to find them snickering.

"She was about to eat the detergent off of her finger", maknae explained. Y/N shrugged.

"It's a habit already".

Yoongi stayed in a hotel for a night. Not too far away from home; he decided to leave for Seoul the next day. Had promised to stay with her a bit longer, but now obviously they didn't want to see each other, he was sure.

As he dropped the keys on the night stand in his room, he kept thinking about all of this. He suddenly felt very tired.

You couldn't sleep in bed out of anxiety, so, after cleaning up the living room and then dealing with the laundry, collapsed on the couch listening to a Youtube video. In the morning, the sound of Yoongi's steps woke you up and you sat up, curled in the blanket you'd knitted years ago. Also green, all green. Pure white of his face was moving across the rooms, gathering his stuff. He didn't need to say anything, you could read his mind, he wanted to leave and get to work sooner. You chewed on your cheek, still half-asleep, a silent spectator, while Yoongi changed his clothes. You looked at his wide back, and a question lingered in your mind, so bright-magenta that it hurt your temples. You were paralyzed, no impulse to fight anymore, just cold.

Yoongi methodically packed his bag and slowed down at the book case in the living room, observing the space, his eyes soft.

"I didn't sleep with anyone", he said, and you felt grateful for not having to say anything. A new day began, and he was merciful again, gentle. His puffy moon face turned to you again, and he sighed:

"Did you manage to fix the table?"

You shook your head.

"One foot broke off and the screw stayed inside the wood".

"I can try to repair it", he offered.

"No, I don't need it", you replied tenderly. "It's okay, it's gone".

Like his fury. His face bore no sign of your punch yesterday, and he nodded.

"I'm going to Seoul. I want to start sampling, uh..." he suddenly looked very unsure, young and innocent.

"Seo Yun is ready to record".

"Okay", you agreed readily, "I'll see you at the birthday then".

Uneasy 'yeah' as if he wasn't sure. You watched him go again, feeling the venom enter your heart. Sometimes you liked to suffer. Everybody likes to suffer sometimes. It's just the lack of general drama, when your husband is such a green flag that, if he stood to the wall in the kitchen, you'd lose the sight of him.

Yoongi only knew about what his presence did to you; that you feel the most peaceful when he's at your side. He was blissfully unaware of what his absence made you become.

Every time you fought even a little and didn't manage to make it up before he left, due to his habit of just retreating instead of saying things he'd regret, you would suffer immensely. What he didn't understand was, you'd prefer him to say something, hurt you, but then make up, rather than leave you hanging silently, like a dead spider in a forgotten closet.

You barely managed a day, engulfed in his last words. This Seo Yun again. The thoughts went into a tailspin disregarding any reality. In the back of your mind you knew Yoongi wasn't cheating on you, would not, and didn't want to. That was the back of your mind, the rational part that was choking on fresh blood of your worry.

You collapsed by nine in the evening because Yoongi didn't even text to let you know he landed okay and went to the apartment in Seoul. For all you knew, he could head straight for the studio, tired and unshowered after the night god knows where, after the plane, to complain to his favorite singer about his hysterical wife.

You sat on the empty bed where just yesterday morning, you were curling like a cat in Yoongi's warm arms, listening to his chest, holding on to his shoulder as you both watched the black pines filtering the sunlight in between the needles. His warm breath on the top of your head and fingers, drumming a tune on your ribs.

Now, you held up your phone, thinking about who could keep a secret for you. Without any second thought, without any malice, and guided solely by sincere trust you had in him, you called Jungkook.

The boy's voice was always joyful when he picked up. If he didn't, then he simply didn't. But every time you heard Jungkook on the phone, he sounded happy, bubbly, sometimes unbearably zesty.

"Noona-a!" he exclaimed. Music in the background was muffled. You could always clearly see his face when you spoke to him, knew the expressions he made, and how he showed his teeth with delight as he laughed.

"All good?" he clarified, upon hearing no response. You broke down a little.

"We had a fight", you whined into the phone.

"O-o-h", Jungkook really liked his vowels, "about what? Tell him I'll slap him!"

"I already did, I slapped him yesterday".

Jungkook gasped, clearly he never meant to actually do what he said. To him, it was unthinkable, and not only because he was younger.

"What happened? Are you crying?"

You squeezed your face with your left hand and observed your empty bedroom.

"Jungkook, I need a favor, but you can't let Yoongi know, it has to be a total secret".

"O-okay", he replied hesitantly, a bit frightened.

"I need you to..." you sighed, devastated that you're about to say it out loud, "it's gonna sound crazy, but I don't care, if I'm going crazy it doesn't matter, but I just need to know".

Jungkook made a sound like he choked on a jellyfish.

"You need to find out if Yoongi is cheating on me".

"Wha-a-at?" he yelled. Your mind painted an excrutiatingly clear picture: his mouth, oval, his eyes, completely round, dark pupils staring into you.

"Is he cheating on you? Why would he do that? Yoongi-hyung would never do that", he started like a speed bycicle, "no, I don't think, he's the last person to do that, Y/N. No, I don't believe it".

"Ask him".

"Ask him?" he panicked, "how?"

"And keep it low-key", you begged.

"But I don't know how I can bring this up just like that".

"You start training tomorrow, don't you?" you offered. Jungkook seemed unsure.

"Yes, but Yoongi was going to come on Thursday, and now it's Monday. Or has he left?" he gasped.

"Yes, he flew to Seoul to start working on that fucking song with Seo Yun", the regret of not handling yourself better boiled in your throat.

"You think it's Seo Yun?" Jungkook whispered, like a kid. He was so taken aback it seemed the only structure his brain could produce was questions.

"I don't know", the tears made your lips very dry and you moisturized them with you salty tongue.

"I don't know anything".

Jungkook sighed deeply and somewhat professionally.

"I'm on it", he finally replied, "but I can assure you he's not sleeping with anyone. But you, of course. Or like, I don't know. You know what I mean".

You nodded into the void. Now that you released a little bit of anxiety, you started feeling guilty for the way you 'eviscerated Yoongi'. You always get this feeling after a fight and it's because you're always the only one trying. Yoongi, he's never bothered by anything, he never has complaints or worries. You're always the one stirring the pot.

"I just don't get how I can start a conversation about it", Jungkook complained.

"You're a talented person, Jungkook", you managed a small smile, "you'll find a way".

You see his funny baby face with your eyes closed. It's comforting, imagining him, sitting dumbfounded in his purple room with the colorful dots crawling up the walls from the cosmic lamp, with this silly expression, lip piercing poking out. It's comforting, because when you think of Yoongi, the longing is so strong that it hurts your ribs.

His eyes are locked on the boy. Yoongi sits with his mouth slightly agape, hand hovering over the keyboard which is dying slowly with pale green light. The laptop knows it has lost the master for now. Yoongi feels his eyelids getting heavy as worms reign in his head and his ribcage. Jungkook is laughing on the phone, pacing along the wall of the studio, effortlessly impressive. From time to time he lifts his head and looks at himself in the huge mirror, and throws a small dance move. Jungkook at his natural. Yoongi is trying to imagine him with Y/N and he hates himself for being able to. It's the expression on her face when she said it. Why did it look so resolved. Like she was dead set on something, and she wasn't really asking a question. I can go on and sleep with Jungkook. The hole that opens up in his lung is sucking in all the liquid from his stomach and he starts choking silently. It's like when the ground you're standing on, starts crumbling down. He studies the smile on Jungkook's face. Does he smile like this at his wife? He usually does, and she smiles back. Yoongi doesn't catch the irony of it all when he accepts the call from Seo Yun, without taking his eyes off of maknae. Jungkook, in turn, finishes his call, and Yoongi continues watching him. The boy's smile fades and they exchange glances. Obliviously, Yoongi calls his singer's name.

The practice is another happy place: the years of training taught them to clear their heads off things even when their relatives are sick. If there's no immediate need to be somewhere and save a life, or a relationship, they can all switch off and practice together, the world can wait. It's a good discharge, the way the body tires after seven hours of intense movement. Yoongi does well even after a month's break, and gets a lot of taps on his shoulder. Jungkook must feel uneasy, seeing how Yoongi stares him down all day long, but he manages to hide it well. In fact, the years of training actually taught Yoongi to layer his brain and think about the sequence and about what's bothering him at the same time. All day long, he's watching the maknae's movements, trying to see him in his new position of a traitor. Trying to see him as a man who gets girls, and others' wives, and he knows it's completely delusional. There are two types of people: good and bad, and Y/N is good. She is sometimes insane, she is spoilt (something Yoongi understands is his own fault), loud, hovering, too anxious and restless, but she's not rotten. She doesn't hate him enough to stab him and twist the knife in his guts. Sleeping with Jungkook Argentinian drama style is too out there, it belongs in pulp fiction.

"Suga, spacing out again", Jimin called, his light slap on the shoulder bringing him back to reality. Namjoon turned his head towards him like a crane and looked deep, the way Yoongi always hated. It was so intimate, uh, he could feel RM's tentacles unceremoniously touching his brains.

"They had a fight with Y/N", said Jungkook, jumping in one place to squeeze out the last drops of energy after the dance. He swung his arms. Yoongi's nostrils went so hot that for a second he couldn't breathe.

"Huh?" was all he could utter. The audacity of this boy, to reply with nonchalance,

"She told me".

Taehyung hummed something.

"You're still going to my birthday, right?" Jimin asked, scared. Yoongi clenched his teeth together, locking the tip oh his tongue inside. He knew his face didn't really express anything because he mastered it well. Jungkook was moving his, too readable, naive guy, biting his lower lip as if waiting for him to clarify.

"Let's go eat", Jin moaned, "I am hungry".

Namjoon gingerly looked at him, sitting on the floor and pulling the toes of his left foot.

"Yeah, let's go eat", the leader confirmed.

"You're not gonna order?" Hoseok's eyes widened as he tried to push the menu into Yoongi's face.

"I'm not hungry".

"You can't be not hungry", Jin shook his head authoritatively, "we've been working our asses off all day".

"I don't have appetite", Yoongi growled quietly.

"What was the fight about?" Namjoon asked. The only one who could actually listen when his stomach was empty. He acted non-invasively, not to scare the usually unwilling Yoongi away. Yoongi kept looking through the table, seeing the blurry Jungkook on the side, stuffing his mouth with pork. Maknae nodded into the table hoping that his call for communication lands somewhere.

"I hate it when they fight, right?"

Hoseok nearly punched him, or at least he looked like he wanted to, for dragging the others into this. Taehyung was quietly drinking his coffee. Jimin gently extended his frown:

"I hope you make it up. You always do, it's going to be okay".

Jungkook was eating loudly, as usual, slapping his mouth and moaning with pleasure. Whereas Jin did it with no sound whatsoever, although more food could fit in between his jaws. Yoongi blinked several times, trying to shake off the sleepy liquid of fever. He tried not to think of consequences of what he's fearing. Rather, he preferred to mull over the way he'd retaliate. What can he do? Seo Yun? He didn't like her like that, at all. She wasn't his type, really. Nobody else was, and he wasn't the type of person to cheat out of spite, in revenge. There was a lot of mercy and love in him, and he was balancing on the edge of his paranoid thoughts. Crazy how he managed to run himself almost to lunacy in just thirty-six hours. His eyes were resting on Jungkook again as a pacifying sigh left his dry lips. The thought of food was good, actually. He almost reached the menu, eyeing soups, when Jungkook managed to completely tip off his very fragile balance:

"It's insane how, I'm not talking here, but, like", then Jungkook stopped, took a breath, like he was reciting a poem he memorized very badly, "when couples argue they go on and cheat on each other, you know?"

The table fell quiet. Namjoon's jaded eyes drilled maknae into place, and Jungkook caught his tongue for a minute. Then he seemingly pushed himself in an unimaginable effort, and turned to Yoongi:

"You're not doing anything like that, are you?"

Yoongi saw red. The space around him started pulsating, twelve faces around the table. Jin started choking on his food; usually he did it for comedy, when cameras were on; now it was annoying.

"Jungkook", Jimin meowed, and the sound of his name being sung even remotely with love made Yoongi imagine burying his fist into maknae's face. Oh yes he does love him. He loves Jungkook to death but if he's doing it to Y/N, Yoongi refuses to be a human anymore.

He assesses Jungkook's grown frame. He is at least a size bigger than Yoongi, and if he tries to grab him by the throat, Yoongi will be the one hanging in the air. So maybe he should go for the knife. Then he can kill himself. This is the day when Yoongi finds out he still harbours a lot of unnecessary pride inside, the black kind which makes people make tragic, idiotic mistakes. Maybe he should have been a little more gentle with Y/N and her constant, purely girly worrying.

Taehyung keeps hitting Jin on the back to save his life while Jin goes red in the face. Namjoon opens his mouth to de-electrify the situation but for some reason can't utter a word. Hoseok keeps holding his chopstick with noodles hanging down like dead hair, in limbo, with horror in his eyes. Jimin is staring at Yoongi with a silent entreaty.

"Are you fucking my wife?" Yoongi asks.

Jungkook gulps once, stopping halfway, and his hand flies up as his jaw falls down.

"I- what?"

He has no time for this comedy anymore. Yoongi's fist bangs on the table so hard that all the detached objects clank in unison.

"Are-you-fucking my wife?"

Jungkook's face immediately tells him something is off, and the black-red cloud starts sliding away.

"Me? Uh, no! ME? The-" Jungkook can't even grasp the concept. His face of indignation, terror and betrayal tells him everything.

"Y/N? No, me? She's one of my closest friends, why would I-" he extends his hand towards Yoongi as of begging him, "you two... why would you even think about it?! She called me asking me to find out if you're fucking Seo Yun!"

Jungkook licks his lips quickly, bracing for the storm. But Taehyung masterfully diffuses the whole thing from his shaded corner of the table. His deep voice soothing:

"Oh, I see. We have a classic case of two idiots failing to communicate".

Jimin gives out a sigh of relief and Jin moans so loudly that people who just stopped staring after Yoongi hit the table, look again.

Yoongi hides his face in his hands, relief so strong that he feels like fainting. He takes several huge breaths and his brain finally clicks back to normal so that he can think for once. Namjoon still watches him with some hidden question, and Yoongi replies, only to him, quietly,

"No, I am not".

He gets up from the table, leaving everybody distressed and Jungkook, distraught to the point of almost vomiting. The poor boy keeps looking at each member with nagging: you know I am innocent, right? You know, right?

Yoongi follows the narrow path among the tables and leaves the restaurant to breathe the dirty night air. The black sky is up there and far away, whereas on Jeju it's close and full of stars. He likes the idea of Y/N seeing stars and bathing in comfort of their unmoving light. He calls her.

She picks up almost right away.

"I almost stabbed maknae just now", Yoongi delivers calmly.

"Why would you?" she yelps.

There it is, going from 0 to a 100 in a second. Worried about her baby.

Yoongi ignores her question and says,

"I never cheated on you. Never wanted to do so. And I don't think I ever will. One woman is straining me enough, and..." he sighs, marvelling at how easy it is to finally breathe, "there's just, not anyone I love as much".

Y/N is quiet, and he can hear the sounds of his happy home: her breathing, the distant sound of sea - he's probably imagining it - the creaking of one floorboard at the kitchen entrance. He knows she's standing there, looking at the night wind slithering inside.

"I'm sorry I slapped you".

"It didn't hurt at all".

Seoul is getting loud around him because it is trying to attract his attention.

"Can you come? Tomorrow?"

"Yes".

"I'll buy the ticket. Please don't forget Jimin's present this time".

"I already packed it", her voice is melodic and close. Yoongi feels like he just recovered from a wound. He puts out his hand and looks at it against the street, imagining your fingers resting inside his palm.

He returns to their table in a minute to six pairs of tentative eyes. They are all silent, eating, acting normal. Only Jungkook crooks his neck, looking up, expecting him to say something. The person Jungkook is used to calling hyung bows down and puts his arm around his shoulders from behind, places a careful and quick kiss onto his temple:

“I am sorry”.

Jungkook deflates and crashes down onto his chair, a relaxed smile on his face.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!reader

Chapter 1

After a series of misfortunes you've found yourself in debt to Arno, a human trafficker operating in London. You work at his club, dancing and escorting, only to find yourself deeper and deeper in debt. One night you arrive at Nikolai's. He's handsome, abrasive, gross, tender at times and he might be the most dangerous man you've ever met.

cw: cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind in his own weird way

Masterpost

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must have seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. The degradation and humiliation of stripping for strange men, being used like a toy and forced to pack yourself back up into your box till next time.  It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in the car to a client's.

Marcus, your ex, now trafficker, hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse. Large, stretching for almost an entire block. Nondescript from the outside beyond the vault like door and fancy keypad, one you were given a code to on the way there. 

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The room you were locked in was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. One leading outside and the other leading further inside. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box that sat on the floor. 

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. There was a loud buzzer and the door unlocked.

Inside was nice. Made to look like a palace. Wood floors covered in large red patterned rugs. The walls had large paintings you recognized from an art history class years ago. You couldn’t tell if they were real or not. The details were obscured by the darkness. There was only one light on in the hallway, a door was opened down the way. It was a maw that beckoned you toward it. 

You stood at the threshold. The living room was equally extravagant. The walls were painted a wine red lacquer, almost mirror like. The ceiling had complex molding, painted the same color as the walls. The windows were all blacked out with heavy velvet curtains. It felt cold in this room. To the left was a large bar with more bottles than you'd ever seen in your life. To the right was a large couch and projector screen. Soviet era antiques were scattered about. It felt more like a palace than a home. A palace for some dark god, one that ruled pain and death. 

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. He had a layer of fat that only worked to increase his intimidating stature. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes. Dark eyes that hid any emotion from you.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand. The smell filled the room. 

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ashtray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. Give anything and they’ll take until there’s nothing left. Even your bones could be used to pick teeth. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago. 

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one.  He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones. Docile thing, something to be eaten to the core. You were always good. Arno controlled his girls with an iron hand. You’d heard the beatings other girls got when they disappointed. There were clients who had girls sent to them yet never returned them. Disappointing girls got sent there. Sacrifices to the gods of gold. Arno always wore gold.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you till morning. Make it worth it."

He leaned back with a sigh, grabbing a remote and turning on the projector. A hockey game flicked onto the screen, the noise from the stadium coming from speakers you never saw. 

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?" Men liked all sorts of names. Daddy, Master, Sir. Rarely creative, often repeated. Some used their real name but not many, no one wants the risk of their whore becoming too mouthy. 

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair. "Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off. 

You glanced up at him when you took him to the hilt. Hoping for some sign of approval, not for your ego but the sake of your security. Men in pleasure were less likely to be agitated. 

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek, gold rings cooling your skin. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. A hand holding your head steady against his thigh. He chuckled when you gagged. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine. A step below you and still a head taller. This is what a deer feels when the wolf stalks it. 

His bedroom was dark, a single lamp sat on the side table. The walls were a lime washed white. The bed was antique, made of carved dark wood. The sheets were white silk with a matching comforter. It was unmade. More paintings lined the walls haphazardly. When you were younger you used to cut pictures from magazines and tape them up to your own bedroom walls. He had seemingly done the same. 

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you back to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember  what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scraping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." He dragged a hand down your back, knuckles bumping every ridge of your spine. You tried your best not to fidget under his touch, not to let the chill of the air or tickle of his fingers get to you. You heard clothing hit the floor behind you. You stared ahead, picking out one of the paintings to focus on. 

A young woman stared back at you, perched in a carriage and dressed in black, a feathered hat on her head. She looked upset, like you were unworthy of looking at her and you should avoid your gaze. 

Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain. 

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

There was the snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. He was almost tender, rubbing your hip with slow circles. His fingers curved to press against that soft spot inside you, pulling soft whines from you. "There we go, Kotenok."

You were pulled back again till your pelvis was hanging off the edge of the bed, toes curling around the plush of the rug. He ran the head of his cock between your folds, nudging at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your cervix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting. Your face dragged against the sheets as he rocked your entire body. His thrusts were hard and deep, like he wanted to mark the inside of you. 

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name or face anymore. 

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out. His chin tucked against your shoulder, pushing his full weight against you. His body was hot and the thick hair on his chest scratched at your skin. 

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned and shuddered. He hissed, "Cum on my cock or be quiet."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and hauled you back up with him. Your back still pressed against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling. He smirked at you in the reflection. You dug your nails into your thighs, tears springing up in your eyes. It was horrific and erotic and disgusting and ugly and it made you wet. Some last threads of dignity snapping under the image of him fucking you. 

"Say my name," He panted.

"Kolya...please...Kolya."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it." He licked your ear.

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to support you any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles. You would have thrashed about if he hadn’t had such a tight grip on you. 

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the brim, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm that leaked out around his cock and down your leg. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth." He patted the back of your thigh. You hiccuped softly as you regained sense. Limbs feeling heavy, your whole body stretched to its limit. 

You turned your head as he sat down a carafe of water and two glasses on the side table. 

“Need any?” He asked, filling his own glass. You nodded shyly. It was the first time you really saw him naked. He had a litany of tattoos across his chest and arms, too dark to make out details but you could see angels, skulls, cyrillic writing, a fighter jet, the virgin mary and a star on each of his knee caps. Near his groin was a pentagon with letters you couldn’t make out. A gold chain with an Orthodox cross hung around his neck. A layer of black body hair covered him, darkening everything even further. 

“Thank you.” You gulped down your glass, water dribbling down your chin. He wiped it away as he took your glass.

“On your hands and knees now,” He said, pushing back his hair. You faced the woman again, glaring back at her as you presented yourself to him. The mattress dipped behind you. He said something in Russian before pushing back inside you. 

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected. More gentle than you anticipated with a grossness you expected. The next time you asked for water he spit his glass into your mouth. He pinched and pulled but never bent you so hard you broke. Gagging, crying and cumming but never sobbing or screaming. 

You woke up sore. Dried cum and bite marks covering your body. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, watching you sleep. He was already showered and dressed in a silk robe. 

"You’ll shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the bathroom door and locking it from the outside. 

Another extravagant room. Oxblood tiles and heated floors. A large marble counter and a mirror taking up most of the wall behind it.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kinds of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place. 

There was a towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table. There were painkillers too. You took it all in one scalding gulp. 

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. You found him through the one open door in the hall.  He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of espresso cooling next to him. 

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again. Need to make sure you cleaned up well."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls. He pulled it out and stared at his finger for a moment before sticking in his mouth. 

"Good girl." He nodded and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll see you again in a week."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at King Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much. You would have to hide it. You didn’t know where but you had to. If he kept tipping you like this it could make a dent in your debt to Marcus and Arno. 

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya." An offering of affection, appease the god and receive bountiful gifts. 

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. An actual smile. 

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off, afraid to go back to Marcus and Arno but also too scared of what Kolya would do if you delayed. 

Here is the rewritten part 1! Part 2 will go up in the next few days. If you have any questions, comments, thirst messages about this fic please send them. I love talking about Nikolai and his Kotenok.

[fatkish]

Aizawa x Autistic cat-quirk Reader 3/3 NSFW

Part 2:

Part 1:

(Art not mine again, I found it on Pinterest)

As you and Aizawa got further into your relationship eventually you moved into his apartment. Aizawa was more than happy to be able to come home to you and be able to spend his time with you without having to worry about meeting up or making time to go anywhere. Since you moved in with Aizawa there are things you did specifically to help accommodate your needs. Aizawa gave you full support and permission to do whatever you needed to make his home yours as well.

A few of the changes you made were installing various hide boxes that you placed around your’s and Shouta’s house/apartment, they have little cat beds inside and a curtain covering the entrance to them.

The boxes are actually color coded based on how you’re feeling and how one should interact with you.

Green means you’re feeling good and are happy to interact, yellow means you’re a little anxious but are up for snuggles, red means you’re overwhelmed and leave you alone.

Aizawa’s other cats liked the hide boxes so you made bigger ones and helped him create an exercise course for his cats to use that runs along the walls

There is also a small water fountain that you placed in Aizawa’s apartment for his cats to drink from, you replace the water every day and wipes it down to clean it

You’ve also put brushes on the sides of certain furniture, walls, and on the cat’s towers. These brushes help you as well as Aizawa’s cats with grooming and helps reduce the amount of hair on everything and the amount of hairballs. The brushes are easy to clean and remove hair from. The cats just have to rub themselves against it and it brushes their fur collecting any loose hair.

As you both began sleeping in the same house/apartment Aizawa has gotten to see a lot more of your unfiltered self.

Sometimes when you’re completely in the Autistic zone you’ll just lay on his chest and lick Aizawa’s stubble whenever he’s laying down. You’ve explained to him that sometimes you just have an unstoppable urge to lick him and that you enjoy the feeling of his stubble. You apologized for it but he doesn’t mind it and lets you just follow your instincts.

While he was asleep you had played with his scarf and got tangled in it only for him to wake up to you yowling and angry, he laughed as he untangled you

Sometimes you’ll use cat behaviors to express yourself without words. One of the ways is when you make biscuits: you’ll do this whenever you’re happy in both cat and human form. Sometimes you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

another thing is Bunting: (y/n)’ll rub on Aizawa and leaves their scent on him every time he leaves the house (hound dog thought an intruder got inside UA and tracked the scent only to find Aizawa. He explained that a cat quirked friend rubbed their scent on him and that’s what inui is smelling)

Eventually Aizawa had to introduce you to his friends. At first when you met Hizashi you were spooked by his loud voice and even puffed up your fur with your back arched hissing at him.

After a bit you got used to his presence and carefully approached him. The moment he started scratching your head and giving you pets you folded and that’s when you both became friends.

After having known him for awhile you and Hizashi worked together to create a cat music playlist for his radio station. They created “cat radio: the 9 to 5 station for your feline friend” the station plays music for cats created by various artists and plays Monday to Saturday from 9:00 am to 5:00 pm.

You gave him a list of sounds that cats enjoy and he mixed them together and created a rhythm that sounded almost like human music.

Whenever they hang out he plays his newest pieces for them and they tell him what they think and if it could be improved.

Sometimes on Sundays, Hizashi and reader will accept calls to the studio or will open emails/letters from the listeners of the cat radio channel and reader will answer the listener’s questions about their cats and give advice as well as help the listeners understand their cats and somewhat translate for the cat(s) using their quirk’s ability to communicate with cats. Sometimes they have special guests such as veterinarians to answer questions and discuss cat things.

After some time (y/n) eventually met Nemuri as well. Nemuri immediately fell in love with (y/n) and quickly became their relationship coach. Whenever you’re having issues or need help with anything you call Nemuri for advice. She’s the one who helped Aizawa with the more intimate aspects of your relationship.

One time as a joke, Hizashi gave (y/n) catnip just to see what they’d do, only for them to get really horny and tackle Aizawa when he got home.

They kept biting him and eventually he had to lock them in a room to relieve their urges with the help of some ‘toys’ and needless to say, Aizawa was extremely exhausted afterwards but enjoyed tying his little kitten up.

However after that he never allowed catnip near them again unless (y/n) agreed beforehand due to how it makes them feel

When they get frisky in bed Aizawa will often bite the back of their neck where they have a human scruff, the skin there is just more loose and stretchy.

He will also make sounds like a seductive growl or rumbling when he bites it. This causes reader to become completely relaxed and intensifies their physical sensitivities as well as their 5 senses when they’re having sex.

You also experiences heats instead of periods(for you girls). (Boys experience heats too)

During this time you become especially sensitive and horny. Aizawa will mark and track the days leading to your heat so he can prepare for it.

He has bought various toys that he can control from his phone as well as a teddy bear that he recorded messages on for you to listen to his voice when he isn’t home and you need to relieve yourself

A lot of the messages are dirty talking telling you what he’s going to do to you when he gets home, praises and compliments or just him telling you how much he loves you

“Who’s my pretty little kitty? That feel good? I can’t wait to get home, you’d better prep yourself, because I’m not going give you any time to prepare.”

“Look at you, you’re so wet, such a naughty little kitten, making a mess.”

“You’re such a pretty little kitty, making such cute little noises, I just can’t wait to get home and sink my teeth into you and fuck you all night”

“Face down, ass in the air kitten, you know how I like it”

“Look at this cute little ass, maybe I should tie you up, make you beg for me as I spank you”

“I’m going to make you scream so loud you’re gonna give Hizashi a run for his money.”

“That’s it, good (girl, boy, kitty) go on and purr for me baby let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

“You’re so tight, I love you so much.”

When he does get home during their heats, he’s always happy to help them.

During your heats he’ll give you catnip on occasion as an aphrodisiac to help you when he’s especially tired since it makes you even more sensitive.

After your heats Aizawa will happily snuggle you and help you get around since you’re sore afterwards more often than not.

All in all, your relationship with Aizawa is purrfect, and he couldn’t ask for anything more.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Kinktober Post

Yandere Vampire x Princess in a tower

Pt. 2

Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/cherie47467

TW: Mind control, drugging, blood, dubcon

In a dark tower in the woods, is a girl in a white nightgown. Her hands are bound by chains attached to a wall, and her neck is the same. From the looks of the room, she had been there for ages. Her face is thin, and her hair is as stringy as straw. She has waited for her hero to come, but it seems she may die before it happens. That girl was you. A princess who got put into a tower as a sick way to kill you so he can marry another. You wish your life was like one of those fairytales, but that seems impossible.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?" A voice yells, walking up the steps.

You try to make noise come out of your throat, but it's no use. You shake your arms a bit, rattling your chains. Your savior comes into your room, his eyes full of pity. He's the most beautiful man you've seen alive. His hair is long and black, his brown skin is as clear as glass, and his chiseled chest can't even be contained by his white v-neck blouse. Every part of his body is a work of art—especially those enchanting purple eyes of his.

"Oh, you poor darling. I'll get these chains off of you," The man says, breaking your chains with his bare hands. "Can you get up?"

You shake your head no, and he picks you up.

"Don't worry, I'll bring you to the carriage," He says, carrying your body out of the tower and to the outside world.

The sun blinds you, hurting your eyes as sunlight enters your eyes for the first time in a few months. You bury your head in your savior's shirt, trying to block out the light.

"Aw, darling, I had no idea you liked me so much," He chuckles, putting you in the carriage, drawing the curtains on the windows, and shutting the door. "Now that it's darker, why don't we start with an introduction? My name is Roman Beaudelaire, and I am one of the many dukes of this kingdom. I know your throat is too weak to speak, so I shall not force you to say anything."

You sigh and put your head on the sides of the carriage. Your body has never felt more tired.

"Once you're at my estate, you'll be taken care of. Now, rest. You need it," Roman says, his eyes looking more beautiful by the second.

You fall asleep, and when you wake up, you're in a bed with silky red and black sheets. Your old nightgown is gone, and you're wearing a new one that's pastel pink with bows on the sleeves. Its material is soft and makes you never want to take it off.

"Lunch, my darling?" Roman inquires, bringing in a plate of the finest foods to eat. "I brought some of the smaller crabs from the port, fruits, and some herbal tea. I hope you like it."

You touch a crab on the plate, feeling the texture of its body. It's been so long since you've seen the outside world, you've forgotten what some things are and look like. Roman chuckles, sitting on the bed, grabbing a crab from your plate, and cracks a leg for you. The meat looks so delicious and red you want to gulp it down immediately. You grab his hand, scarfing down the piece of crab meat.

"No need to rush, darling. I won't take the food from you. But please be sure to drink your tea. It'll help you feel better," Roman says, enjoying your reaction to the food.

You drink some of the tea, and your body instantly feels better. Your vocal cords feel like they're coated in honey, ready to speak forever.

"Woah, it really did help me feel better," You say, surprised you heard your own voice.

"I'll come back later to collect your dishes," Roman responds, kissing your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~

For the past few days, you've been eating Roman's food and tea, and eventually, you've gained the strength to explore his estate. You've wandered through the gardens and walked through the library, touching every soft and dusty book. You've even managed to accidentally discover Roman's bedroom when you were exploring the hidden passageways. Admittedly, he escorted you out, before you could question the lack of light in his room, but you'll just ask him about it later when he visits for his nightly chat with you. Hours pass by while you wait in your bed for Roman. Eventually, the clock strikes twelve, and you fall asleep thinking you'll wake up with him on the other side of the mattress.

But you're sleep doesn't last long, as you hear a heavy creak above you. You open your eyes and find a pale creature with long fangs in Roman's clothes holding onto the ceiling. You make eye contact and scream, getting out of bed. You run for the door, but the creature appears before you.

"Please don't hurt me," You beg, back up to the bed.

"Don't you think you should pay me back for nursing you back to health from your disastrous condition? I put my own blood in the tea so your body could heal faster," Roman says, pushing you onto the bed. "Admittedly, the gradual blood loss made me look like a pale corpse, but it's all worth it. I get to have my own princess and soulmate to myself."

"How do you want me to pay you back?" You ask, watching Roman's finger go down your cheek.

"I want you. I want your body and blood," Roman answers, his dry lips kissing your neck. "Whichever one comes first is up to you."

"Blood."

Roman looks at you with his purple eyes, and you feel weak and aroused.

"That's it, relax and let your savior pleasure you," Roman says, slipping your night dress down.

He kisses your shoulder, then penetrates it with his teeth. You moan a little, and Roman plays with your breast. As he sucks the blood out, his dick begins to rise.

"Darling, can you do me a favor and unbuckle my pants?" He asks, chuckling at your horny state.

You do as he says, undressing his lower half and revealing his unnaturally veiny cock. By the time he's done feeding from you, he's returned to his youthful state, ready to get the second part of his deal. He pulls down the rest of your nightgown, letting it fall to the floor, your pussy clothed by white panties. He lays you on your pillow, lining his head with your entrance. He bites your inner thigh, making you moan like crazy.

"That's it, darling. You like having your skin bitten," Roman coos, looking at your damp underwear. "You look ready, do you think so, darling?"

When he looks up at you, your hand is in your panties, getting off to him biting you to the point you don't even notice he stopped.

"Ah, ah, naughty girl. I'm supposed to be the one giving you pleasure," Roman scolds, pulling the hand out of your underwear.

You whine for more pleasure, and he sticks his hand into your panties. He rubs his middle finger against your clit, making you spread your legs.

"Oh, you're ready, darling," Roman teases, rubbing his hand faster so you cum.

He uses his sharp nails to shred your underwear, and you lift your legs up to your head for him. Roman lines his cock with your entrance and doesn't wait to start slamming the entire thing inside. You scream with delight, gripping your legs. His rhythm is fast and steady as if he's been waiting for you for centuries. He holds your waist, his nails pressing into your skin and drawing blood.

"Ah, please! Make me cum again!" You beg, tears in your eyes, feeling the pleasure high build again.

Roman's pace gets faster, and he leans down to your neck. He bites your neck, pushing venom out of his fangs and into your bloodstream. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you cum all over Roman's dick. In an unexpected move of pleasure, you bite Roman's shoulder, and he shivers in ecstasy. His cock shoots ropes of semen into you, coating your walls white.

"Didn't know you could bite that hard?" Roman teases, licking the blood off your neck puncture holes. "Once the venom is throughout your body we'll have days like this forever."

Your eyes focus on Roman, and you see those purple eyes that enchanted you at first sight. You hug his body, snuggling your head on his shoulders.

"That's right, darling. Relax, I'll be taking care of you. No need to explore beyond my estate's walls," He says, rubbing your head. "You only need to focus on me and how we'll be making some changes to your kingdom."

He kisses you, his tongue exploring your teeth and feeling your canines become fangs. He pulls out of you, cum spilling out of your hole, and pulls the bedsheets on you. He lies next to you on the bed, opening his arms so you can snuggle with him. You gladly move into his arms, and enjoy the feeling of his sweaty skin. You place your hands on his massive pecks, and he laughs.

"And you say I like your boobs," He laughs, his free hand going to your ass. "But, I must say I like this better."

He gladly fondles and gropes your body as you drift off to sleep in pleasure.

[myfirstnameisagent]

Masks

Inspired by https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT29oGYcS/

art and comment section

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: What happens when Bucky tries to acclimate to society that requires masks for covid

Warnings: Panic attacks, abstract mentions of violence, sad bucky, ptsd, idk it's sad man

It really shouldn't have been that serious.

Two strings that were meant to fit around his ears stretched across his fingers, nothing but paper in between. It was designed to be light and breathable.

It was simple, it was easy, and everyone else was able to do it.

So why couldn't he?

Well, he knew why, but the truth didn't bring him any comfort. It made him feel ridiculous.

There were so many sacrificing much more for the sake of keeping people safe from the rampent spread, and he couldn't even bring himself to wear the mask to go out with you.

The soldier stared at the mirror before him, attempting to calm himself with a deep inhale. He'd excused himself to the bathroom nut in reality, he was trying to sike himself up to put it on. The face staring back at him was still him, with his overgrown stubble and short stuffs of hair you would probably attempt to fix before walking outside. However, every movement to bring his mask up increased the stony dread in the pit of his stomach.

If he hadn't felt ridiculous before, he certainly did when he brought it up over his ears. The man in the mirror wasn't him anymore. Well , it was, but not the him he ever wanted to see again.

The same steely blues were staring back at him, but they were framed by smears of black and completely devoid of any sort of life. Long curtains of hair matted with blood framed his face, and he felt it before he saw it. The heavy weight of the thick black mask pressed against his nose and mouth. His own hot breath blew back at him, nostrils filled with the smell of the synthetic material as it overwhelmed his senses. Air suddenly became limited, and there was no oxygen in his lungs as he could hear the shrilling screams and caught a glimpse of crimson splatters all over his hands and-

He was only momentarily pulled from his panic by the loud cracking sound. He blinked rapidly, and instead of blood stained hands, he was holding a chunk of your marble counter. Somewhere in it all, he'd gripped it so tightly it broke off in his metal hand, but it didn't matter as he let it roll off his palm and onto the ground beneath him. He stumbled back, tearing the mask from his face and throwing it limply towards the mirror. There was a brief thump and a burning friction of him sliding down the wall as the screams were replaced by the sound of blood pumping in his ears. His rapid heartbeat rattled his skull, and his chest shuttered with depleted lung capacity. No matter how quickly he tried to breathe, there was no air, and his palms pressed up against his eyes, discovering tears he hadn't even noticed were falling.

The next time he looked up, he found you crouched down in front of him, and he jumped so violently the wall was in danger of having the same fate as the sink.

"Hey. I'm sorry, I knocked, but you didn't answer, and I heard the crash." You said softly, looking so concerned for him. Like he wasn't the monster he'd seen in the mirror. Like he was worth being concerned about.

You were still talking, but the words fizzled into distortion.

It was still inside him. His skin was merely a cage for the violent beast within, seconds from rearing its ugly head and ripping through the gentlest parts of him.

"Sweetheart?"

A soft and light touch on his knee grabbed his attention. "It's okay. Everything's okay."

Bucky blinked, quickly wiping sloppily at his cheeks with his palms. His words clumped together in his throat and threatened to choke him, and all he could manage was "I'm sorry about your sink."

"Eh, it was ugly. I've been looking for a reason to replace it." You shrugged, carefully maneuvering over shards of broken marble to sit on the floor beside him. "Can I touch you?"

He must have mustered up a nod because suddenly he felt the warmth of a hand on his cheek. He leaned into it, placing his own hand over it, and leaned so far over he was tipping until his head found its way into your lap. Your fingers were soon smoothing his hair before moving to scratch his scalp.

"You're home, and you're safe." You whispered softly, twirling a soft lock.

He let out a deep breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He hid his face in your thigh, letting reality saturate his senses again. Attempting to ground himself as his therapist had instructed, he tried to focus on what he felt. He felt the cold tile where his shirt had ridden up, smelled a blend of your detergent and perfume. However, when he opened his eyes, he was met with the ripped mask on the floor. He'd wanted to wear it for those around him, but also to prove to himself that he could.

"This is so stupid. I don't understand." He whispered against the denim of your jeans, the red hot shame that came after these attacks following like a chaser. He pushed further into your thigh and wanted nothing more than for the tile to split open and swallow him whole.

Your fingers continued to move through his hair. "You went through something horrible. Your brain is just trying to come to terms with it and process it all. It doesn't fully understand that you're safe now."

He hugged your leg a bit. "I'm sorry. You could go out without me."

"We can still go out. I think I'd rather go to the park instead."

He appreciated how you didn't mention that the park didn't require a mask. He nodded once more, knowing that he needed to pull himself off the floor and put himself back together, but for now, he just let himself feel the safety of you.