#so I’m in too much pain to do anything but sit here and I can’t even do that comfortably

[berfgrimm]

butterfly | choi su-bong (thanos) x reader

pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, semi-public, enemies to lovers (ish), oral, choking, spanking, heavy on the dirty talk, manhandling, overstimulation, name calling, pet names, pain kink, mentions of humiliation kink, mentions of death/violence. i’m sorry if I forgot anything.

note: hey, so this ended up being 12.5k words and i have actually gone insane from writing it. my app crashed trying to post this. please enjoy as i am exhausted.

———————

The first experience you had with Su-bong was at work. You were employed at a small dance club in Seoul called Temple, where you would bartend on weekends. It was a part-time gig to help pay the bills, and the general vibe of the club was mellow. Until the first night Su-bong showed up with his friends.

You were a fan of his music before you met him and you had a little bit of a crush on him, so you were excited to see him at your place of work. That first night, you’d intended to compliment him on his talent, however, you didn’t get the opportunity. The group of men ran you ragged, ordering drink after drink, causing chaos on the dance floor, interfering with the DJ, hitting on every girl that looked their way. When Su-bong found cause to speak to you, he wasn’t polite to you, but he wasn’t rude — something about his demeanor was off, and you attributed it to the drugs and alcohol.

After that night, Su-bong and his friends would show up at Temple most weekends, and their behavior only worsened. The group managed to get away with their antics since Su-bong was friends with the club owner; this created more problems for you. The easy nights generally ended with you having to clean up broken glass and spilled liquor. On the worst nights, you’d find yourself replacing broken furnishings or cleaning up forgotten panties. You gave your notice the night you had to clean up after Su-bong’s friend who didn’t bother to relieve himself in the bathroom.

Even though Su-bong wasn’t the worst of his group, his celebrity status made him the face of the problem in your mind. You had to leave a job you enjoyed because of a group of disrespectful grown men. You stopped listening to his music after that, and you felt your crush on him slip away, instead being replaced with resentment.

Which brings you here. At these games where your bunk is directly next to his. It’s a cruel joke. A few years have passed since your time at Temple, and you’re positive he wouldn’t remember the damage he caused. You wouldn’t dare bring it up to him, because it didn’t matter much.

The first game and vote have been completed, and everyone sits around the room, some talking, others too scared and traumatized to speak. You sit on the floor with your back against your bed, doing your best to ignore Su-bong, who stands next to his bed with his new buddies, Nam-gyu and Gyeong-su, talking louder than everyone else. You are beginning to get a headache, so you rub your head to help alleviate the tension.

“Can you please talk quieter?” you ask, trying your best to keep your voice calm, but finding it difficult given the situation. “My head is killing me.”

“I’ve got something that will help with that,” Su-bong laughs, crossing towards you as you peer up at him.

It’s the first time you’ve really gotten a good look at him since you arrived. From this angle, with him standing above you, he’s almost…intimidating? No, not that. He wasn’t scary, but the look that he gives you creates a sensation in your stomach that certainly isn’t welcome.

“Not interested,” you reply, looking back to the floor. “Please just keep the volume down. Or if you can’t help it, maybe take it somewhere else.”

“This is my bunk,” Su-bong says, sitting on his bed, crossing his arms and staring at you. The smirk is faint until he runs his tongue across his lips to wet them, which he does slowly. Your eyes lock onto the movement, and you feel trapped for a moment, your thoughts shifting, but you remind yourself to stay focused.

“And this is my bunk,” you retort, gesturing behind you, meeting his eyeline again. “I asked nicely. I figured you’d have some decency in you, buried down deep beneath all of the drugs. Guess not.” You lower your gaze to the floor again, the anger starting to snuff out the other feelings he gives you.

“You think you’re better than me.” The words sound like he’s hurt, but instead his tone is agitated. Looking into his eyes from your spot on the floor, you see an animated expression on his face. It’s intense, like he’s ready to challenge you to a fight.

“Most of us have debt because of real problems,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “I’m not here because I made a bad investment on some fucking Monopoly money.”

“Then, why are you here?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he laughs. “You’re here, same as me. I watched you press the circle, and I can see the patch on your jacket. Drugs, crypto, medical debt: all money spends the same, and you need it too. You act like you’re above it all.”

“I'm taking it seriously,” you snap back. “Should I be more like you and treat this like it’s schoolyard fun? When we just saw all of those people get killed?”

“So some strangers died, and you’re going to walk around like you’re dead, too,” he laughs, shrugging his shoulders as he waits for you to say something in response.

“Whatever,” you sigh, turning your head away from him.

“You’re just mad because I’m right,” he laughs.

“I’m not mad,” you reply.

“But I’m right.” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it takes all of your might not to say anything sarcastic to him when you look at him again. “Okay, you’re not mad,” he shrugs. “Then you’re into me.”

“Into you?” you laugh. “That’s funny.”

“I saw you staring at my mouth before,” he says. “You could tell that I know how to use it, huh, señorita?”

“Don’t call me that,” you say.

You ignore his actual question because maybe, just maybe, he’s not far off. And maybe his cockiness turns you on a little bit, but you won’t admit that out loud, not after the way he and his friends acted at Temple. That doesn’t stop your body from reacting and remembering that little crush you had on him because there’s always something about a guy with an attitude. But his arrogance can only take him so far, and right now he’s testing your patience from running his mouth like this.

Well, while you’re on the subject of his mouth, you weren’t staring…he talks a lot, and raps a little, so of course you find your focus drifting to his mouth. The lighting at the club was never good enough for you to truly see him. But now under the bright lights of this dorm, you have a clear view. His teeth are nice, his lips look soft, and his tongue…no, you can’t think like that, not in front of him.

You realize you’ve been quiet too long and when you tune in again, you see that he’s already pulled his friends back into a conversation. You let out a steady sigh of relief, glad that you didn’t get caught daydreaming about this clown in front of you. At least that’s what you hope.

You drop your head against the bed behind you, and close your eyes, trying to ignore the conversations around you. Instead, you think of how truly scared you are, deep in your chest. Of course you didn’t want to stay in a place like this, surrounded by hundreds of scumbags who are drowning in gambling debt. But maybe Su-bong was right: you need the money just as badly as they do, just for less nefarious reasons. You’re no better than the others.

The sensation of another person beside you pulls you from your thoughts and back to the present. You tilt your head in their direction, peeking from one eye to see the failed rapper looking back at you. With a groan, you close your eyes again, leaning your head back to your previous position.

“Just because our bunks are near each other doesn’t mean we’re friends,” you mutter.

“You talked to me first,” Su-bong shrugs.

“And now I regret it,” you respond.

“I get under your skin.” You can hear him laughing as he speaks, and you try to keep from proving him right. “It’s easy with you, I can tell,” he continues. “I’ve barely done anything and you already hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you reply, flatly, still not looking at him. “I don’t even know you.”

“You can get to know me,” he mutters.

“What is it?” you ask. “Do you have a humiliation kink? You like when someone talks down to you?”

“I bet you do,” he retorts, and this catches your attention. You raise your head and look at him incredulously; of course he’s fucking smirking. “I saw it before,” he pushes. “You can scowl at me all you want, but you can’t hide your eyes.”

“You’re irritating,” you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

“So, you’re not wet right now?” he whispers.

“No, I’m not,” you reply — too quickly; he grins wider now, and you try to think of something to recover.

“Guess I’ll have to try harder then,” he smirks, squeezing your thigh and fuck, you jump at the contact.

He swoops away before you can respond, and you can immediately feel shockwaves hit your body. No one has touched you in so long, and all it took was a thigh squeeze from some idiot named after a comic book character for your body to react. You feel flush all over, lightheaded, from one fucking touch.

Now you start to feel hatred towards him. No, hatred is too strong, but it’s definitely rage because what gives him the right to have that effect on your body? Beyond the way he treated you at the club, he’s kind of a loser. He’s a washed up musician, he’s a drug addict, he’s annoying, and his debt is in the billions.

Pick a struggle, you think, as you stand from the floor, taking a few steps out into the open to get a better view of your surroundings.

You look into the crowd of other players in the center of the dorm to try to find him. When you spot him, you clench your jaw, frustrated. He talks animatedly, probably about nothing important, because he doesn’t seem to be very scholarly. He appears to ramble to anyone who will listen and some who won’t, but at least he’s excited about something. No, don’t sympathize.

Still…he looks passionate. Even if what he has to say doesn’t matter to some people, it matters to him. He cares about something. Maybe that passion spreads into other aspects of his demeanor…especially with his mouth…and his hands…

You feel the heat returning to your cheeks and you need to cool off. Your gaze drops from Su-bong, and you quickly make your way through the crowd towards the exit of the dorm. Unfortunately, in your journey, you have to pass Su-bong, who spots you coming and steps into your path.

“Was that you I saw staring at me, señorita?” To your surprise, Su-bong places his hand under your chin, tilting your head towards him.

“There are almost four hundred people here,” you say, shoving his hand away. “I wasn’t looking at you, asshole.” You hope you sound convincing, but you doubt it from the way your body has been betraying you today. Judging from Su-bong’s expression, he isn’t deterred, but his eyes scan your whole face, searching for something. Before he can speak again, however, you sidestep him and continue your trek to the bathroom.

Your hands tremble as you stand at the sink, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Why are you this rattled? He’s just some burned out musician with an attitude, and your emotions are wrecked. You have anger towards him, and annoyance, but you feel desire as well. Maybe you’re confused? After the events of the day, who would blame you for having your emotions mixed up?

You splash some water on your face and around to the back of your neck. The coolness helps you regulate your body temperature enough to make the sensations begin to subside. Still, you have a headache that you hope will be alleviated by your soon-to-be relaxed demeanor.

When you reenter the dorm, most people have broken off into smaller groups, milling around the bunks as opposed to the center of the room. Thankfully, you don’t see Su-bong just from a quick scan around the room, so you make a beeline to your bed.

“Thank God,” you mumble when you don’t see Su-bong in his bed. Rolling your shoulders, you try to rid yourself of that last bit of tension you feel, as you lay in your bed.

The thin mattress doesn’t do much to calm you, but it’s better than the hard floor that you sat on before, so you don’t complain. Closing your eyes, you begin to take slow, deep breaths, relaxing your limbs into the mattress, hoping that you can drift off to sleep.

“You never told me why you’re here.”

The sound of his voice, smug and annoying, makes you want to scream. You were so close to absolute comfort, hopeful for peaceful sleep, but now you feel the tension begin to form in your jaw again almost immediately. Reluctantly, you open your eyes, rolling your head to the side to see Su-bong sitting on his bed, staring at you expectantly.

“That’s none of your business,” you echo your exact sentiment from earlier, hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Well, what did you—?”

“What am I doing that indicates to you that I’m interested in having a conversation right now?” you interrupt, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Please, tell me, so I can stop doing it.”

“You complain a lot,” Su-bong laughs. “But you’re still desperate just like the rest of us.” He pushes every single one of your buttons, relentlessly, and you begin to wonder what it would be like to punch him in his face, but no, you can’t resort to violence.

“Jesus Christ, you don’t know when to quit.”

“You’d be surprised how long I can last,” he smirks. The charm has worn thin, and you don’t feel the sensation in your stomach like you expect; maybe the crush is gone again. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Su-bong practically giggles at his own words.

“Shut the fuck up!” you snap, your voice louder than you intended — loud enough to silence some of the other players in nearby bunks, but you’re undeterred. “You talk so fucking much,” you continue, sitting up on the edge of your bed so you can really see him. “All I’m thinking about is how I want you to leave me alone!”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he says, most of the teasing now absent from his tone, but there’s still something that you can’t place. Excitement?

“Oh, that’s right,” you say. “You get off on being talked down to. Well, get it from somewhere else. I’m not interested.”

Before he has another opportunity to speak, you lay on your bed again, with your back to him this time, and you cover your head with your pillow to block out the noise. You think you hear Su-bong say something, but you don’t acknowledge him, instead you focus on getting some much needed sleep.

———————

After successfully competing in the six legged race, you begin to think that you might not be able to handle another game. You’re only a few million away from having enough money to pay off your debt, but it weighs heavy on your conscience. The blood on the soles of your shoes makes you queasy and sad, knowing that all of the lives lost over the last two days probably thought the same thing you’re thinking right now: one more game.

Sitting on your bed, you stare down at your jacket that you have draped over your lap. You trace the circle on the blue patch, disappointed in yourself for placing everyone in danger once again. All for the sake of money.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it out safe this time, señorita.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan, rolling your eyes. You hoped that maybe he’d take up residence elsewhere, perhaps closer to his friends, but, much to your dismay, Su-bong kept his bunk next to yours. “I told you not to call me that,” you say, tossing your jacket onto the bed next to you.

“What would you like me to call you?”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk to me at all.”

“That’s not very nice,” Su-bong’s tone is playful, bordering on sing-song as though he thinks you’re friends.

“Well, I’m not a very nice person,” you reply.

“I’m starting to see that,” he answers, laying on his bed with his hands behind his head.

“I think you’re not used to people who aren’t going to put up with your shit,” you say. “You got so comfortable with being surrounded by yes-men, you forgot what it’s like to have someone genuinely dislike you.”

“I thought you didn’t know me to not like me,” he retorts, turning onto his side and propping his head on his hand. “It’s been twenty-four hours. What changed?”

“This isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

“Oh, that’s what it is!” Su-bong’s face lights up, a wide smirk spreading across his lips. “We hooked up, and I never called you back. I’m sorry, señorita. I’m sure it was the best you ever had but I’m not into relationships.”

“You think we hooked up?” you laugh.

“Well, if we haven’t before, we can try it tonight.”

“First of all, you wouldn’t even know what to do with it if I gave it to you,” you say, not missing the amusement on Su-bong’s face. “Second, I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t remember me. You were usually pretty faded by the time I’d see you.” The smirk starts to drop from Su-bong’s face and you can practically see him searching his memories for your face. “Don’t worry,” you wave your hand, giving a shrug of your shoulders. “I probably wouldn’t remember me either if I was you. All of the cleaning up I had to do after you and your friends were around, I used to think it was what I deserved: picking glass off of the floor and cleaning up piss. But now? Now, Thanos, I’m starting to think you’re right. I’m not better than you. But the good thing about that is that you’re not better than me anymore either. So, I guess I should be happy.”

Su-bong is silent for the first time since you’ve met him, and your body feels thankful. The look on his face is unreadable, and unfortunately, you worry that you took it a step too far. That is until he swings his legs off the edge of the bed so he can sit up, pointing at you with a look of realization.

“Club Temple,” he says, slowly nodding his head. “You’re that bartender.”

You’re unsure of what it is about his words that sets you off, probably the borderline dismissive way he spoke, but your fists clench and you envision yourself punching him directly in his face. Before you can act on your impulse, however, Su-bong speaks again.

“Butterfly,” he laughs.

“What?” you snap.

“I remember you,” he goes on. “I used to call you ‘butterfly’.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to catch you,” he grins, as if it’s a good joke, but you roll your eyes. Still, you feel it: the flutter in the pit of your stomach because now he looks at you with the same intention from the day before when he was standing over you. “You were quiet, but you were sexy. I wondered where you ran off to,” he says as he stands from the bed, slowly sauntering towards you, and planting himself beside you on the mattress. “I always thought we would have hit it off. The way you gave me everything I asked for, I figured you’d listen really well.” You try not to squirm from the way the fluttering begins to increase, but his voice is suddenly deeper and the way he presses against you spreads warmth through your whole body. “I didn’t realize that you had a mouth like this,” he whispers. “Though I thought of other things you could do with your mouth…”

“Alright,” you mutter, feeling yourself begin to flush, so you press your hand to his face, shoving him away as you stand from your bed. “At least I know you’re still an asshole.” You venture a few steps from the bed, avoiding eye contact with Su-bong for fear of him seeing the impact his words have on you. From the corner of your eye, you see him lying back on your bed laughing; you can’t figure out if the feeling it gives you makes you want to fight or fuck. “When I come back, I want you off of my bed,” you say, turning abruptly and storming away before you do something you regret.

The bathroom is beginning to be the safest place for you as of late, so you find yourself clutching the same sink as the day before, staring into the same mirror, on the verge of a breakdown. You wonder if punching the mirror will help alleviate this vortex of sensations in your body, but you have to keep your calm. With another game tomorrow, you can’t afford to bust your knuckles nor can you lose focus like this. A quick splash of water over your face and a couple of deep breaths will have to suffice.

You make sure to walk slowly back to the dorm, taking enough time to reset your emotions before you have to face Su-bong again. One more close call with him, and you may not be able to control yourself again.

When you get back to your bunk, Su-bong is nowhere to be seen, and you feel a pang of disappointment. You suppose you should be relieved, for your sanity and for your body, that he took your advice and made himself scarce, but with the way your body has been betraying you for the last twenty-four hours, you don’t trust your emotions right now. You hurriedly slip off your shoes and climb into your bed before your body starts making more decisions for you, and prepare for another greatly needed rest.

———————

Playing Mingle only proves to complicate things further, as far as your resolve goes. You try to find a spot on the turntable that puts you far away from Su-bong, but you quickly realize that you haven’t made any alliances during your time playing the games. All you can do is hope for the best.

The first number called out is ten, and you quickly try to locate a group that only needs one more player, but you find it more complicated than it seemed to be. You begin to panic and the numbers on the clock appear to tick faster, until you feel someone grab you by the wrist.

“This way, señorita!”

Su-bong tugs you along with him and his group, hurrying towards an open room. He shoves you inside first, where you stumble forward into the back wall of the room. When you turn around to watch the others pile into the room, Su-bong crowds you quickly, pressing his hands flat against the wall behind you to box you between his arms.

“There you go,” he smirks, pressing his body to yours. “Stay just like that.” The way he speaks, hushed so only you can hear, making his voice sound deeper than normal, you can feel it rumble through your whole body.

And you fucking whimper.

Su-bong looks more satisfied and absolutely tickled at your reaction, and with a lick of his lips, he tilts his head to catch your gaze. You set your hands on his hips, firmly shoving him away from you to be able to breathe again. You feel overheated and wet, it makes you blush in embarrassment as the other players in the room look at you suspiciously.

For the next couple of rounds, you put as much distance between yourself and Su-bong as you can. Sometimes you catch him staring at you, but you can’t let your mind wander, not when it’s quite literally life or death. One round, he tries to pull you into his group, but you snatch your hand away and dash to find a different group to align with.

When the final round begins, you’re nearer to Su-bong and his remaining friends than you wanted to be, but you can’t focus on that. Instead you start doing the math: fifty rooms, one hundred and twenty-six people…the last number has to be two. You spare a quick glance around and see who you could grab that doesn’t already have a group. There’s no way you’ll be able to be in a room alone with Su-bong, especially if he touches you again, because you’re sure you’ll break. That’s when you spot Min-su just a few feet from you.

When the turntable stops, and the number two is called, you reach for Min-su, but someone else’s hand wraps around your wrist — of course it was Su-bong. All you can do is run along with him, knowing you’ll waste valuable time if you try arguing. Instead, your heart pounds harder in your chest. Su-bong shoves you into the room and hurries in after you, slamming the door shut before turning to grin at you.

“You’ve been flying away from me all day, butterfly,” he smirks. “Guess I caught you now.” You try to feel relieved from surviving the game but with your body already in overdrive, Su-bong slowly closing in on you only makes it worse. “I heard you earlier,” he says, stalking closer towards you. “Whimpering. You finally gave yourself away.”

“I’m not gonna fuck you in this room,” you say, shakily. Su-bong licks his lips, eyeing you up like he was prepared to pounce; the sensation in your stomach begins to spread throughout the rest of your body from the way he makes no effort to hide his staring. He now stands directly in front of you, just as he was in the first room; he’s so close, you can feel his breath on your face.

You both stay silent for several moments, and all you can think about is if he would put his hands on you one more time, he’d push you past that last hurdle. But instead, the gunshots ring out on the other side of the door, startling you.

Your next move is purely automatic, so frightened by the noises, you don’t realize what you’re doing right away. You place your hands on his hips and press your face against his chest, instinctively looking for comfort from your fright. Realizing that you’re seeking solace in the arms of Thanos, you quickly begin to pull back, but he wraps his arms around you to keep you in place.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. “I have you.”

The tone of his voice is different. He actually sounds sincere. It’s a new shade for him, and the way his hand gently rubs your back doesn’t help the fiery sensation under your skin. It does, however, soothe the fear enough for you to be able to focus on him instead of the scene outside of your room.

“I can feel your heart beating,” Su-bong mutters. “Is it because you’re this close to me?” You laugh in spite of yourself, but with your face pressed into Su-bong’s jacket it sounds more giggly than you intend. “We have a few minutes…” he begins to slide his hands down your back and you gently shove him away before he can do whatever he’s planning on.

“There’s a camera right there,” you say, pointing to the wall behind you.

“I always liked an audience,” he smirks.

“Oh, yeah?” you laugh. “Not worried you’ll get stage fright like you did during that last rap battle? Or was it the drugs that time?” You worry that you may have crossed a line, but when he scoffs and crosses his arms with a grin, you know he’s prepared to snap back.

“You like watching me perform?”

“I used to,” you nod.

“We could have a performance of our own right now.”

“I doubt you’d be a good fuck,” you shrug. “It’d probably be a waste of time.”

“Is that what you think?” Su-bong asks, backing you towards the wall again. You nod your head slowly, this time not caring if he can see the way you stare at him. “That’s funny,” he nods. “Because you look like you want to kiss me right now.”

“If only to shut you up.”

Before Su-bong is able to reply, the lock disengages for your room, signifying the end of the game. You slide past Su-bong, taking your leave, not giving him the opportunity to make another innuendo. You slip into the crowd in an effort to get lost among the other players, but you can almost feel Su-bong creeping along behind you.

As you walk past one of the side corridors of the labyrinth, Su-bong finally makes his move. You feel his arm hook around your waist, hurriedly pulling you along with him into the dark space of the side corridor before you’re spotted by any guards.

“No cameras here,” Su-bong mutters, spinning you around and pinning you back against the wall. His hands land on your hips, and you take a firm grip on his biceps, both of you breathing hard in anticipation.

When he finally kisses you, there’s no more buildup, no more suspense because now you’re past all of the pretense, and you both need this. The kiss is sloppy, all tongue and teeth and soft moaning into one another’s mouths — your head reels with pleasure and excitement.

While he has you distracted with the kiss, Su-bong’s hand slips into the front of your pants, and past the waistband of your panties. You feel him just as his fingers press into your folds, swirling through your wetness.

“Fuck,” you gasp into his mouth, and break away from the kiss to look down at his hand that begins to tease you.

“Have you been like this all day?” Su-bong asks, leaning his forehead against yours. “You’ve been pretending to be so mad, running your mouth, and the whole time you’ve been soaking wet.” Your lips stay parted and you let out soft pants from the feeling of his fingers touching everything except your clit. “What turns you on the most, huh?” Su-bong continues, kissing your jaw tenderly. “To be treated like a good girl or to be treated like a slut?”

You can’t find your words to tell him that you like both because now his fingers gently brush over your clit and your moan gets caught in your throat. Su-bong chuckles, taking a step closer so he can grind himself against your hip. One of your hands finds its way to his hair, fisting enough to tug his head back away from your face.

“You’re gonna fuck me here?” You’re almost breathless as you speak, but the look in Su-bong’s eyes, arousal and excitement, drives you to keep going. “You’ve been talking about it for two days,” you continue, rolling your hips against his hand, desperate for friction. “Throw me down right here and fuck me. Show me what all of that attitude was for.”

“I guess I have my answer,” Su-bong mutters, and you set both of your hands on his shoulders now to brace yourself. “You’re begging me to fuck you on the floor of this place…I don’t think a good girl would do that.”

This time you whimper again, not because of how he touches you but from the way his voice sounds: strained but sharp. You can’t stay still, squirming against him, unable to compose yourself or even look him in the eyes. You aren’t ashamed of how you’re acting, because fuck, you really do want him, but you’re flustered.

“After the vote,” he begins, moving his head along with yours, trying to get you to look into his eyes while his fingers still tease you. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom. You can show me how much of a slut you really can be.”

You want to say something sarcastic in response because you’d prefer not to give him the upper hand, but your instincts kick in and all you can do is nod slowly. Su-bong’s fingers tease your clit again, and you whimper in response, grabbing him tighter to keep him close. When you finally make eye contact with him, of course he looks smug.

“Yeah? Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding faster. Su-bong kisses you, just as sloppy as the first kiss, and slides his hand from your pants again, much to your disappointment. So you whine in protest, which seems to be your new favorite reaction to him.

“Shhh,” Su-bong hushes, breaking the kiss. “You can wait.” He slips his fingers into his mouth, cleaning the taste of you from them. “Mmm,” he hums, pulling them from his lips with a pop. “I know what I’m going to do to you first…”

“You love to fucking tease, don’t you?” you breathe, shoving him away from you.

“I guess we both do,” he retorts, adjusting his pants to try to hide that he’s obviously hard. “Pull yourself together, señorita.”

Su-bong disappears from the hallway, leaving you turned on and slightly annoyed. You take his advice and straighten your pants to look more presentable before you follow after him.

For a moment, with your emotions heightened, you find yourself worrying that if you vote out of this hell, you won’t be able to see Su-bong again. You didn’t want to vote in favor of staying just so you could get railed in a public bathroom, and with the amount of money you garnered, you’d be able to successfully pay off your debt. You press the ‘X’.

When you walk towards the red side, you catch a glimpse of Su-bong’s face, scrunched up in anger as he signals that he has his eyes on you. The gesture makes you laugh, although you know he’s serious. And as the numbers creep higher, you think that maybe you really will be going home at the end of the vote.

You didn’t expect the vote to split 50-50. The mixed emotions return to your chest, but as you start to wander back to your bunk, you spy Su-bong creeping out of the dorm, presumably on his way to the bathroom. You give him a few moments for a head start before you make your way to join him. You reach the bathroom just in time to see Su-bong ducking into the women’s room, so you sneak in immediately after him.

“I thought the women’s room would be nicer than the men’s,” Su-bong says, peering around the room, giving a peek into each of the stalls. “I’m disappointed.”

“Life would be boring without disappointment,” you shrug, watching him carefully until he finally turns to face you, a serious look on his face.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms. “You wanted to get away from me again, butterfly?” When your eyebrows furrow at his words, he taps his finger on the circle patch affixed to his jacket, then nods his head towards you. “Did you get scared thinking about being alone with me?” he smirks.

“No,” you reply, running your hand over the ‘X’ patch. “I figured if we made it out of here, you wouldn’t care that we missed our bathroom rendezvous.”

“Hmm,” Su-bong hums, breaking his gaze with you and staring to the side in thought; he appears to weigh his options for a few moments before answering. “Well, good thing we’re still here,” he says. “But if we had voted out, I’d find you so we could finish what we started.”

It’s a mix between a threat and a promise that gives you a flip in your stomach and a flush to your skin. Su-bong notices the change when he speaks, which brings a more pleased smirk to his lips. He tips his head to the side to eye you up, the wheels turning in his head with what you assume are completely devilish ideas.

“Come here,” Su-bong commands, beckoning for you with a crook of his fingers. You move closer to him, and he grabs your hips to guide you backwards to the sinks. “I want you to take your pants and panties off,” he whispers, eyes locked with yours. “And stand right here, so I can see you.”

Su-bong stops you when your back hits the wall perpendicular to the sinks, then releases his grip on you, taking a few steps back and crossing his arms. He stares at you expectantly, so you begin to do as you’re told, stepping out of your shoes first before working your clothing down your legs to pool at your feet. You also take the opportunity to remove your jacket, dropping it along with your other clothes. You keep your eyes on your task, a tinge of nerves making you too shy to look back at Su-bong just yet.

When you are naked from the waist down, you straighten your back, pressing yourself against the wall as you were instructed to do. With a slow breath out, you finally look to Su-bong, who has his gaze locked on your lower half.

“Put your leg up there,” he nods his head towards the sink nearest you, and you fucking blush thinking of being on display for him. “Do you need me to help?” he asks, his tone clearly amused as he already begins to stalk closer to you.

“Someone could walk in,” you say, finally, when he places his hands on your bare hips.

“No one cares what we’re doing in here,” he laughs. “By the end of this, you’ll never see them again. They’ll be dead or disappeared.” His hand slides down your thigh, gripping it firmly and helping you lift your leg to press your foot to the side of the sink. You lean your weight to the wall behind you, bracing yourself against the cold tile with your hand. “Besides that,” he begins, casually slipping his fingers through your wetness. “A little slut like you, I’m sure you don’t really care if anyone sees you.”

“Maybe…” you breathe, studying his face as if you want to memorize it.

“If I would have known you were like this, I would have fucked you at Temple.”

Su-bong lowers to his knees in front of you, eying you up like he’s about to have his last meal. Before he dives in, he bites along your inner thigh, each one harder than the last, making you yelp in surprise. Su-bong laughs against your skin, turning his bites into kisses now until he reaches your wetness.

The teasing starts slowly, a gentle brush around your clit with the tip of his tongue but not quite touching it yet. It’s softer than you expect from him, but with how badly you’ve been aching for him, you aren’t sure how much teasing you can take. As though he can read your mind, he starts to trace his fingertips around your entrance, getting his fingers nice and slick for what comes next.

It feels like forever before he touches your clit, and even then, the contact is so tender, it’s almost nonexistent. You whine in response, hoping he’ll take the hint, but of course he doesn’t — intentional or not, he’s driving you crazy. You thread your fingers through his short locks, trying to urge him in to put some fucking effort in, but he doesn’t allow you to move him.

“C’mon,” you whine, sounding more tantrum-like than you would have liked.

“You made me wait, now you can be patient too.”

“This is different,” you retort, breathless. “I was teasing you with words…you’ve got your mouth on my pussy…”

“Mmm,” he hums against you. “That’s a good point.”

Su-bong finally gives you what you want, licking your clit more directly, with more pressure than before, and at the same time, he slips his index and middle fingers inside of you. All you can do is moan and tip your head back against the wall, the sensation of someone touching you after so long becoming too much very quickly.

“You’re tight for a slut,” he mutters against you, his mouth sounding wet and the heat from his breath blowing against your already hot skin. “No one has touched you like this in a while, hm?”

You clench around his fingers as they pump into you, shallow thrusts as the speed of his tongue increases. A thought pops into your head that makes you grin: maybe you can bully him into going faster.

“Fuck, go faster,” you groan, grinding yourself against his face. “Unless you’re just bad at eating pussy.”

He freezes, his face still pressed to you, tongue halfway through a lick. You’d be mad that he stopped if you didn’t know what would be coming next. When he finally sits back so he can look up at you, his eyes have darkened, and he appears incensed by your words — so you decide to give him one more push.

“I knew this wasn’t going to be worth my time,” you mutter.

Su-bong unzips his jacket, pulling it off of his arms and spreading it on the floor; he removes his cross necks as well and stuffs it into his pocket. He grabs your hips, harder than you expect, and yanks you down to your knees on the floor with him. You allow him to do as he wishes with you, and you find yourself on the floor, your body resting on the clothes to put a barrier between you and the tile.

“Spread your legs,” he commands. You do as you’re told, spreading your thighs wide and giving him an eyeful of the way you’re now drenched because of him. He doesn’t speak again, but quickly drops down onto his elbows to bury his face in your wetness.

He surprises you with just how voracious he is, his mouth claiming your clit immediately, and his fingers slipping back into you. From this angle, his pace is faster and fuck, those long, slender fingers go deeper with each thrust. You moan out, pressing your hands to the ground beneath you and arching against him. You swear you can feel him laugh in response.

Su-bong’s free hand grabs the thick of your thigh, pulling your leg to hook over his shoulder so your heel presses to his back. He doesn’t let go of your thigh, but holds it harder, feeling like it’s enough pressure to leave bruises on your skin.

The way his fingers pump into you is better at this angle, digits curling up with each hard thrust. But his mouth is a revelation. He alternates between tonguing your clit and sucking, the absolute perfect back and forth to match how hard he fingers you.

“Fuck,” you moan, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging, much harder than you intend, but he growls against you. Of course he likes to get his hair pulled.

Su-bong shoves your leg off of his back, instead pinning it to the ground so he can keep you spread wide open for him. Now he increases the speed of his torture on you, sucking and thrusting so hard that it starts to hurt but fuck, it gets you that much closer to climaxing. Maybe you aren’t any better than he is if you’re getting horny from a little bit of pain. But you can’t think about that, you have to get off. All you need is to give him one more push

“At least your mouth is good for something,” you pant.

That does it. Su-bong’s pace increases and you can’t stop the moans that start to claw their way from your chest in response. He’s erratic and forceful and it’s exactly what you need to push you over the edge, tumbling towards your climax.

“Oh, fuck!” you moan, arching your back, both of your hands grasping his hair to keep him right where you need him to ride out your high. “Fuck, baby.”

Your first orgasm brought on by someone else in so long and you can feel your legs trembling from the intensity. He doesn’t stop until you release your grip on his hair and drop back onto the floor, panting and squirming.

“Mmmm,” he hums against you, finally pulling back for air and sitting back on his knees to peer down at you. “It was ‘asshole’ earlier, now it’s ‘baby’. It just took my tongue to get you to change your mind, hm?” You feel a flush hit your face at his words because you hadn’t realized you’d called him ‘baby’. He sucks the taste of you from his fingers before he scoots closer to lean over your body and rests his weight in his hands at your sides. “Is this what it’s like when you’re a good girl?” Su-bong asks, licking his lips. “I like you this way… but I think I prefer the slut.” There’s a playful glint in his eyes, but when he kisses you, it’s gentler than you expect.

“Are you getting soft on me now because I called you ‘baby’?” you joke against his lips. He rests all of his weight on one hand to use the other to take hold of your wrist and press the palm of your hand against the bulge in his pants.

“Does that feel soft to you?”

“Is this why you talk so much shit?” you ask, rubbing him over his pants. “With the attitude you have, I’d expect you were compensating, but, fuck…and you got this hard just from eating my pussy?” You swear you can see him blush, but he quickly chuckles and sits back to rest on his knees again.

“What can I say, I love a slut who’s needy,” Su-bong retorts.

You sit up so you’re closer to him, working his pants and briefs down his hips until you can free his erection, and fuck if you don’t feel your mouth water from the sight. You try to hide the look in your eyes that you’re sure gives away just how badly you want him, but Su-bong chuckles.

Before he can speak, probably to tease, you spit on his erection so you can begin to stroke him. You angle him toward your mouth so you can suck on the head of his cock, getting a taste of the precum that has already leaked out.

“How does that taste?” Su-bong asks, his hand resting at the base of your head, urging you to take more of him into your mouth. “Have you been thinking about it since you met me?”

He wasn’t wrong: you had been thinking about this moment since you arrived at the games. Sure, you’d thought about hooking up with him when you first met at the club, but a torrid, illicit bathroom hookup was not what was on your mind back then. You thought of kissing, holding hands, making love, and other sweet things that were far from your mind right now. Instead you want to know what it feels like to choke on him. And maybe you have to let yourself loosen up a bit to get it.

You pull off of him, glancing up to peer into his eyes. You motion for him to stand up, and he obliges, staring down at you while he slowly strokes himself. Sitting up on your knees in front of him, you peer up at him from under your lashes, your tongue teasing the head of his cock.

“You like to tease, don’t you?” Su-bong asks, inching his hips forward to encourage you to take him deeper.

“I just want to be a good slut for you,” you whisper, the tip of your tongue still gently toying with him.

“Oh, yeah?” Su-bong chuckles in surprise, stopping for a moment to pull in a quick breath. “Show me what you can do, then.”

You take him halfway into your mouth, bobbing your head along with the stroke of your hand. Su-bong lets out a quiet groan, his hand holding on the back of your head, showing restraint by not applying any pressure. You hollow out your cheeks, sucking harshly on him as you pick up your face but you don’t take him any deeper, not just yet.

“If I had my phone, I’d film you right now and make you famous,” Su-bong mumbles, holding his hands up in front of him as if he was a director framing a shot. “I don’t know what debt you have but I know what you could have done to pay it off.”

The implication of his words makes you moan around him, which in turn causes Su-bong to give a thrust of his hips against your face. It catches you off guard when he pushes himself deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. When you gag around him, he lets out a deep moan that you can feel vibrating through your body, landing straight between your thighs.

“Jesus,” Su-bong breathes. “Do that again.”

He sounds strained, like he’s struggling not to sound too desperate. You grab his hips with both hands so you can hold him still when you start bobbing your head over him, taking him all the way into your mouth. Su-bong rocks his hips against your movements, giving an extra nudge so he can steal a few more centimeters of space in your mouth. When he gives you a particularly hard thrust straight into your throat, he grasps the back of your head, keeping you in place. You gag on him, struggling to maintain his girth, but the feeling makes you clench around nothing, because, fuck, it feels so good.

“Damn,” Su-bong groans, releasing his grip in your head so you can back off, but you don’t.

You can feel him staring down at you still struggling to contain him in your mouth. Until you swallow around him, and he stutters out words you can’t understand. He pushes at your shoulders to signal he needs a moment, which you quickly oblige, taking in a few deep breaths.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, running a hand through his hair. “If I die in these games, at least I get to go out after some good head.” When you attempt to grasp him once again, Su-bong grabs your wrist, stopping you. You peer up at him, trying to give him a look that translates into you begging him to keep sucking his cock, but he shakes his head. “Get up here,” he rasps, pulling you to your feet by your arm.

The way he grips your arm, hard enough to hurt, makes you whine. Not in protest because you can’t handle it, but because it feels good, and you want more. Su-bong hears your moan, and stops tugging at your arm long enough for you to get your footing.

“You like that?” he asks, and you nod in response. “I should have known.” He yanks you towards the sinks, spinning you around and holding you firmly by your hips. You can feel that his grip is much harder than before, because now he’s trying to test your limits.

One of his hands lets go of your hip, and slides up your back, forcing you to bend over the sink. Your hands grasp the sides of the sink for support as you watch Su-bong’s reflection in the mirror. You get an idea that immediately puts a smirk on your face; just because you’re giving him the upper hand doesn’t mean you can’t have a little bit of fun.

You take a step back so that you’re pressed against Su-bong, and you start grinding your ass against his erection. He lets out a deep groan, lowering his gaze between your bodies so he can watch the way you rub against him. You watch him lift his shirt up his stomach so he can get a better view of what you’re doing. Seeing Su-bong like this, pupils blown, licking his lips, giving you a glimpse of his body while he grinds along with you���fuck, you could come again just from the sight.

“You want it inside of you, or would you rather keep playing with it?” he asks, his hand not holding his shirt giving you a hard slap on your backside. You lurch forward and whimper from the contact, giving him your best pleading eyes through the mirror. “Say it, señorita,” he teases, angling hisnhips so he can tease the head of his cock against your entrance.

“Fuck me,” you plead. “I need it. Please, baby. Make it hurt.”

“Jesus,” he laughs, squeezing your hip hard enough to make you arch. “I should have done this years ago.” Su-bong pushes inside of you, burying as deep as he can go. He pins you between himself and the sink, the porcelain hard against your hips. He doesn’t move immediately, but revels in the feeling of you squeezing around him. “Fuck,” he whispers, licking his lips and tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling with a groan. “You haven’t felt it like this before, have you? Are you sure you can take it? You’re shaking already.”

You hadn’t realized that you were trembling, but when he calls attention to it, your first instinct is to feel shy about it. But no, you want him to use you, to manhandle you, to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore. You’ll have to stroke his ego to get him to really give it to you the way you need it, but you’re not embarrassed of the way you’re going to act.

“Please fuck me,” you whine, swaying your hips, trying to get him to move. Su-bong stares at you in the mirror for a moment, eyes darting around your face before he grabs you by your shoulders to pull you upright with your back against his.

“Yeah?” he whispers in your ear, looking at you in the mirror. “You’re begging me? Do you need anybody or is it just me?” His hands slide up your shirt, cupping your breasts and squeezing them roughly; you see him smirk when he rubs his thumbs over your hard nipples.

“You, just you. Please!”

Su-bong growls as he bends you at your waist again, forcefully pressing you over the sink. You brace yourself on the sides, unable to lift your gaze to find him for his hand that holds you down by the back of your head. He slowly shifts his hips back, pulling all the way out until it’s just his tip inside of you, and waits for you to start squirming.

When he snaps his hips forward again, he drives you against the sink hard, the pain immediately evident in your hips. And you clench around him from the sensation. He repeats the motion again, harder, and you whine, your grip on the sink slipping.

Su-bong starts a pace. A slow and hard pace, driving you against the edge of the sink over and over until the pain starts to numb and your pussy aches from how roughly he thrusts into you. He still holds your head down, pressing it against the porcelain near the taps.

“What is it that you said before?” Su-bong begins, speaking gruff and deep as he keeps his slow pace. “That I ‘wouldn’t know what to do with it’? Do you still think that?” Your eyes water because he’s fucking mocking you. He can see and feel everything that he’s doing to you, but he needs to hear you tell him; he wants you to eat your words.

“No, my pussy’s yours,” you whine, one of your hands blindly reaching behind you to grab his forearm. ”It feels fucking great. You’re so big, no one has ever stretched me like this.”

Su-bong grabs both of your arms, bringing them behind you and holding them against your back to pin you down to the sink. You briefly wonder how many bruises you’ll end up with by the end of the night, but you don’t have much time to be distracted as he uses his grip on your arms for leverage.

He starts to thrust into you again, and fuck it feels so good to have him pounding you into the sink. You hear his breath come out in heavy huffs as he sets his pace, speeding up from what he’d previously done. You can’t help yourself, moaning in a way that you never have for anyone else before: needy and whiny.

“You love this, don’t you?” Su-bong asks, breathless, but still determined to get those sweet sounds from you.

You start to feel tension building in your stomach again, and you are desperate to get another climax, so you struggle against his grip to signify that you want him to free your wrists. He quickly obliges, instead holding you firmly by your waist with one hand, spanking you hard with the other. You moan as you brace yourself on the sink again, working against him to try to get him deeper if it’s even possible.

“Spank me again,” you beg, your voice sounding unlike your own as his hips start to thrust faster.

“Oh, are you a bad girl?” Su-bong asks, and you can actually hear him smirking.

You nod furiously, and he quickly slaps your backside again, hard enough to make it sting. Your legs tremble beneath you, and you know it won’t take much to get another orgasm. You bring one of your shaky hands from the sink to your thighs, but Su-bong catches your wrist to bring it behind your back, pinning it there.

”Uh-uh,” he chides. “This pussy belongs to me, isn’t that what you said? I’ll decide when you can come.” You moan his name in the most pathetic way you’re able to manage, and he laughs in response, landing another slap to your ass.

“Please,” you moan, dropping your head forward next to the faucet, and closing your eyes. “I’ll be good for you…I’ll come as many times as you want me to.” You aren’t even sure if you’re going to be able to keep your promise because your body is already weak, but you need it right now.

“Shit,” he moans, leaning over you to press his weight against your arm and back. “That’s so sexy…I’ll give you what you want only because you’re being such a good slut for me.”

Su-bong reaches around front of you, rubbing circles on your clit. The sensation makes your knees buckle immediately and you moan louder, swearing and muttering his name. Su-bong’s hips plow harder into you, faster still, and the speed at which he teases your clit increases along with it. It’s only another moment before you feel yourself crashing over the edge.

You’re sure someone will be able to hear you moaning Su-bong’s name, because you can almost feel the vibrations echoing off of the walls. Your body quakes with your orgasm, the sensation flowing through you all the way to your fingertips. Su-bong slows his thrusts until finally he stops, still buried deep inside of you. His hands set softly on your hips, giving you a moment’s reprieve to catch your breath.

“You good?” he asks, quietly, rubbing one of his hands over your backside.

“Mhm, keep going,” you mutter.

“Needy,” he chuckles, slowly pulling out of you with a small groan.

When Su-bong pulls you away from the sink, you feel the dull pain from how he’s handled you so far, but now, he shoves your back against the wall between two sinks. You pant softly, staring into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, until he presses both hands against the wall on either side of your head.

When he leans in to kiss you, you expect him to be rough, but it’s surprisingly soft, and tender. While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to wrap your fingers around his length, stroking at a steady pace. Su-bong groans into the kiss, but breaks away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes closed.

“Mmm,” he hums, rocking his hips against your hand. “I thought you wanted to be a slut. You’re playing with me like I'm your boyfriend.”

“I can’t keep my hands off of you,” you reply, stealing a kiss that makes him smirk faintly. Your free hand slides under his shirt, touching his skin softly for a moment until you dig your nails in just a little. Su-bong inhales sharply the smirk on his lips spreading wider. “You like it, anyway,” you tease.

“I’m only letting you have a break before it’s my turn again,” he responds, tipping his head back to look into your eyes. His face displays mixed emotions as he tries to keep his composure, but you can see the amusement as well — the break must be over.

Su-bong grasps your wrists, moving your hands to set on the sinks on either side of you. He keeps his eyes trained on your face as he reaches between your bodies to rub your clit. You mewl in response; you don’t want to stop because you need more, but fuck, you’re so sensitive from your romp thus far. You break eye contact with Su-bong, your head lolling forward as his slow torture of your clit spreads a shiver throughout your body.

“I thought you wanted more,” he teases, tilting his head around to try to catch your gaze. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to take it. My butterfly wants to fly away again.”

“I want you so bad it’s making me fucking angry,” you reply, when his head nudges yours to signify he wants to see your face.

“Yeah?” he laughs, grinning at you with heavy, lust filled eyes. You feel his fingers move closer to your entrance, his middle and ring fingers slipping inside of you quickly. “This is what you want? For me to make you come again? Tell me how good it is.” Su-bong starts to pump his fingers into you roughly, his hand angled so the heel of his hand rubs your clit as he goes. “Tell me” he says, his free hand grasping your throat, not yet applying pressure, but only holding you.

“It feels so fucking good,” you moan, grabbing his hand that holds your throat and urging him to tighten his grip. His eyes flash briefly with concern, but you nod your head quickly.

“Put your hands back on the sinks,” Su-bong commands, so you quickly grab the sinks again, using them for support as you feel your next orgasm beginning to build. “You can only let go if you need me to stop. Otherwise, you stay just like this. Remember, this belongs to me now. Right?”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding furiously as you keep your eyes on his face. He studies every emotion on your face, as if he needs to commit it to memory, until he starts to finger you harder and faster.

His grip on your throat tightens and you drag in a ragged breath while you can. You close your eyes, trying to maintain your composure, but his grip tightens again. You can feel his rings pressing firmly into your skin. You use your hold on the sinks as leverage to grind against his hand, feeling yourself inching closer to release.

“Oh, god,” you gasp. “Please.”

He fingers you harder, curling them inside of you to get you right where he wants. The hand that holds your throat now cuts off your ability to breath and you feel almost euphoric at the sensation. Su-bong’s eyes never leave your face, searching for any signs from you that it’s too much. When his grip loosens briefly, you pull in a ragged breath mixed with a groan, but you’re thankful for the air. You start panting, losing any shred of inhibitions that may have been left over.

Su-bong doesn’t let up, but keeps thrusting his fingers, trying to get them deeper with each push. He still applies some pressure to your throat, not cutting off the air supply completely, but enough for you to feel his rings digging into you. The tightening in your stomach increases, fluttering out slowly into your aching limbs until finally it snaps. You let out another desperate and loud moan to reverberate off of the walls of the bathroom, repeating praises around Su-bong’s name as if it was all you knew. You use your grip on the sinks to help you grind against his hand, to wring out every second of your climax.

“You’re so sexy,” Su-bong mutters in your ear, his deep voice sending another wave of pleasure through your body. He keeps working you with his fingers until your legs start to quake and you become overstimulated, so you grab his shirt with one hand, fisting it hard.

“Please,” you gasp. Su-bong slows down until he stops again, letting out a moan in your ear, as if he’s just as intoxicated from this moment as you are.

Su-bong grasps your hips with both hands, keeping you upright as you feel your legs turning to jelly. You lazily drag your eyes to his, watching his eyebrows raise in question — he’s checking on you again. You nod, and watch the way he brings his hand back to your throat to soothingly rub the marks that his rings left. In your heightened state, your heart skips a beat because who knew he was so fucking considerate.

“How about this…” Su-bong begins, stealing a quick kiss from you before he takes a few shuffled steps backwards towards the pile of clothes.

You watch him spread the clothes more evenly before he sits on top of his jacket and shoves his pants and briefs down to his ankles now. He grasps his cock, slowly stroking his hand over it a few times while he looks at you.

“If your pussy belongs to me, you can come over here and make this yours,” he nods his head to his lap. You realize that he could ask for you to do anything in that moment, and you’d do it without question.

You make your way over to him on shaky legs, and he notices quickly — he responds by extending his hand to you, which you happily accept. You step one foot over him and lower to your knees, straddling his waist and putting just enough pressure between your overly sensitive pussy and his length. Su-bong hums in satisfaction, pressing his hands to your hips to urge you to very softly grind against him.

“I used to think about this,” you whisper, your voice soft because maybe you’re afraid to admit it after all of the annoyance he gave you. “Fucking you.”

“Was it like this?”

“No,” you shake your head, your hands taking hold of his shirt and bunching it up around his ribs. “But I like this better.”

Su-bong lifts his arms up, allowing you to pull his shirt over his head and discard it. Placing your hands to his chest, you shove him to lay on his back, and use that pressure against his chest to help you grind yourself against him a little harder.

“Are you trying to come again?” he breathes, holding your hips, to steady you. All you can do is shake your head, but still you keep grinding, dragging yourself back and forth along his cock. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he says, one hand sliding under your shirt to squeeze your breast.

You dig your nails into his stomach and the moan he lets rattle from his chest is gorgeous. He grabs your hips more firmly as if he’s torn between letting you continue and throwing you down and finishing himself off. You keep pushing him, scraping your nails along his chest until he finally cracks.

Su-bong guides your hips backwards enough for him to reach between your bodies and slide himself inside of you. You both moan together, and you drink in the way it feels to have him inside of you again, stretching you out.

“Go ahead, it’s yours,” Su-bong says, his voice strained. He takes his hands off of your hips and props them behind his head, letting you ride him as you see fit.

With your hands still on his chest, you start at a steady pace, but you know you won’t be able to take it for very long. The sound of your skin slapping together echoes through the room, mixing with your moans of his name and Su-bong’s heaving breaths. It drives you to move faster, rolling your hips so you can chase your fourth climax of the day.

Your limbs feel as though they are on fire, an ache resonating through your whole body but you couldn’t stop — you needed him. Faster and faster you move until your rhythm feels sloppy and you start to lose your steam. Su-bong, sensing this, sits up and wraps his arms around your waist holding your bodies together so he can help you move along with him.

You take the opportunity to kiss him, sloppy and wet because you couldn’t have it any other way. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging on it as you pull him even closer to you. You find yourself moaning into his mouth as you feel another climax approaching. He growls in return, breaking the kiss and focusing on getting you off.

This time, when your climax hits, Su-bong fucks you through it, your entire body feeling like it was alight. You shake and moan and beg for something but you don’t know what. Your hands grab his back, nails digging in and clawing up his back; he fucking loves it as much as he loves when you pull his hair.

“Good girl, my good girl,” Su-bong groans.

He shoves you backwards so he’s on his knees while you are now on your back, the whole time keeping his length buried inside of you. He pins your legs to the floor and begins to fuck you again, harder and relentless. You feel yourself still shaking with the remnants of your previous orgasm that now begins to fade into yet another one when his fingers make contact with your clit.

Su-bong pistons his hips harder, driving himself deeper into you than you imagined possible until finally he reaches his own climax. You hold your hands around his waist, helping him along as he keeps driving into you. He moans your name, mixed with nonsensical mutters and needy groans as he fills you up with everything he has.

When he collapses on top of you, Su-bong bites your neck hard, and you can only whine out a raspy sound that you don’t even recognize belongs to you. With his body on top of yours, you can see his back, emblazoned with a tattoo of his own name, now covered in your scratch marks. The sight sends a chill through your body: you certainly made him yours.

“Someone will be in soon, I’m sure,” you whisper after you both stay silent for several minutes trying to catch your breath. You tighten your thighs and arms around his body, trying to get one more feel of him before he moves, and you feel his lips press to your neck where he had just left a deep bite.

“Hmm, you’re right.”

Slowly, Su-bong climbs off of you, taking care to make sure he doesn’t hurt you beyond what you already did. It takes you both several minutes to clean yourselves up to appear even remotely presentable, during which you steal a few glances at him to compare the marks you left on one another.

As you zip up your jacket, the last article of clothing you need to put on, you take another look at yourself in the mirror. You notice the distinct mark on your neck from where Su-bong’s hand gripped you earlier, along with the bite mark he left. You zip your jacket the whole way to cover your neck, just as you spot Su-bong’s reflection in the mirror. He stands several feet behind you, sizing you up with an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” you ask. He locks eyes with you in the mirror.

“If we don’t make it out of here…” he trails off, leaving an uneasy feeling in the air that crashes you both back to the reality of your situation.

“Don’t think like that,” you say, turning to face him again. “We’ll get out of here and pay off our debts, then get back to our lives. We’ll forget all about this place.” You shift your weight between your feet and immediately feel the throbbing of pain in your body; you pull in a sharp breath in response. You can still feel him all over you.

“You’re going to forget about everything, hm?” he grins in response, crossing closer to you and tugging at the collar of your jacket to see the mark he left on your neck. ”My butterfly, always trying to fly away,” he teases. You smile in response, and bite your lip to try to hide it from him before you speak.

“I’m not flying this time. I’m running.”

“You’ll slow down one day,” he laughs. “Then I’ll find you, and I’ll reclaim my property.”

“Oh, I’m your property now, am I?” you grin. Being referred to as ‘property’ isn’t something you’d normally derive pleasure from, but with Su-bong…you fucking love it.

“Mhm,” he nods, taking hold of your hips carefully, so as not to aggravate the bruises he left there. “You might think that you’ll forget everything about this place, but you won’t forget about those five orgasms I just gave you.”

“Well,” you begin, tracing one of your fingers around the circle on the blue patch that is affixed to his jacket. “You’d better think about that when you walk up to that podium tomorrow, then. Because if I make it out of here without you…I’ll have to find someone who’ll get me off six times.”

You steal another kiss from him, this one deeper and more passionate than before. When you pull back, you see the smug smirk on Su-bong’s face, and this time, you match it. You shove him away from you playfully, and leave him alone in the bathroom with his thoughts.

As you slowly walk back to the dorm, you realize you can smell Su-bong all over you, feel him and taste him, as well. Your body aches with what he did to you, and you know he’s right: you won’t be able to stop thinking about him if you get out of this place. The way his voice sounded when he promised that he would find you makes your mind race with what else the two of you could do, but for now you can only hope that tomorrow, he presses the ‘X’.

[elluminis]

This just in: gotta get surgery

[luveline]

Hi Jade! Can I request Spencer and Nurse!reader? Maybe they meet when he’s wounded/she’s patching him up?

(Yes I’m a nursing student I promise we aren’t all mean girls 😔)

ty for requesting!! ik ur not all mean of course!!<3 —you meet the cutest FBI agent ever and tend his wounds. fem, 1.5k

One of the small pleasures of your job is when the patients are cute. Not many people come through as handsome as this one. You’re professional nonetheless. 

“What am I seeing you for today?” you ask, holding your hands behind your back. 

Your patient, charted as a Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, twenty nine years old, gives you a tentative smile. “Someone hit me really hard.” 

You can see the bruise forming against his temple. “Yes, I’d say so. Did you know the assailant?” 

“No, but it’s handled.” His smile turns to a grimace. “Uh, I get these, like, debilitating migraines, and I feel like I have one coming on.”

“A head injury could trigger that,” you agree, holding your hands out in front of you, little torch in hand. “Can I have a look?” you ask softly. 

When you’ve been a nurse for some time, you start to categorise people into boxes. All kinds of boxes for different things, but Spencer Reid gets a tick for a few things straight away: shy, pretty, and sensitive to touch. He must not get touched much, or he’s had a bad experience with strangers. He did just get hit in the head, you allow, brushing a sweet, mousy curl away from his head and holding it out of the way as you shine a light into each of his eyes. He flinches hard, but his pupils react as expected. 

Whoever hit him managed to break the skin, upon closer infection of the injury. The skin has turned purple at the edges of his cut. It’ll be a big bruise in just a few hours. 

“Spencer, please tell me if I hurt you, honey,” you say, voice still soft. If he’s got a migraine coming, he won’t want your usual overloud distinction. 

“It’s okay. It hurts, but not more or less when you poke it.” 

“You have a laceration, yeah? It’s about three centimetres long, but deep. I can close it with a butterfly stitch, if you’re okay with that.” 

“Yeah, please. Um, about the migraine–”

“Do you want a tramadol, honey? I think you deserve one.” 

“I can’t have narcotics.” 

You pull back and straighten the hair you’d displaced. “That’s okay, it just means you can’t have the strongest stuff. Most people try to avoid them anyhow. How about tylenol, would that be alright? Or do you avoid painkillers in general?” 

“Tylenol is fine as long as it doesn’t have the codeine with it.” 

You give him a gentle nod. “I’ll make sure it’s the right one. You can even see the bottle, if you like. Would you want them before or after the stitch?” He probably knows, but you add, “It’s not a real stitch. But it might feel tender when I’m poking around.” 

“Anything. Whatever you want to do first.” 

His eyes squeeze closed. You give him a frown he can’t see, and rest your hand on his arm. “Is there someone here with you?” you ask him.

“My friend is coming, I think. There was a lot going on.” 

“That’s okay. I’m not sending you home until I’ve fixed you, Dr. Reid.” 

He smiles, even with his eyes closed, but doesn’t say anything more. You wash your hands and find your bandages. A butterfly bandage, a sterile wipe, and a square piece of gauze to cover it cleanly. His eyes are opening again when you return, ushering him gently down the bed so you can sit on his right side near the injury. 

“What do you do for work?” you ask him. 

“I work for the FBI.” 

“You do?” You tear open the sterile wipe and again pull the curls from his forehead. “This might sting. Please tell me if it hurts too much.” 

“It’s not the cut that hurts.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sympathetically. Migraines are a tricky business. If he’s already having one, you probably can’t do much to get rid of it, but that doesn’t mean pain relief won’t help. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can.” 

He’s quiet. You wipe around the laceration with careful, concise movements. The cut looks clean enough when you’re done, and it’s so small you won’t irrigate it. 

“Are you an agent?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Special supervisory with the BAU. The, uh, behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you say, putting the wrapping and the dirtied wipe into your cardboard bowl. “I think I’ve seen it on TV sometimes, you guys can track the serial killers and stuff?” 

“Mostly that, yeah. Uh, sometimes we find trafficking rings or missing kids. Sometimes we manage hostage situations. It depends on the level of the crisis.” 

“So you’re the big gun.” 

“I guess so. I’m not actually good with a gun.” 

“No one has to be good with a gun to change the world.” You pull the butterfly stitch from the packaging and pick at a finicky end. “I hate guns.” 

He sighs. “I do, too.” 

“They make my job hard. It’s not nice, seeing what they can do to people. It’s awful, really. Spencer, I’m so sorry, honey, I’m just gonna put this on here, it might feel uncomfortable as I pull the sides together.” 

“It’s okay.” 

You pull the plastic of the butterfly stitch on both sides, cinching his cut together promptly. It looks better now you can’t see the inside. 

“I’m gonna cover this with the dressing now. You don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to, it’s a pretty small cut, it was just deep. I’d recommend you try to keep it dry for two days, really, you should keep it covered, but it’s up to you. And if anything happens, if it gets infected, you can always come see me again.” 

You’re mildly flirting, then. Just because he’s nice and shy. It might be a little cruel of you to proposition a man when he’s roughed up, though. 

Spencer, luckily, understands that you’re not trying to harass him. “Thank you.” 

You stand, peeling the plastic from the bandaid and exposing the sticky backing. Slowly, you stroke his hair back from the wound and line the bandaid up. He shivers under your nails. 

“So sorry,” you say, laughing under your breath, “it’s my nails, huh?” 

“It’s okay.” 

“You’re a great patient, Spencer. I’d give you a sticker if I could, I’m not kidding.” 

“You’re a great nurse.” 

“Thank you.” You smooth the edges of the bandaid down for good measure and step away from him to assess him. “How’s that migraine?” 

“Getting worse.” 

“You have them often, you said? Treated or untreated?” 

“Psychosomatic, apparently.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Has your doctor talked to you about CBT?” 

“Some. I don’t really… want it,” he says awkwardly. 

“That’s okay. If it’s psychosomatic as they believe, it might get better with time. How’s the stress in your life?”

“Stressful.” 

“It must be hard, the FBI, everything. Life is hard enough. Stopping serial killers must weigh on your heart.” You smile carefully. “Was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention? Any other injury, anything that needs urgent care?” 

“I was mostly worried I had a concussion.” 

“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re not nauseous, are you?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

He gets this awful, sad look on his face, it really isn’t nice to see. People come in by themselves all the time but it never gets easier to handle. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, taking his arm into your hand. 

“I’m fine.” 

He had the look of someone who’s always fine. Luckily for him, it’s your job to take care of people, to make sure they’re more than fine. “Okay. I’m gonna get you something warm to drink. Do you like donuts?” 

“Uh–”

“I’m getting a feeling about you. Chocolate frosting, I bet.” 

He smiles, startled and pleased at once. “Yeah.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna get those for you. A drink, a donut, and some much needed Tylenol. You can lay down if you like.” 

He nods but doesn’t move. 

As you’re leaving the room, you cross paths with a handsome man with dark skin and a bright smile. Must be something in the air today, you think. 

“Reid, you okay?” you hear him say. 

“Fine.” 

“You’re pink.” 

“What?” 

“You’re blushing. Oh, you had the pretty nurse, didn’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Spencer whispers sharply. 

“You can ask for her number.” 

“No I can’t, she’s working.” 

“But you want to,” his friend surmises. 

You bite down a smile, giving your head a shake as you go. You need to get a move on. Spencer needs a hot drink, a donut, Tylenol, and a pen. It should be okay if you’re both feeling up to it, right?

[kithtaehyung]

minted: three (explicit) | myg

title: minted: part three (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: masterlist | one | two rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: at this point, you would do anything to forget. including the unthinkable with a gangster. note: sooo this series basically saved my writing slump haha. i am still having the time of my life and i’m so excited to show y’all more of this minted universe. and to also show you just how spicy things can get❤️‍🔥 note 2: this is ofc a present for hali @sailoryooons that spiraled into a whole universe. still always gonna thank nary @joonary for letting me use the vendor reader idea, as well! also happy birthday to @remmykinsff @awbells @keylime4eva @aaclariww and @noshit-cantfindagoodone!! to everyone else having a bday around this time, this is my gift to you hehehe. warnings: language, drugs, alcohol, slow burn, murder mentions, gang activity, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, chains bc of course :)), world-building, reader is still sassy, yoongi is still infuriating, tension explicit warnings: under the cut! drop date: december 9th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 12.3k 😀👍

explicit warnings: i know it’s a slow burn but there’s definitely smut lol, choking, head/hair tugging, penetration, oral (f rec), backshotssss, marking bye, rough sex, ass play, breast play, his hands are a nice necklace😀, taunting cus reader’s an icon, thighs, breath play, spanking, hand job, protected sex, multiple orgasms, restraints (his hands, robe tie), brat!reader but who is honestly shocked🙂‍↔️, brat tamer!yoongi lmao, yoongi is a menace i’m sorryyyy, but reader is…?????, need them both™, teasing, rawdogging HELLO?? (pls wrap it up fr!), commanding yoongi a ha ha, pain kink, cowgirl🙂‍↕️, this is just the calm before a whole damn storm

—

—

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”  

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

Did you go too far? 

Is there a limit to his accommodation? Did you actually think this was gonna be easy? 

When silence swirls between your robes, you start to second guess your demand. 

But Yoongi simply stares before stepping aside, allowing you to enter his room with jellied legs. 

This is madness, but you’re gonna go through with it. Whatever the hell this will be. Because you may not know much, but you figure all men sit up the same when sex is on the table. 

This man, though... 

Quite frankly, you aren’t sure about anything when it comes to him. Unless it’s about him doing something questionable. Then there’s no question about it.

The enigma himself makes no conversation as you step inside, even as your eyes roam around a cleaner, more put-together room than when you left the first time. Did Yoongi clean this much while you made a mess of your dreams? 

The only answer you get is a door shutting, followed by a massive presence at your back. Before you can so much as turn around, the first words on your shoulders burn like embers,

“Was he your first.” 

Fuck. 

This isn’t what you approached him for. He’s supposed to make you forget, not remember. Remember?

You don’t turn around; you don’t respond right away. Instead, you swallow before focusing very hard on the fact that Yoongi sleeps on the bedside nearest the window. At least, judging by the way the covers are flipped. You happen to prefer the side opposite.

The heat from his body proves soft but intense, and you can’t help but close your eyes when you finally answer with a question, 

“Do you remember yours?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you ever regret it?” 

“No.”

Your vision lowers to the rug lying still under the bed. A splash of light grey amongst a darkened, moonlit sea. 

No matter how quick Yoongi answers. No matter how even his tone. 

He still remembers it, too. 

But this isn’t what you expected when you walked in here. You assumed this man was going to get right to it, save no room for you to second guess yourself. Clearly he gave zero shits about kissing you in that taxi, and he damn near undressed you in the living room. 

So what’s the holdup here? Does he want this for real? Or not? 

Head at a slight angle, you admit with a hint of finality, “I don’t wanna talk about that.” 

“Mm.” A warm, rough hand subtly tugs at your belt, and prominent knuckles nudge through the smooth material of your robe. “So what are you really here for.” 

Your eyes blink thrice. 

Yoongi cannot be serious. Does he really not know? 

No. He knows. With a shift of your jaw, you realize he’s just fucking with you, purposefully not in the way you want. “You’re being difficult.” 

“You woke me up.”

Ah. That’s fair. 

“So tell me.” 

Well. If you’re gonna have to spell things out for him, he’s gonna be waiting for awhile. Because the more you stand here not doing anything, the harder it is to gather a little thing called courage. Courage to meet the beast in his den, and madness to let him devour you whole. Now you have neither. Neither, neither, neither.

Awkwardness sticks to your throat until it’s jammed, and you can barely mush your lips together to form sounds. The courage you speak of flees before you can wrangle it, and what’s left of your answer tumbles out like boulders, “This is.. I don’t.. I can’t.” 

“You can.” 

“It’s,” you huff, noting that you don’t like this horrible mix of hesitation and anger, “It’s… I’m—” 

Your vision jolts as you feel a quick tug shit you’re spinning fuck your back just hit a wall—

“Of all things today,” Yoongi murmurs with slits for eyes, “This is what gets you to shut up?” 

Damn it. 

You don’t even have a rebuttal. Because he’s right. Yoongi’s sharp discernment is millimeters from your face and you have no intention to move nor speak. Only quick breaths. Only shaky exhales. 

But you do swallow.

Which brings out a sound you will never admit you like: a breathy, condescending laugh, as coarse and as soft as his touch. 

“You mean to tell me,” he observes, tilting your chin while his irises blaze dark, “You came all the way in here for nothing?”

“No, I—”

“All that talk, and for what.” 

Defend yourself. Say something. Say just one word two words any words—

Did Yoongi just pat your cheek? ..Twice? 

Why did you kinda like that—

“Makes no sense,” he ponders aloud, lolling his head and staring down your crumpled lips. “Who even are you..” 

Now that's an easy one. You always have the answer to that question. 

“No one,” you whisper. “Sorry to disappoint you.” 

Seems like the people back home aren’t the only ones you’ll let down. If Yoongi keeps that question loaded in the chamber, he’s gonna keep shooting the same target. Over, and over, and over. 

But you don’t have to worry. Because he drops it, caging you in with a hand near your stiff, risen shoulder, “So what are you here for.” 

This is a mistake. Either Yoongi doesn’t want this, or he’s being frustrating on purpose and your fire is both stoked and quelled. “Now I don’t know for sure.” 

“The more you stall the harder it gets,” he goads with a lick of teasing. And for a split, minuscule second, you wonder if that meant more than one thing.

Goddamn, he’s annoying. He’s outright savoring this. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. You woke him up for god’s sake. If someone did this same thing to you after the day you’ve had, you wouldn’t have even let them in. 

Unfortunately for you, Yoongi’s version of dealing with a midnight inconvenience is whittling them down until they leave— 

“So you can tell my bellhop off but I get nothing, huh.” 

Oh, shit. 

Oh, shit. 

You’re so taken aback that you can only ask, “What?” 

Mercifully, the dragon gives you air, straightening before leaving your personal space. 

Your focus should be on his words. You know this. But he uses this moment to rake his hair, and words are no match for the sleeve cascading down his inked forearm. 

Even as his hair flows in waves, you still cling to his tattoos as he looks downward in thought. “You think I wouldn’t check who the fuck was coming up here?” 

It takes you a second to process. 

But you realize what this means and you fall silent again.

Yoongi saw that? All of that? You acted without much thought, and if he really did see and hear everything that went down, there’s a chance he thinks a lot differently about you now. No wonder he’s so thrown by this switch in behavior. 

But on the other hand.. The way he touched you in the living room. Was all that because of what he saw? Is that side of you the one that pulled him close? 

You thought his parting would allow you room to breathe. How very wrong you were. 

Shoving all contemplation aside, you decide to coat the room with concern, your assertion making a brief comeback, “He said a lot of shit, Yoongi. What was that about?” 

He languidly approaches the long table at your side—one you faintly noticed while leaving the room the first time. Unbothered, he slides unhurried fingers over a gun, stopping on the barrel before reaching for something less lethal. 

A decanter, it seems. Liquid flows from the container into a smaller glass, and you assume it’s whisky from the deep amber tones and luscious pour.

When you wonder where else Yoongi litters his weapons, he cuts through your surveying, 

“You really wanna know?” 

Looking up, you nod. 

He sets the bottle down with a dull clink. “He took his chances.” 

“His.. What?” 

Now what the hell could this man mean by that? You were clearly being coaxed into leaving the premises, vaguely feeling like something seemed off. How is he being so dismissive about all this? 

Slowly, Yoongi shakes his head, looking out into the night while taking his initial sip. “I don’t come here often. But when I do, I come alone.” Long fingers nestle his cup perfectly as he explains further, “It’s been awhile, so. Had to feel out the staff.” 

The staff. Is that why Yoongi held your hand? To weasel someone out? You really thought he meant it when he said he just wanted to… 

How naive. 

“His plan could’ve been solid.” 

“But what?” You ask, newfound frustration clipping your tone. 

Yoongi slides you a look over the rim of his glass. “He didn’t know who he’d be dealing with.” 

Your eyes roll so far they strain.

But this begs a question. Does he mean dealing with you? Or him? Surely he meant your little show at the elevator but he could very well mean himself. 

Facts are facts. Would Yoongi really trade il-don for you? Absolutely not. So you have to assume he’s mostly talking about the latter. 

Your scoff is pitched to the side, “Of course. You wouldn’t trade il-don for anything.” 

Yoongi pauses, not acknowledging your comment in the slightest as he strolls back your way. “Something I am curious about..” As he leans in, musk and whisky invade both your space and senses. And you hate, hate, hate that you need more of it. “Who was he talking to?” 

“Someone he royally pissed off.” 

“Mm.” 

“You’re not gonna punish him?” 

“Me? Nah.” Leaning on the sideboard, he stares out the windows across the room. Your vision follows suit. “Not until I have to.”

If what happened wasn’t enough to warrant a punishment, you’re morbidly curious about what ticks the box. “I figured he’d be dead by now. At least for trespassing.”

Yoongi only shrugs. “Grey zones aren’t just amnesty for the clans. Anything goes here, too, so a ransom attempt isn’t surprising.” 

This man really doesn’t stand on black or white. Here you are with eggs for brains discovering you were almost taken instead of saved, and he’s chalking it up to, what, just another Tuesday? Or is it still Monday? You don’t even know anymore. 

Your question leaves you a little scuffed. Because you feel exactly like leftover goods. The fruit at the back. “Are you always this heartless?”

“So I’ve been told.” 

Great. 

So much for being… Safe up… here… 

You glance at the touch on your hip, and your eyes traverse up his arm as he toys with your belt again. 

Shouldn’t you feel disgusted? Shouldn’t you be walking away? It’s crystal clear how little this man thinks of you, or anyone for that matter. He probably brought you along just to be a shield for his precious il-don. So why can’t you bring yourself to leave? 

Your knot starts to loosen.

His voice begins to flow.

“But if you’re gonna go for what’s mine, don’t be an idiot.” 

Wait.

No. Nope. Stop thinking about what that could mean. Because if you think too hard, it will only leave you disappointed. 

But there’s something you won’t stop doing. And Yoongi knows you won’t. So as he keeps playing at your waist, your words come out in shudders, 

“Can’t believe you used me.” 

Yoongi hums, and it makes you shiver when his touch leaves you to rest against wood counters. “You’re about to use me, too.” 

Fucking hell, he’s right. 

“Gotta say I didn’t expect it, but..” Damn him and his head tilts. “I’m impressed.” 

You’re too empty-headed that you can’t even process his words as genuine praise. His touches already feel like pops of lights in the night sky.

It’s a given. You aren’t prepared for him in the slightest.

“Come here.” 

Lightly pulling your hand, Yoongi brings you to stand in front of him. And from this point of view, you become even more ensnared. 

His robe flows down his taut build so beautifully, painting him like dark water over rolling hills. At his peak, the hair you’ve come to miss frames his face like artwork. Mesmerizing. Your downfall. 

“You get one more chance. Tell me why I’m awake.” 

Your brow lift is only a front. The rest of you is shaking, trembling, howling. “You clearly know.”

“Tell me anyway.” 

Relentless. Will you shame yourself for wanting to see him use this same strategy on other people? Most likely. But will that stop you from thinking about it anyway? Absolutely, positively not. 

But there’s another side of you that’s being comforted. And it’s the side that realizes how much he’s spoken, how much time you’ve spent without needing to watch behind your back. 

Yoongi talking this much? It’s making things easier. And it’s strangely making you feel a little better, even if the subject matter isn’t the greatest topic in the universe. 

After you steal a glance at the other whisky glass, you look into his eyes. Determined and decisive. Knowing exactly what you want at this very moment, because you just need a little more time. 

“Tell me more. About grey zones.” 

Something in the air freezes. And Yoongi’s brows crease so comically you almost laugh. “That’s it?” 

“Yes.” 

His nod is slow as he sets down his glass.

And you’re quickly hauled back so fast that you don’t have time to react. 

A rush of air. The world topples. Soft sheets. 

Dangerously, a thin chain sways above as Yoongi shrouds your body in silk and lingering smoke. A gasp escapes you as he peers into your eyes, and your senses fire as a commanding hand slides up your thigh. 

“Final answer?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck you know you want him and you still do but also talking to him isn’t half bad and maybe you’re just tired of being lonely— 

Musk. Alcohol. Breathing hard, you take it all in. Slowly nodding because you can’t function otherwise, which makes a dragon flash teeth. 

But he obliges without moving a muscle, so you’re left underneath a demon—robe dangerously close to opening and exposing everything once again.

A man of conviction, Yoongi does exactly as you ask. Eyes drooped, he continues his explanations, as if he didn’t just shove you into his enormous bed and tangle you under his legs, 

“They started awhile ago, back when all the high-powers got locked in a grudge match. Took half the city with them.” 

Immediately, your shoulders start to sink into his tale. “Half is a lot.” 

“Everything went to shit,” he agrees. “Not even the Politicol could stop it all.” 

“Bullshit.”

His level expression is enough to refute.  

Now that’s a shock to learn. For as long as you can remember, the Politicol have always held more power than any force should ever have. If they weren’t able to keep this under control, the high-powers used to be ungodly. 

Staring at the slippage on Yoongi’s shoulder, you wonder if those ink lines are to immortalize the ones that came before him. The history he must’ve grown up memorizing. 

Still.. Why does he have them all? There’s no way he doesn’t know how disrespectful that is to all three clans. 

But then again. He said he didn’t choose them himself. Which leads you nowhere in this unending maze. 

Head disheveled; robe coming undone. To outsiders, you’d be at Yoongi’s mercy. 

But in reality, you’re laser focused on him and his explanations. Especially when his voice scratches every itch just right. “So…” You watch his gaze slowly slide down your face. “What happened?”

Even now, Yoongi’s hands stay exactly where they are. The only thing that moves is the tinkling swing of his silver above your warming neck. “Deals were made, stripping power from all of them in certain sectors so that none could completely take over.” 

“Why only in certain ones?” 

A corner of his mouth quirks up. “Let’s just say the negotiations went how you think they did.” 

Your eyes roll yet again. But another question pings into your mind as quick as the first one, knitting your brows. “Wait… Deals with the Politicol? Or each other? No way they would’ve let cowards put them all on a leash.” 

At this, something interesting passes over Yoongi’s face.

But it flits away before you can snatch it for further inspection, and the shift of his leg against your thighs resets your brain. 

“Any of the clans could’ve monopolized if they had the right resource, but. They weren’t ever gonna let outsiders get a piece. Called a truce and kept their mouths shut.” 

Makes sense. You know exactly what resource he’s referring to. “The il-don.” 

“That’s part of it.” He shifts again, but this time, your legs have more room to move. “But grey zones have priority infrastructure. The ones that keep the lights on. If you had the money, you had the people. And people are the best resource there is.” 

It’s at this moment that a lot of things click into place. 

And one of those is figuring out that you may have been a little wrong about the man above you. 

Is he heartless? To a high degree. But that comes with being calculating. Patient. Smart. Everything that Yoongi has been this entire time you’ve tagged along. 

He’s not keeping the il-don safe because he treasures it. It’s because the money is a tool. A tool to help him get what he wants whenever he needs. And leverage it for value instead of frivolous decisions and material things. 

Yoongi must have really, really enjoyed your tangerines.

A stray touch finally makes its way inside your thigh. And you flare between your legs. Shivering. Aching. You’re sparkling inside but won’t allow yourself to fully explode. Not when he’s revealing so much without telling. Not when you’re starting to see things from his angle. 

“Keep talking,” you rush out, gripping his robe and squeezing his pelvis. 

Though his fingers still light flares on your skin, Yoongi stops in his daring quest, observing your face without judgment. 

“I like it,” you shakily admit. Because screw it, since you’ll never see him again. “Learning about all this.” 

You sigh at his weight. His beautiful, strangely calming weight. “About you, too.” 

Stopping all movements, Yoongi coats your skin with gravel. “What good will knowing all this do.” 

He’s got a point. And it hammers home exactly what you were just thinking. “Nothing, maybe,” you answer, squeezing his robe a little longer. 

Fuck, you really are this deprived. This lonely. Is bedding a dangerous man—this dangerous man—really better than being alone right now? A mental reset is outstandingly in order throughout the coming abysmal months.

You finish your weak explanation, hoping it’s enough to convince him, 

“But it’s helping.” 

Yoongi lifts his head to watch your eyes. And you observe how dark his are in return. How cold. 

But yet.. Why do you also see…?

With a slight huff, you tack on, “And you aren’t so annoying to talk to right now.” 

There it is. That spark you’ve seen before in dusty, tinkering streets. “Don’t push your luck.” 

“I might.” 

He exhales, shifting himself into a sitting position and facing the door. “The thing about grey zones.. No affiliation, no rules. You can be anyone here.” 

When you lift your upper body to sit, you watch his side profile as you repeat, “Anyone?” 

Yoongi turns to look at your lips. 

You know there’s a question you want to ask. But for some reason, it’s difficult to say. 

But eventually, you can’t help it. Because you’re intrigued. You’re haunted. And you really, really need this. 

“Then who do you want me to be.”

He lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh. Looking into your eyes, he asks in disbelief, “You?”

“I’m pretty good at pretending.” 

“Sure you are.” He gives you another small grin before resting forearms on his knees. “But you don’t want my answer to that.” 

Swallowing is proving too difficult. What the hell does he mean by that? Is it one big bluff or a real opinion? “You’re just being a pussy.” 

All you get is the side of his cheek rising high.

Yeah. He’s not gonna tell you a damn thing. 

“Forget about me then. Who are you right now?” You wait as his expression falls back to earth. “Agust? Or Yoongi?” 

When you end with silence, you’re met with an approaching shadowed visage. And even in this moment, you sense static in the air, both of you poised and locked in a dangerous, thrilling dance. 

“You tell me.” 

Your breath cuts as he slips a finger inside your robe, and you dare not breathe when he pulls—slow, unhurried, intoxicating. 

You’ve never felt quite like this. 

Are you supposed to do something, too? Is there something that usually happens here? Your experience isn’t zero but it is clearly leagues below where it should be. 

Before you can blink a third time, your garment is ever, ever so slightly off your shoulder.

And you haven’t uttered a damn thing.

So he keeps going, sliding it lower, and lower, until he reveals a part of you that you didn’t mean to reveal so suddenly before. 

This time, it’s deliberate. And that makes it terrifying. 

This is the point of no return. The slope of your chest barely keeps your robe from dipping any farther. It’s happening, and life between you will never be the same when it’s over. 

And yet. 

Your nerves speak up at the worst time.

“Get me a drink,” you whisper, “Then maybe I will.”

Yoongi flicks up an eyebrow before obliging, and you silently mourn the loss of his heated touch. 

He walks over to pour you something neat, taking his time bringing both glasses to the bed. When you sit up properly, you habitually adjust your robe, scoffing at his hum. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, taking the glass and smelling the piercing aroma. “Maybe this is what I needed all along.”

“You ever had sex before?”

The question is so sudden and blunt that you cough up a burning sip. “Ow, fuck..” Wincing, you wipe your mouth before breathing in scratchy inhales. “If you must know, I have.”

“Maybe you are good at pretending then,” Yoongi drawls. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t get me wrong. This situation is new to me.”

His brow raises are definitely talking a lot for him. 

“I’ve just never.. I dunno. Never had just one night.” Taking a more cautious sip, you continue. “Much less with someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“With a.. You know.” You fiddle with your glass. “A customer.” 

When you hear his reaction, you stare at his raised cheek, stomach fluttering when he sighs downward,

“You can’t just say shit like that.” 

“I can say whatever I want,” you counter. “Especially since I…”

You don’t wanna finish that. It helps that Yoongi doesn’t look your way still, taking a sip of his whisky instead. His locks swing forward as he leans, and you almost reach out to feel them. Maybe you’ll get to very soon. When you finally get over this final hurdle of outright shyness. 

Why are you so timid right now? Why can’t you just tell him what you very obviously came in here for and get on with it? You’ve been decisive as fuck the rest of today, so what’s got your tongue pressed this time? Is it really your abysmal level of experience?

Or is it because you’re gravitating to more sides of him with each passing second? 

“Since you what.” 

“Since I don’t like you,” you snip. 

Yoongi flashes teeth in amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You take another drink, feeling the burn down your throat. “I don’t have to if it’s true.” 

Both of you keep drinking in silence after that. Which makes things a weird mix of calm and awkward, considering what your original mission was. 

Going over the events of today, it’s a wonder why you aren’t crashing into a dreamless sleep. You’ve been up and having the most exhausting day ever, and yet, you can’t imagine shutting your eyes. 

Think of something else to talk about. Anything. Any topic you could possibly hold a conversation with Yoongi over. 

What did he respond to before? No small talk, since the plantains thing from months ago was a bust. And when you conversed over ramyeon it was more of him angering you on purpose—wait a minute. 

There was something you never circled back to. 

And as soon as you ask him about it, he appears impressed you remembered, 

“Were you bluffing when you said you knew what I was shopping for?” 

“No,” he responds immediately. “And I know I’m right.” 

“Prove it.” 

Mouth curved at an annoying angle, Yoongi shoots you a look before placing his drink down, getting up to walk to a tall armoire. 

Your eyes follow his every movement, even the way his ass moves under that damned robe. But soon, your jaw goes slack not because of his assets. 

But because the motherfucker was right on the money. 

How the… How the fuck did Yoongi know? 

In front of your face lies exactly what you were searching for. Sleek. Minimal. Lightweight and visibly balanced. You don’t even want to keep shopping around because this is the only one you want. 

How did he know you were shopping for daggers based on one single line of questioning? 

“I wasn’t gonna show you until you asked,” he divulges. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d forget. This one was hard as fuck to track down.” 

Eyes flicking up to his, you ask in wonder, “Can I…?” 

He lifts it slightly, signaling that you can indeed hold it yourself. 

And it’s perfect. 

“Wow,” you breathe out, feeling along its edges and hilt. It’s all one continuous line, with metal so black and matted that you almost moan. “I don’t have much on me, but.. I’ll give you whatever you want for this.” 

“Keep it.” 

What? 

“It’s yours.” 

There’s no way he’s just gonna gift this to you. It’s perfectly crafted in material you can’t even find in Crane. And they have almost every class of ore in existence. 

Who even is this man? 

“Yoongi, this is…” You shake your head while extending it back. “I can’t just take this.” 

“You can.” He fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. “I did.”

Oh. Charming. The weapon you’re being gifted is stolen goods. “Well, in that case, I really can’t accept it.” 

But goddamn, this is more than perfect. You can’t even pluck one finger off the handle. And you can’t change the fact that it was already taken, right? Right?

“At least…” Scowling at your own crumbling morals, you mumble, “Not without good reason.”  

He looks at you over his shoulder. “Do I need a reason?” 

“No,” you reply. “But I’d like one.” 

Yoongi sighs long before moving his fingers. “I lied to you back there in the lobby.” Looking up at a clock instead of you, he works his jaw. “But this time, it really is just that.” 

“You expect me to believe you?” 

Fuck, the veins in his hands are so prominent when he laces them together. “No. But it’s better than those chopsticks you’re saving in the bathroom.”

Oh. So he saw those, too.

“Thank you,” is what you wave in white. Because that’s exactly how you feel and this one gesture does excuse some of his faults. Maybe. Or your standards have plummeted to the gutters. “I, umm. I usually keep one for self-defence. Just in case.” 

Turning it over and back again, you marvel at its light but solid weight. “But I lost mine in the last rough raid before they suddenly stopped.”

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“K.” Placing it on the closest nightstand, you go back to holding your glass between your hands. “One day I’ll pay you back somehow.” 

Yoongi shoots that down on sight. “No need.” 

“But I want to.” 

He glares before picking up his alcohol. “Anyone that owes me shit gets treated a lot different.” The drink rests in his hand like a liquid gem. “So just accept it as a gift, doll.” 

You’d laugh if you knew he was kidding. But you know he’s dead serious, so you only nod. 

It’s quiet again as you both retreat into your minds. 

Yoongi has the mental fortitude of a fortress it seems. Because he really is set on waiting until you tell him what you woke him up for, and it’s been awhile since this all started. 

But being in his presence while the night is quiet is somewhat comforting. You’re finding it easy to think about other things now, especially after he gave you so much to mull over. 

Like grey zones and how they came to be. It’s fascinating how you had no clue even though you should. Even though this whole conflict affected half the city. 

Wanting to gain more insight, you blurt your curiosity, “How long ago were the grey zones fought over? Before everything was decided?” 

“Years. Decades, at this point,” Yoongi answers, his gaze locked as you think about this timeline. “Most people don’t even bother knowing, though.”

“Why? This sounds like a big part of our history.” 

“No one cares if a Crane kills a Dragon.” His tone shifts slightly. And you wouldn’t have caught it if not for his subtle sulk. “They only resent the blood they have to wipe from the street.” 

Your lids lower all the same. Because that resonates deep within your chest, so much so that you feel your heart bend in its aching. “No one cares about us, either.” 

When Yoongi catches your look, you give a sad excuse of a smile. “Being a vendor? Especially where I am? You quickly figure out how little you matter. You as a person, I mean.” 

You slide fingers along the tiny rim of your glass, lost in the fibers of his rug more than anything else. 

Maybe you’re just a loose fiber in the rug of this city. One that will pretend to run only to be swept back into the folds. “The only things that people remember are what you offer. Anything other than that isn’t worth their time.” 

Lifting your chin, you save face. “Can’t say I won’t miss you.” May as well admit it all if you aren’t ever gonna see him again. “You were the only one that ever let me bother them.” 

“You never bothered me.” 

You look up to see him staring. Lip curled upward, you huff. “With all the looks you gave me? I find that hard to believe.” 

Yoongi doesn’t laugh in return. “What would I gain from lying?” 

Mm. That’s an interesting question. But the alcohol starts to talk for you as you have the balls to flirt. “People lie to get laid, for one.” 

“Mm.” He takes a measured sip of his glass, the last dredges of it swaying at the bottom. “Can’t say I’ve ever needed to.” 

“Shocker,” you drawl, sipping to match his pace. And it’s after this drink that you loosely admit, “This is really good, by the way.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Lifting the glass to peer inside, you swirl it around before divulging a past you don’t talk about—ever. But what are rules of conversation when you want to stall? “My uncle got me into whisky a long time ago. But fruit stands don’t pay for top shelf alcohol.” 

“Where’s he at now?” 

“Uhh.” You look away. “Gone.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

He gets up, and you watch in silence as he makes his way to the sideboard. Stuff shifts around before he appears to pour another glass. And he stays there for a bit, black robe blending into all the dark decor. 

“Yoongi?” 

He turns. 

“Can you keep talking?” You keep your drink steady between your robed legs. Buzzed and vulnerable, you offer an explanation, “Turns out there’s a lot I wanna forget right now.”

Like endings. And future endless days without your most frustrating, most dangerous, most favorite customer. 

Yoongi pauses before walking back to the bed. When his thighs settle next to yours, he asks without much heart, “What do you wanna know.”

“You.”

His jaw shifts, and you feel a slight tug in your chest. 

Was that too forward? Probably. But you’ll take what you can get, like a last meal chosen to hit every one of your desires. “Anything you wanna tell me, of course.”

Yoongi remains quiet. Which isn’t unexpected but still a little letdown. 

“Not much to tell.” 

Ah. Just more lies then. Maybe you should stick to the original plan. “Nothing at all?”

He looks at you, planting a hand on the bed to lean a little closer. “Nothing you’d wanna hear.”

You shift between his eyes. Wondering if it’s better not knowing or if you really do wanna give in. 

Perhaps his eyes will speak for him instead. Glowing dark. Hints of ember and smoke. Years and years squeezed into those irises. 

“What if I do,” you quietly question, catching the light on his alcohol-tainted lips. 

Reaching out, you boldly place a thumb over one side, slowly brushing off excess liquid and marveling at how soft he is there. Tender, just like his name. “What if I don’t care.”

Yoongi waits for a moment before holding your wrist, the atmosphere trembling and buzzing around your shoulders. Oxygen depletes as he leans in close, his beautiful features almost touching yours. 

You feel something locking into place. Something beautiful and terrifying. And it holds you down as you feel his hair, his warmth, his—

A noise blares into the room before you can feel yourself rushing upward, your body reacting on survival instinct alone. Glasses spill onto the rug and you don’t know what’s happening but lack of sleep lack of comfort lack of everything has you ready for—

Time stops. 

Sounds muffle. 

And your eyes flash wide as you see the tip of your blade pointed straight at Yoongi’s side. 

Just as he’s poised with a gun pointed towards the door. 

It’s a phone ringing. 

A fucking. Telephone. 

What have you done?

As Yoongi slowly shifts his gaze to your outstretched hand, you tremble in severe regret. Regret that you pulled this on him with the very weapon he gave you. Regret that he knows all there is to know about how you still feel about him. 

But you didn’t mean to… You didn’t even think. And you abhor how you directed your fear at the one person that kept you alive. The one person you fucking saved. 

When Yoongi lowers his gun, he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt on your face. But as he walks away to grab his device, his gaze flicks back to you before he answers across the room. 

Shit. 

You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up. 

You weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t care. You really weren’t. But who knows what Yoongi will think of you after that shock of a face off. 

Coming into his room was most definitely a mistake. Now you can’t wrangle your emotions for shit, head pounding with feelings and outcomes and adrenaline to the brim. 

Yoongi’s close to the wide bathroom stairs, so you can’t hear what’s being said. He does keep looking at you, though, which keeps your fingers pressed against a hilt. 

Are you in danger? Will Yoongi not want anything to do with you anymore? Is it alarming that you can’t decide which one is worse? 

The call doesn’t last long.

And as soon as he hangs up, you’re sputtering like a broken fountain, dagger still wielded as he stalks forward—phone clunking to the ground. “Who was that.” 

“No one.”

“What’s gonna happen to me.” 

“Nothing.” 

Fuck. You really did fuck everything up. Your brain is so battered that you’re gonna be skittish and paranoid for a long, long time. “Yoongi, I’m so—I didn’t mean to—It just happened—”

Forget it. It’s over. Your last interaction will haunt you forever and the only way you’ll experience what could’ve happened between you will be in your wildest darkest sweetest illest—

Burns flare at your eyes when Yoongi’s chest meets the quivering tip of your blade. 

“Stop,” you wince out, a damning tear pinging to your feet. “Just stop.” 

He starts to walk forward, which alarms you enough to step back because what the fuck is he doing! Why can’t your arms move? Why can’t you lower the fucking dagger? 

“I can’t,” you croak. “I can’t move.”

You’ve been firing on all fronts the whole day. Even in your dreams, you’re in survival mode. You can’t unlock your arms because they fight for the rest of you. Your legs propel you when the rest of you wants to give up. 

But that still doesn’t stop your heart from aching. It burns, it burns, it burns. 

When Yoongi grips your wrist, you choke on a sob. When he calls you smart, you squeeze your eyes shut in shame. And when he whispers to drop the fucking blade or he’ll do it for you, you do so after a maddening pause. 

It clunks to the ground when a gun does, and you’re suddenly spun until the backs of your knees hit something solid. 

Immediately, you’re thrust back onto dark sheets again, tears now rolling into your ears as you instinctively let Yoongi smother you whole. 

His hand slides to your inner thigh, and your mind reels when you start feeling a hardness on your stomach. Breath whooshes out of your mouth before you're covered in silk and muscle, and pleasure bursts from where he quickly devours your neck fuck.

Hands are quick to untie your robe as fire stokes your throat. 

“I won’t ask again,” he vows with a voice that rumbles. “Tell me what you fuckin’ want.” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Say it and it’s yours.” 

“Make me forget,” you shove through your teeth. “Just make me fucking forget.” 

“How.” 

Fuck lack of experience. Fuck being shy. You aren’t wasting another damn second and your emotions need all the release they can get. Loose lips, loose tongue, looser inhibitions.

The monster inside of you yanks at its chain, claws and claws at its confines screaming at you to give in. You need this. You want this, especially if Yoongi himself is gonna give it so willingly.

Just say it. Just say it.

“If this really is the last time I’ll see you…” 

Yoongi stills as your eyes lock unblinking. 

Tell him. Four words. 

“Fuck me like it.”

A proverbial chain snaps as Yoongi dives into your neck, ravishing you and sucking hard on your vein. When you yelp, your clenched legs seem to encourage, and he thrusts forward to launch you up the bed with a purpose. With intention.

All to let you know what you just got yourself into.

His fingers light little fires along your skin, burning everything in their paths up your arms, your sides, squeezing into your imperfections and latching down. His lips set your being ablaze as he keeps feasting, causing your breaths to get shorter, and shorter, and shorter. 

“So sensitive..” 

When you feel the warm swipe of a tongue, your eyes scrunch shut as you shudder. Which makes the whole thing worse for you when Yoongi chuckles dark in return. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for this.” 

“Shut up,” you huff out, grasping for his robe and raking at his sleeves. “Of course I am—Fuck.”

His thumb rolls across your exposed nipple, pinching it to make you arch right up into his chest. “You sure?” 

When the hell did he even open your robe? How did he do that so quick without you knowing? 

You bite down on your lip to keep from screaming, nodding in determination while your brows almost kiss. 

Watching your expression, Yoongi pinches again, biting his own lip while slowly spreading that shit grin. Your moan comes out more like a muted hum, which seems to displease. 

“Uh uh,” he orders. “You’re gonna be loud for me.”  

“But what if someone—” 

“They won’t.” 

He continues in his control, sliding a hand under your thigh to hitch it up before shoving it to the side. 

And you know where he’s going. But it still shocks you all the same when his fingers make contact with your slick. 

Your very, very wet slick. 

Many, many things will haunt you for life. Your experiences. Your choices. 

But right now? The only thing that will follow you to your grave is this distinct, biting, staccato batch of laughter. “You shouldn’t’ve ever come in here.” 

Breath ragged, you watch as Yoongi concentrates, exploring your cunt with his long digits and hitting every nerve with perfection. When you rub against him, he growls, lifting shiny fingers to insert right into his mouth. 

Sucking. 

Licking. 

And your eyes mirror his at once—as black and pulsing as fallen stars. 

He swoops down at the same moment you tug on his clothing, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck he hasn’t ravaged. Impatient, his hand yanks the bottom of your robe to the side, fully exposing your legs and leaking folds while you grapple with your own obstacles. 

It’s messy. It’s jilted. It’s exactly what you want. 

As soon as you find the slit in his robe, you take a brave leap and reach for his cock, not knowing what you’re gonna find but having a vague idea based on his—

Oh. What.

Fuck, he’s gonna split you in two. 

You’ve held one before. You know what they feel like. But this cannot be possible and you’re already mentally preparing yourself for your breaking point. 

“You good?” 

You snap your head right up, realizing how stunned you must be if he’s asking. “I… You’re fucking huge.” 

Yoongi doesn’t react, but that somehow makes it more attractive. Like he knows. And he doesn’t deny a thing. “That a problem?” 

“I mean… I think I’ve lived a good enough life.” 

To your surprise, the man above breaks completely as you keep blabbering, shoulders shaking alongside those stupid dimples. Those beautiful, elusive dimples. Too bad this is the last time you’ll ever see them. “Did what I wanted.. Not everything, but most of my list.” 

Yoongi’s still chuckling. And for a brief moment, you’re brought back to the days he was just a patron. Back to when you would think about him before bed, delighted to see him stop by. 

This is him. This is Yoongi with you now. 

Where was he this whole time? Was he really waiting until you answered him for real? 

You went so far into your head that you missed the change in position. So it makes you jump like hell when you realize where his teal mop of hair resides. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?” 

Between your thighs, Yoongi lifts a brow, locking your legs with tough arms before you can even move. 

“Yoongi, you don’t have to—oh, fuck!” 

The first contact of his tongue on your folds makes your eyes burst, your legs effectively being pinned down in their tensing. Jolts of lust spiral from your core as he licks, sucks, twirls around your clit like it’s second nature, and you feel yourself welcoming his every thrust.

This is happening. This is happening? You’ve never done this before, not that you’ll admit it. Whatever Yoongi’s doing is completely new territory for you and you don’t ever think you’ll leave. Permanent residence. No other land to discover. 

Whines echoes throughout the room before you slap a hand over your mouth. Because the whole world will hear his name if you don’t. Especially when he adds fingers and curls them just right what the fuck! 

He makes you forget. And forget. And forget. You even forget your own name. Only his. Saying it into your palm over and over and clawing his sheets with the other. 

A low growl rumbles between your legs before you hear him purr, “Just like I fucking thought.” 

What’d he say? He didn’t say that. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. There’s absolutely no way Yoongi’s imagined anything about you, much less what you taste like. 

And the words keep coming as he whispers how tight you feel. How hot. How perfect you’re gonna fit him. 

While all you can utter in return is gibberish mixed with the syllables of his name. 

Pleasure rolls in waves as he learns every inch of your cunt, fingers drenched in your slick and the curves of his cheeks lathered in your scent. When he reaches beneath you to grope your ass, he gives a rough squeeze. 

“Move your fucking hand.” 

Your eyes fling wide. 

“I wanna hear you.” 

“No, I’m—there could be people—”

He clambers over you, robe wide open and revealing a body that rips your soul clean out. When he seizes your palm to shove it to the side, another monster starts to wake within your chest. 

And this one takes treacherous pleasure in those slitted eyes. 

“You’re gonna scream for me.” 

“Or else what.” 

The dark rumble. The rolling thunder. 

Your other monster is starting to match his glint. “You don’t wanna do that with me, doll.” 

“Do what?” you ask with flitting eyes. 

When all you get is a sharp smirk in return, your stomach flips in desire and excitement. So when he slaps the side of your breast, you hum high with a delighted flinch.

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” 

Yes. This is what you came in here for. Your shyness will have to be comfortable with the unknown, but it’s also helping seeing Yoongi much more relaxed. 

Like a normal person. 

Especially when he leans over to open his bedside drawer, hair swaying as he grabs for what you think are condoms. 

Your hunch is right when he rights himself again, teeth nicking a wrapper before tearing it in one sweep. When you start to clench your legs together in response, he shoves them back open with a thigh, robe parting to show exactly what’s going to splice you in half. 

You’ll gladly take his amusement at your jaw unhinging. Because what you see is heaven sent. 

Yoongi says nothing as he wraps himself fully, and he continues to be silent as you whisper, 

“I wanna see you.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to understand. As his length presses against your core, he slips off his dark robe, letting it slide down equally dark sheets before pouring onto the floor. 

You’re just as quiet as he situates himself above your beating heart. Which is for the best. Your thoughts are better left unsaid. 

All you can do is grip his arm, sliding your hand up until you can finally, finally brush his hair with your own fingers. Exhaling when you discover how soft it feels. How comfort can be found in something as trivial as tendrils.

“This is helping, too,” you murmur to his lips, inhaling what you realize is your own scent. 

When he cradles your chin, your breath cuts. “Things happen when you say what you want.” 

“If only it was always that easy.”

“It is with me.” 

Your heart skips twice before tripping on itself, and you instinctively curl your palm against his head. “Everyone around you must be so lucky.” 

An eyebrow lifts before he huffs. “Not talking about just anyone, love.” 

…Huh? 

What does he mean by that because shit you’re getting tugged forward he’s so strong—

“Now, if you’re gonna be difficult,” Yoongi warns. “Let’s give you enough time to reconsider.” 

Your thighs widen as he positions himself at your entrance, cockhead rubbing along your folds as you tense. 

“Uh uh.” He hums. “This is what you want, yeah?”

“It’s been awhile,” you spat, rolling your eyes when he shoots you a knowing look. “Just… give me a second.” 

Obliging, Yoongi starts slow, making your head roll into the pillow as you accommodate his girth. Holy fuck, he’s big. But he’s sliding in easy after his little feast down there, which you piece together as one big prep for the main course. 

“Fuck,” he groans, resisting every urge to plow straight into you. At least, from what you can decipher in his pinched features. If this feels amazing for you, you can’t even imagine what he must be feeling now. It only gives you butterflies knowing he’s following through with his word. “So fucking tight.” 

“Not my fault you take up… so much space,” you grit through your teeth, neck straining as you blow air to the ceiling. 

Fully sheathed, Yoongi rests inside until your muscles relax. And you only peel your eyes open when you start to slip into more pleasure than anything else. 

Okay. You can do this. You can fit him surprisingly well—maybe too well—and you’re okay to keep going without restraint. 

When you peer down your body, you expect him to look bored or indifferent. Like he’s wasting time dealing with you. 

So it makes you shiver when Yoongi looks ready to ruin. 

Toned arms flex at his sides, hands keeping your thighs held in their place. When a strand of vibrant hair falls, his chains spark in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. A dragon that waits. And waits.

You’re ready. Your demise will be your reward. 

“I’m good,” you assure him. “You can move now—”

A second invisible chain snaps with a clink, and Yoongi launches into a thrust that has you seeing stars. You tumble through the dark as he thrusts again, mouth open with silent yells before you gnaw right into your lip. 

“Relax for me,” he commands. “Just like that.” 

Your cunt hugs him tight as you bounce even harder, his little grunts of praise making you mewl and whimper in bursts. 

Fucking hell, this feels good. 

You cannot wait to find out how it’ll feel when you piss him off. 

His hands grip your hips, hosting you up onto his thighs as he thrusts hard into your cunt. Your body rocks in an arch, limp and at his mercy—which there is very little of. Enchanted, your  lip tightens with the pull of your teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he feels so fucking good and hitting. Just. Right. 

It all carries you so far gone that as soon as you feel a rush of air, the sting on your ass makes you react—piercing moan making both of you freeze.

And Yoongi’s eyes deepen a shade as he slowly grins. “There you go.” 

“Don’t act like you—fuck!” His second swat has you grunting through your teeth, and his thrust forward at the same time he does it again has you whining. Monosyllabic, his name shoves out of your lungs, with each part more chipped than the next. 

“What’s that, love?”

“Yoongi, please—”

“That’s right.” He clutches your sides so damn rough. “Say my fuckin’ name.” 

And his pace pitches you into the sun, rocking so hard you won’t be surprised if the bed frame snaps in half. In thirds. In sevenths. Your legs go completely limp as he drives in, filling you and hitting a spot that pierces your eyes with stars and light and lust. Down down down you spiral, up up up you go. It’s only you and him now, with Yoongi plowing into you like his life ends come morning. 

There’s nothing in the world that feels like this. Burdened by the dangerous weight of a man—this man—while feeling so light you could float? Absolutely nothing can compare. 

Your body finally rests as he stops, but you get no breather as he flips you over with strong arms. Disoriented, you squeak as he tugs you backward, your ass rising in the air as your head is shoved into luxury cotton. 

Sweet pain sears your ass again, and you gasp with wide eyes as you feel his cock at your entrance. “What are you—”

“Lift up. Higher.” He slides his dick up your folds. “You’re gonna like this.” 

“You don’t speak for me—”

He thrusts into you as soon as you get accustomed to his length and size. And the place his thumb presses makes you scream into your pillow. His pillow. A hotel suite pillow that you’re biting to stay afloat. 

How the fuck does that feel so good? How does all of this feel so good? His thumb on your asshole already has you melting, but the smacking of his sack against your clit makes you want to repent.

“So fucking—fuck.”

Drool strings from your mouth as your arms are tugged at the elbows, your whole upper body coming up for air. Precious precious air that’s cut off when Yoongi chokes you from behind.

“Yoo—!”

His strength slams your chest into the headboard, right at the edge of the bed before you feel the force of his palm hit the wall. 

“What did I fucking say.”

“A lot.”

“I’m gonna hear you.”

“But—”

He shoves you flush against dark wood, your cheek smushing hard and your lips curling. “Let them hear you, too.” 

You keep your moans muted until fingers are shoved down your throat. And you gargle until he yanks them out. 

“That’s it. I know you can take it.”

“You’re easier…” Gritting your teeth in a smug grin, you taunt in a bold-faced lie, “Easier to take than I thought.”  

His laughter is not lighthearted. “You’re still gonna go there, huh.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you pout, eyes drooping from the euphoric shocks his thrusts provide. Sweat rolls down your arms as you slip on the wall, but it gives your chest a cool surface to rest. “Go where?” 

Suddenly, the grinding stops. And your cunt feels abandoned as he pulls out so fast. When you think to spin around, he spanks your ass with a harsh, “Don’t move.” 

Do you want to disobey? Yes. But you’re more curious than anything, so do as he says.

And your eyes light up when you realize what he comes back with. 

“Now… I could use this,,” he warns, pressing a silky smooth robe tie along your neck. “Since you don’t wanna behave.”

“Do it,” you taunt, wishing like hell that he does. Yes, yes, yes. You’re drunk on lust and volcanic want and you will fight for nothing more. “You won’t.” 

Your neck is rocked back before you feel him slap your ass. “Then stay still.” 

And you obey as you feel your belt—or his, either one—wrap loosely around your column before it’s tied. 

Gently, your chin is turned, and you’re surprised when you’re met with stern eyes. “Can you breathe.” 

Blinking, you nod. “Yeah, I can.” 

“Two taps if you’re out, understand?” 

“Yes.” 

A swift pat to your cheek. “What’d I say.” 

“Two taps,” you repeat, figuring out fast that you’re liking this development a little too much. “If I’m out.” 

Holy fuck the yank you feel is exhilarating, your body bending back as shock overcomes your senses. 

Lidded eyes staring down at yours, he vows, “You better make them count or we never do this again.” 

“I will, I will,” you rasp out, breath still coming to you fine albeit a little more harshly. “I promise.” 

“Good girl.”  

Wait, did he say again? 

As he slips right back inside, you lose all passing trains of thought. Cunt filled while his fingers clog your mouth makes you traverse to another plane. Every part of you, at his mercy—

Then he yanks you backward and all that mercy burns in the flames of heaven. Flocks to the clouds of hell.

The belt is completely taut as you succumb to his thrusts. Hard. Fast. Rough thrusts make you cry out as he toys with you, gravelly hums tumbling down your back as you arch for him. All the sounds you make echo throughout the room, a symphony of mewls and moans as Yoongi controls your every move. 

“Take it.”

“Hmm?”

“You want it,” he repeats. “So take it.”

Oh. Oh, he wants you to—Oh.

You start moving back and forth, doing exactly as he says. Taking what’s yours for the night and shamefully not forever.

But it turns out it’s not enough because he tugs. 

“Like you fucking mean it.”

Fuck.

Groaning, you move with more intention, sliding up and down his cock and feeling full every time. It feels good having control, you muse, and imagining him watching your debauchery turns you on that much more.

Your thrusts turn to rough slams, friction running fast while you chase it with all your strength. The groans you hear sound primal, hissed taunts egging you on.

“Guess you can listen after all.” 

“Fuck you.”

Another hard yank. 

Your laugh only spurns him on. 

Slaps to your ass, grabs to your breasts. Yoongi is worshipping every inch of you and you won’t even notice this until nights later when you’re alone. You’ll remember the way he squeezes just right, the way he fits so well, the places he hits with no hesitation nor guesswork. It’s pure experience strangling you with passion and you don’t even know how to embrace it all.

But then you start to feel it. Your breath tapering. It’s getting harder and harder to suck in air and you’re starting to see stars across your eyes. 

When you reach an alarming point, you quickly slap his leg twice, oxygen gushing into your lungs right as he lets go. 

You almost come on that exhilaration alone. Adrenaline pumps pumps pumps into your veins, eyes blowing black as he spins you around.

Hot, open mouth kisses pepper your burning throat, and you have the nerve to catapult him all the way back onto the bed. 

Yoongi lets you top him with a laugh, and you immediately use this opportunity to pin him down with a chokehold. Wanting him to feel the same way you just did. Knowing deep in your soul that he wants it, too.

“Cute.”

“You asshole.” 

Holy fuck, you can’t even recognize your own voice. It’s hoarse. It’s rugged. 

It’s salacious.

He cocks a brow while peering down his nose. “You done?”

“What?” You blink. Slowly releasing his neck, you admit with a rasp, “No, that’s not what I.. I’m not done with you.” 

Yoongi slides into a smirk, and you attempt to scoff with a burning throat. 

You wanna tell him how good he is. How stupidly attentive he is. But all you settle for is something neutral. Safe. And maybe a little forward. 

“Just felt like calling you that.” 

Yoongi’s smile mellows into a line, and if you weren’t in such an evocative position, you would have thought it was genuine contemplation. But he slides hands up your thighs before slapping the side of your ass. “Get on.” 

Fuck. You don’t really know how. At least, you don’t know how to do it without showing him you aren’t used to it. 

So the confidence will keep getting faked. With a little help of your quick wit and tongue as you grab his length. “Didn’t hear a please.” 

Yoongi huffs out amusement. “I don’t say that.” 

His tip goes in fine. Fuck. Okay. You can do this you can do this. “Why am I not surprised—!” 

He shoves you down as soon as you give him enough leeway, and you groan out as you catch yourself with hands on his chest. 

“This is where you’re gonna live,” he says with confidence, laughing in condescension when you scowl. “Fuckin’ love it.” 

He can’t say stuff like that. 

You ride until you find a rhythm, rolling your body and finding the friction you want. It’s there for the taking. And he’s encouraging you with gravelly words and hums, with hands up your stomach and grasping your chest. 

After a single swirl of your hips, he throws his bed back until his neck strains. “Fuck.”

So you take that cue, rotating between rides and swirls. When he tweaks and rolls thumbs around your nipples, you clench hard around him, and he does it until you moan to the ceiling. 

A slap to your breast makes you whine, and you keep going before leaning forward, placing hands against his shoulders and bouncing your hips on his cock. 

“—a fucking natural,” Yoongi praises, chuckling to himself as he toys with the silk streaming down your neck. 

“Maybe I’ve just practiced.” 

“Show me more then.” 

Quickly, he tugs you down flush against him before grabbing your ass, slamming you down and pistoning up until you scream.

You start biting his shoulder to quell your shouts, which makes him moan loud enough to make you possessive. Wildly possessive. Before long, you feel yourself going limp on him, only for him, solely for his pleasure and yours. 

“Just like that. There you go.” 

You mewl into his skin as he grabs you, holding you down as he slams into you again and again and again. Drunk with power, you begin to mark his throat, devouring and feasting with reckless abandon.

Growling ragged, Yoongi flips your position and pins you face down, shoving up hard into your cunt before plowing. You fully lean into the yells now, saying his name and inching over the goddamn edge of the bed.

It’s there. Your release. It’s potent and it’s visceral and it’s everything you need need need—

“Yoongi, I’m close—”

He penetrates so far that you can taste him, and you come so harshly that you convulse. Squeezing like hell and quivering in a full body fold.

Holy shit, the screams. Is that you? 

The sinister laughs of pride prove you right. “That’s my girl. Fucking scream.”

You can’t stop. All you know is extreme pleasure coursing through your veins, pulsing beautiful colors and making you arch like mad. 

But you have more to handle. Yoongi prolongs your euphoria by yanking you back only to sink into you again, hands rubbing both nipples and tongue speaking deadly sins in your ear.

“You aren’t done,” he growls. “Lemme hear you again.” 

“I can’t—”

“Liar.”

His name rips from your mouth as you surprise yourself, gushing around his length and squeezing in powerful pulses. Nothing exists. Nothing at all. Everything you know is a feeling, as vibrant and shimmering as the sun above your street back home. 

All the heat you’ve ever felt coalesces along your skin, and the words whispered in your ear slide right down with your sweat. You aren’t quite sure what you hear. But judging by your preening, it has to be praise. Dirty, dirty, sinful praise. 

When your limp weight is flipped, you allow your legs to be hoisted up with no resistance. Looking upward, you peel open lids to the equivalent of a king. A god. And your outright awe blocks your ears from catching what your dragon swears. 

“—perfect,” he grits, inserting himself into your squelching folds. “Again.” 

No fucking way you have more left in you. You’re already floating in the ether, buzzing in pleasure and sweat and ecstasy. If you come one more time you’ll be an empty shell. 

“Earn it,” you boldly rasp out, grappling a bit of your spirit and reining it back one last time. “Take it, you bi—”

Your heart leaps up your throat as you’re pitched upward, groan serrated and high as you grin in triumph because it feels so fucking rewarding when he gives gives gives. 

Letting everything go relaxes your folds, causing Yoongi to rock into you with pride and without resistance. His chain smacks against his pecs at the same pace as your bouncing chest, and you’re more than sure you’re gonna feel bruises on your legs where he sinks his claws.

Skin slapping skin. Mewls and gritted curses. Heady scent covers them all in a thick layer and you feel the light grow closer and closer, stronger this time than all the others before it. Why? Why do you know this one will pitch you over the edge for good? 

Both of you may feel the same. 

Because Yoongi suddenly shoves himself so far into you and presses his body flush against your shuddering shaking screaming form.

You pulse frantically around him, throat sore and ragged from your final cry as tears stream down your face. It feels so fucking gorgeous that it hurts, and you enter a plane so mystical it’s completely separate from your earthly vessel. The two of you become closer than one, and you feel Yoongi stutter in his groan before yanking out and ripping the condom off.

Hot spurts paint your skin—a sweaty, spent canvas that dips slow with your labored breaths. His own breathing is rough but not exhausted, and you chalk that up to the mountain of stamina and experience he has on you. 

It’s done. 

Thoroughly spent.

All the pent up emotions dissipate in a slow descent. The chaos of today finally lowers its head, your monsters making their ways back into their cages. Moonlight shines brighter. Fuller. 

Illuminating a man in silver as he slowly heads into the bathroom. 

Holy fuck. You just slept with a gangster. With a Dragon.

With Yoongi.

There’s no way you can forget this. No way you can see yourself moving past this moment, even years and lifetimes from now. It doesn’t matter if Yoongi never thinks about you again, because something transpired in this room that you’ll keep locked away in your soul forever. 

As he brings back a towel to wipe his essence from your skin, you wonder. 

Was it all worth it? 

Or will this torture you in every dream you’ll ever have? 

A palm digs into the mattress before you feel weight and jewelry. The silk around your throat is carefully undone, and lazy, heated lips descend on your neck once more.

Bliss.

Sighing, you utter his name much softer now, telling him please without knowing what for. 

“What do you want,” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” you admit in a wisp. 

Yoongi keeps worshipping your throat, and you mewl when he reaches to rub your breast in a slow squeeze. When you drag your hand down to grip his cock, he tenses with a gritty hum. 

“Careful, love,” he rumbles. “There’s a lot more I can do with you.” 

“Tell me.” Your breath starts shorting in anticipation. “Tell me everything.” 

“Nah.” When he slides forward, the bare tip of him meets your cunt, causing you to flinch with a bitten lip. “You’re just gonna have to wonder. Day, after day, after day.”

Fuck this guy with the spite of a thousand lives. You’re the one holding his cock, so how the fuck is he still being this sure of himself? 

“Put it in,” you blurt, earning his gaze of utter confusion. 

“What?” 

“Just for a second.” You stroke him, feeling slick velvet and wetness coating your fingers. “That’s the last thing I want.” 

His eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, he’s the one that looks hesitant. “You sure…?” 

“We’ll never do this again,” you whisper. “And I know you want it, too.” 

His gaze holds yours for a moment, searching your eyes for any sense of doubt. 

When he finds none, Yoongi positions himself at your entrance, and you feel his knuckles brush your folds before he sinks in. Slowly, cautiously, extraordinarily. 

And both of you groan so full. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi glowers, teeth sharp as he grounds them hard. His arm veins strain, shifting all his ink in pretty ebbs and flows. All his stomach snaps taut, and you can’t look away from his sheer look of concentration and lust. “Fuck.” 

“Feels so good,” you gasp, enjoying the way he’s slowly grinding against your walls. All the slick from your releases allows smooth strokes, and you already feel close for yet another time. An unbelievable amount of orgasm in such a short span. You’ll never reach this peak. Not with anyone else. “What the fuck, I’m close again—”

“Shit—”

It happens in a snap. But more of a mellowed, drawn-out river flow than a full waterfall. Your eyes slowly roll before closing, and your chest arches slow as you rock back and forth on his cock. The squeezes are harder. The pulses are fuller. You’re milking him for all he’s worth, like your cunt won’t let go until it’s pumped him dry. 

Which makes Yoongi lose his absolute mind, hissing as he pulls out quick before spilling onto you all over again. Again? 

Holy fuck, again? 

As he groans up above, his eyes are wiped dark completely. Which makes you wonder how you can still see stars embedded inside. 

Was it all worth it? 

You’ve never been more achingly sure.

It’s a long shot to know if he feels the same. And an even longer one for that to truly be the case. 

But it’s okay. 

This is the first, the last, the only time you have. And it was more than you could’ve ever asked for. 

As he falls into the sheets next to you, both of you exhale harsh, hearts pounding and pounding into the bed and to the ceiling. 

You can’t even move. Every single limb is sore from base to tip, and the door looks so, so far away. 

When you whisper his name, you get a little acknowledgement at your side. Gathering all the strength you have left, you whisper, 

“I know this is when I’d be kicked out, but.. I can’t move.” 

The small puff of air you get in return sounds like a yes. But you aren’t sure until Yoongi verbally gives you a real answer, 

“S’ok.” 

All you can do is hum, noticing with a sharp pang that you feel soft towel wipes before the smooth slide of sheets up your bare skin. 

“Just stay on your side.” 

Ah. 

Well. At least you aren’t alone for a night. 

“And you.. Stay on yours,” you murmur, darkness seeping into your peripherals. 

“Mm.”

Yoongi can be as cold and heartless and calculating as he wants. But you know he’s more than what he shows. 

Because with a second sharp hit to the chest, you also realize the side you’re on is the side he was on before. He’s not gonna make you move just to keep his preference. 

Don’t think too much about it. Do not. 

“I wish everything was different,” you whisper, drifting into a dreamless sea. “I don’t want to hate you...” 

Your forehead is swept by a warm hand. You cannot lift your lids any longer, but your ears still hang onto their efforts. 

And the last thing you hear before succumbing to the dark is a lighter flick and a fact. A cold, expected, damning fact. 

“You’ll always hate me.” 

When you wake, you’re greeted by the same room you fell asleep in. 

Sunlight cuts through grey skies to shine every surface, and you breathe in a musky, comforting scent as you stretch your limbs. 

Did last night really happen? 

The soreness between your bare legs is more than enough to prove so. 

Slowly turning, you whisper to Yoongi that you’re ready to go when he is. 

Only to find out that you’re talking to no one. 

Shit.

Shooting up, you start to panic. Maybe he’s in the living room already? Getting ready to call someone to bring you back home? 

Glancing at the nightstand on his side, you don’t spot the dagger he gifted you, brain grappling with what that could possibly mean. 

Your ribs crackle when you bite back emotion. It’s all over. 

Shifting back to swing your feet onto cold fibers, you pause with swimming eyes. 

Because the blade rests ready on your nightstand, propped on a set of plain clothes in the perfect position you would need it to be.

Teeth clenched and eyes burning, you swipe it before rushing out of bed, head pulsing and a dull ache between your legs. “Fuck..” 

The shirt and pants you’re given don’t exactly fit, but you’ll take what you can get as you punch limbs through long sleeves and high pants. 

Yoongi isn’t here. 

You feel it in your whole being, and you have no fucking clue why it hurts. 

But if he’s not here…

Who do you start to hear outside the door? 

You freeze, lungs expanding as you hold multiple breaths. 

It sounds like talking. But also a myriad of sounds? 

Heading into the bathroom, you silently glide across the floor before swiping up the chopsticks. Because yes, you’re still gonna save them. For defence. For keepsakes. For a grave reminder. 

Tucking them in a pocket, you ready your dagger under your garment, pressing it flat against your skin like you were trained to do. 

Slipping out into the hallway, you hear the sounds clearer. Movement. Slides of furniture. 

What the hell is going on? 

You’re about to retreat back into the room when a man crosses in front of the hall. 

And his hair is strikingly… 

Orange?

As he catches you in his vision, he stops on a dime, hand outstretched in greeting. “Hello!” 

Your step back makes him laugh. But you’re not laughing in the slightest as you question, 

“Where’s.. Where’s Agust?” 

“Gone.” The smile spreading makes you squint. “Need to see him?” 

Your answer is immediate.

“I’d rather die.”

-

-

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: alright before i say anything else: use the bathroom after sex, and especially after doing it unprotected!! i normally include it so this is a rare exception. but yes. please use the bathroom after, and practice safe sex always! a/n 2: WHO COULD THAT BE AT THE END THERE... ahahah but seriously, i for one am still swirly eyed just thinking about what's coming for these two.. they have no idea what's in store and i'm itching to get the next part done! a/n 3: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[clockwayswrites]

For the Birdicts. Part 27

Masterpost

There were gentle fingers in his wings.

Danny muffled the sleepy, hysterical chuckle at that thought into the soft surface that he was tucked against. He really had hoped that he wouldn’t have wings any longer when he woke, but when had he ever been that lucky.

The fingers stilled.

“Danny?” The person rumbled.

Very much did not wanting to be awake, Danny replied with a disgruntled grumble.

A chuckle answered him back. The finger picked back up the gentle touch to Danny’s wings. As Danny’s mind continued to come online, he realized that the fingers were fixing and straightening the mussed feathers.

It actually felt rather nice.

Danny let himself continue to drift for a little longer. Let his wings be cared for. The soft, unflinching touch helped make the new limbs feel less unnatural, even if the weight of them were still heavy on his back. He felt unsteady as he sat up.

The hands moved from his wings to help brace Danny.

“Careful, you might be a little disoriented. It’s been quite a day.”

Bruce. Apparently he’d fallen asleep on top of Bruce. He hadn’t needed to embarrass himself any more that day and yet there he was, falling asleep on Bruce Wayne after a panic attack.

Danny pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes and hoped he wasn’t blushing too horribly. “I am so sorry.”

“For what?” Bruce asked. He sounded genuinely confused.

“Falling asleep on you, apparently.” And really on Bruce it seemed. Even sitting up and back he was still practically on the other man’s lap.

(Worse, Danny really just wanted to curl back up and sleep some more.)

“Oh,” Bruce said with a chuckle. “With how large a family I have, that’s nothing to worry about. I’m very used to being a pillow for others. Besides, you needed the rest and after today it’s more than understandable that you’d want someone close.”

That was… fair enough, Danny supposed. He took a deep breath and lowered his hands to cross them over his bare chest. He offered Bruce an apologetic little smile. “Still…”

“Still nothing,” Bruce said and waved the matter aside. “Now, Jason and Dick are back from your place. They weren’t able to find any clothing that would work around your wings there.”

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. “Ah, they wouldn’t. I haven’t… it hasn’t been long enough to deal with that even if I knew where to start.”

“Luckily for you, we haven an Alfred,” Bruce said as he leaned forward and and grabbed something fabric from off of the coffee table. “He worked his magic and modified this into something that should work around your wings.”

“Really?” Danny took what looked like just a well worn Gotham Knights sweatshirt and turned it over in his hands. Oh, Alfred really had worked his magic. Danny ran his fingers over the cut and stitched splits in fabric and the snaps under them. “Wow, he just went and made this?”

“Alfred is a man of many skills and not to be underestimated,” Bruce said with a chuckle. “I’m sure that he’ll ask you if it needs any changes before he does any other versions.”

“Other versions?”

“Something to sleep in and another shirt at least ,” Bruce said as if that clarified much of anything. “Since we aren’t sure how long the wings will last and you should be comfortable here.”

“He really—I mean I appreciate it so much,” Danny said as he pulled on the sweater quickly, “but Alfred doesn’t need to put all that effort into this for me.”

“You really can’t stop him. The comfort of people in this manor are paramount to him and he has something in his mind now to improve your comfort,” Bruce said. “He will think that this is the least that he can do.”

Danny blinked at that. “I’m a little scared of what he thinks I the most he can do then.”

“You should be. He is a force of nature. If you’ll turn, I’ll do up the snaps for you,” Bruce said.

Danny gratefully twisted, glad he was turned so that Bruce didn’t see his wince.

“I imagine that your back must be sore from this,” Bruce said, ruining Danny’s hope that he hid his pain. “I will find where one of the heating pads are for you to use later.”

“It’s fine,” Danny said quickly. “I don’t want to—”

“Danny,” Bruce spoke over him. His hands gently smoothed down the fabric under Danny’s wings. “You saved my family today. Even beyond that, my children seem to have become quite fond of you. You aren’t a bother. While you are here to have the help, let us take care of you a little, please?”

Danny chewed on his lip.

“If nothing else, it will help the children worry less.”

There really was no refusing that, was there?

“Only so people don’t worry,” Danny said. “And I do mean ‘people’. Don’t think that you’re hiding your worry.”

Luckily Bruce chuckled a that. “Hiding my worry is something I’m not very good at. And yes, I am a worrier. My children have told me that enough times that I accept the title.”

“Well, as long as you know,” Danny said as he stood. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks between the conversation and Bruce’s hands against his back and just needed to take a moment to just breathe. The wings shifted with the deep breath, rising and falling into a relaxed fan.

“I know that you have understandable issues with the wings,” Bruce said softly from behind Danny, “but they really are quite stunning.”

Even the back of Danny’s neck felt hot now and he rubbed at it as he cleared his throat. “I, um, thank you.”

Bruce gave a soft hum. He must have stood too because a moment later a hand brushed over Danny’s wings and then Bruce was beside him. “Let’s go track down some of my children so we can make sure they brought everything you need.”

“Right, yeah, that’s a good idea. Lead the way.”

[honey-tongued-devil]

HEYY

i saw the vi x chubby user and as a chubby girl I NEED more of the girlies x chubby user. please 🙀

[Arcane preference (girlies)] with a chubby s/o

I made you wait so long for nothing, I’m sorry if it’s short, BUT I haven’t forgotten about you!

Jinx:

- Forget that thing called “personal space.”

- If you want to sleep with her, you’ll be the little spoon, and she’ll even throw herself on top of you. She loves feeling human warmth, and with a partner with more body mass, it’s not painful to stay in a long embrace because no (or almost no) bones are attacking her.

- She pinches your love handles and thighs, then bursts out laughing. It's done with tenderness, she loves it to bits, and it’s something extremely rare in Zaun.

- If you can't find anything your size, she'll sew it for you from leftover fabric, or by beating up a passerby to steal their clothes. Either way, you don’t have to worry.

- If you even try to say the words "lose weight," she’ll furrow her brow, deeply offended: you’re hers, and if you lose mass, she has less of you for herself, which means you’re trying to take something from her.

- Which means for the following week, she’ll do everything to make you eat more, terrified that you might lose weight.

Vi:

- What’s the point of being so strong if not to lift you into her arms effortlessly?

- She makes you stay on her back while doing push-ups, carries you to the bedroom, and holds you on her lap on the couch.

- She’s a fighter, not a coward. If she can’t lift you, it’s not that you weigh too much, but that she’s too weak. And within three days, she’ll make sure she fixes this shortcoming.

- But it never actually happens. Vi never misses an opportunity to show you how strong she is and how special you are.

- When you talk under the blankets, she often loses herself playing with your soft spots, almost as if she’s relaxing.

Caytlin:

- She sits on your lap, but if you want, you can sit on her without any issues.

- She loves your body to bits, and if you try to hide it, she might put on a little show just to take off your shirt and enjoy what you were hiding, like your belly.

- Clothes aren’t a problem; she’ll have them made so that they not only fit you but also highlight your best features.

- No jokes here—when you go out together, she wants the world to see how proud she is of her partner and how attractive they are. So, she takes care of your preparation herself, even stealing a kiss here and there, but letting you choose what you want to wear.

Mel:

- She has a personal tailor who makes coordinated outfits for every occasion. She can’t let you look bad, and she wouldn’t want to, so she personally ensures every detail reflects you.

- She knows what you like and dislike, so she can correct the sketches herself, so when the clothes arrive, they’ll be a complete surprise.

- When you're in public, she likes to sit on your lap, if the occasion is casual enough to allow it. Otherwise, she’ll leave subtle lipstick marks on you before leaving, just enough to discreetly remind people you’re with her.

- She likes being the little spoon, feeling protected and vulnerable at least in one place, even though, subconsciously, she changes position while she sleeps. But in any case, feeling your softness against her gives her comfort.

Sevika:

- Think you’re big? Be more humble.

- She lifts you like you’re a little bunny, carries you around on her shoulder, takes you to bed in her arms, and constantly pulls you onto her lap, always keeping one hand on your waist.

- She loves skin-to-skin contact, and she’s strong enough to lift you completely onto her shoulders, with your back against the wall, and hold you like that until her ‘hunger’ passes (or until you can’t take it anymore).

- She’s still terrified of hurting you, so she always keeps you on the side of her good arm, so she doesn’t damage your body with her prosthetic limb.

- When you’re resting, she pulls you completely up onto her, no matter how tall or heavy you are, constantly reminding you that she’s big and strong enough.

[retrosabers]

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐝.

FICMAS DAY 5 - UNWRAPPING

A RETROSABERS X PANDAPETALS DOUBLE FEATURE

old man logan x fem!reader

summary: logan didn’t believe in exchanging christmas presents. so, you offer him something you know he can’t refuse. a night where’s he’s free to have you all to himself.

contains: 18+ content below the cut. MINORS DNI. making out, some dry humping if you squint, oral (fem receiving), implied age gap, a dash of angst, swearing

word count: 2.6k

a/n: you thought i’d let a whole season pass without a little taste of some festive smut? absolutely hilarious. this is my first time writing for old man logan, and i think i did pretty alright considering i have yet to watch the movie (i’m terrified of the pain it will bring)

any feedback is always greatly appreciated!

also, don’t be confused by the fact that this says day 5 when i still haven’t posted day 4, i’m writing these bad boys out of order

and finally, a huge shoutout & thanks to the wildly talented @pandapetals for agreeing to do a little collaboration! please go check out her blog and all of her amazing work! <3

FIND HER PART HERE

!! divider by @estrelinha-s !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

“are you sure your eyes are closed?”

logan grunts. “they’re closed, darlin’. promise.”

he’s been sitting here for almost fifteen minutes now, waiting for you to bring out this so-called “surprise.” from the ambient lighting and freshly washed bed sheets, the man thinks he’s got a general idea of what it is, but you’ve been fiddling in the bathroom too long for him to be certain.

still, he appeases you, and waits patiently at the foot of your bed. even if it’s a little bit uncomfortable on his knees.

meanwhile you’re fussing over every little detail of your appearance in the groggy bathroom mirror.

this was your solution to getting around logan’s “i don’t need anything for christmas” rule. you always begrudgingly abided by it, save for the box of cigars that always mysteriously turnt up in his nightstand on christmas eve. you knew he could never turn it down, no matter how much he tried.

logan could never say no to a smoke break with a nice pack of cubans. and he most certainly couldn’t say no to you.

that's how you decided upon this whole scheme. dolling yourself up and donning a new set of lingerie themed to the occasion, knowing logan had no leg to stand on. because technically, you didn’t buy anything for him. you bought this for you. he just so happened to be the person who was going to help take it off.

or rip it off, knowing your man’s track record of impatience and eagerness.

you share the exact same sentiment, though your tendency to be anile overpowers all else. you know it doesn’t matter if you have a hair or two out of place, or if your lips are slightly over lined. perfection never mattered to logan, but it still didn’t stop you from doing everything in your power to be pretty damn close to it tonight.

even if it meant making him wait a few extra minutes.

you pay your reflection one final glance before sauntering out into the bedroom.

he smells you before he hears you.

your scent wafting into the room captures his attention more than anything else. logan’s senses may not be as keen as they once were, but the fragrance of you was something utterly unmistakable. a sweet yet sultry aroma that he ached to have on his skin, his clothes, anywhere, to keep him grounded. to remind himself that you were real and you were his. it only adds to the anticipation building inside, the mere seconds he has to wait dragging on like hours in his mind.

a wave of lust overtakes you as logan comes into view. somehow just the sight of him is enough to send a bout of arousal down to your core.

that crisp white dress shirt he always wears is unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to reveal those chiseled forearms you love to have wrapped around you. the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the weathered curves of his face so beautifully. a contrast to the ruggedness of his position; legs lazily spread wide and long, thick fingers tapping mindlessly against his thigh.

the picture of a real man. and he’s all yours for the taking.

the sound of your footsteps padding against the floor grows louder. obediently, logan’s eyes stay shut, despite the fact that the other aroma you carry is hot and heavy in his nostrils. his upper lip twitches with a knowing smirk.

so this is exactly what he had in mind.

on instinct, his thighs spread even further when he senses your approach, hands itching to find their place on you somehow. when your own stay glued to your sides, he takes that as his cue to do the same.

logan really hates to admit it, but there’s something about this little bit of mystery that’s got him going before you’ve even begun.

“you ready?” your voice comes out breathy, and if logan didn’t know any better he’d think you’re nervous. and truth be told, you were. not that logan wouldn’t get his kicks, you were certain of that. more so that you’d be unable to walk come tomorrow morning.

though neither of you would consider it a bad thing

“yes ma’am,” he grumbles in response, knowing exactly the effect it has on you. the cockiness on his face is inevitable when he hears your breath hitch.

tease. if that’s how he wants to play, you’re in for a long night.

with a quiet sigh, you splay your fingers over the expanse of his broad shoulders. the man takes it as permission, calloused palms wrapping around your calves and not daring to travel any further. he knows he’ll lose any remaining self control if he gets so much as an inch closer to the apex of your thighs.

“okay.” you murmur. “you can open your eyes.”

slowly, those dark irises begin to drink you in. his grip on you tightens as soon as he gets the whole picture, a visible tent forming in his dress slacks almost immediately.

logan thought you were the most beautiful women he’s ever seen under any conditions. didn’t matter if you were sick, if you were bare faced, none of that changed how otherworldly you looked in his eyes. but nothing, and i mean nothing, compared to the sight of you before him right now.

you look like something out of a dream. hair styled in a way that drives him particularly crazy, makeup done to highlight your features so elegantly in the dim light. the best, and quite possibly logan’s favorite part, however, is that your lips are painted a shade of red to perfectly match the ensemble adorning your body. it sparks a slideshow of rather lewd images in his brain, wanting the color scattered across his cheek, his chest, his cock. anywhere you’re willing to brand him.

he’s committed every inch of you to memory by now. countless nights of exploring, mapping out your curves with hand and tongue. and still, everytime he sees you like this, practically offering yourself on a silver platter, he can’t help but stare back as though this is the very first time.

especially when that crimson silk is accentuating your figure so nicely.

“do you like it?” you ask coyly, bottom lip tucked between your teeth like you’re not fully aware of the power you have over him.

logan scoffs out a laugh, dragging his hands higher and higher until they tug at your hips, pulling you to straddle his lap in one swift motion. you squeak at the sudden display of strength, forgetting that despite his age, he was still infinitely stronger than any man you’ve ever met.

even beneath the layers of fabric between you, the sheer size of him was impossible to ignore. fuck, and he wasn’t even fully hard. you bite back a moan at the outline of his length pressed between your legs.

“that answer your question?” he quips back lowly, smirking smugly.

you hum in content, pressing your hands further into his shoulders as you experimentally grind your hips. the pair of you preen at the contact, desperate for any form of relief after being pent up and waiting.

“careful,” logan grits out in warning. “gonna cum in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager if you keep that up.”

you tsk in response, cocking your head with faux concern. “can’t have that, now can we?”

logan shakes his head at your antics, eyes wandering back over your body once more. before tonight, his favorite set of lingerie you owned was a black lacy number. simple and classic. but the more time he spends inspecting what’s currently adorning your frame, the more he thinks that red might be his new favorite color.

something warm spills over him when he glances at your chest again. something different than what he normally experiences every time he catches a glimpse of your cleavage, anyways.

“is that a bow?” he questions, a little bit amused.

you let out a soft giggle, nodding in reply.

“wanted you to be able to unwrap your present.”

you can count the amount of times logan has laughed, really truly laughed, on one hand. and as much as it sounds like music to your ears, you’re rather confused as to why he’s laughing right now.

“what’s so funny?” you huff, brows knit together and bottom lip jutted in a near pout.

logan averts your inquiry, burying his face in your neck so you can’t see him grinning like an idiot. instead, he busies himself with dragging his lips up and down the column of your throat, reveling in the breathy moans spilling from your lips with each and every press against your skin.

from the moment you met logan howlett, you fantasized about that salt and pepper beard. longed to feel the delicious sting of scruff against every part of you. as addicting as it is, the sensation isn’t enough to keep you completely distracted.

“logan,” you whine, titling your head back to grant him more access. “m’serious.”

he doesn’t halt his ministrations, too consumed with making sure your neck is painted every shade of lavender under the sun. he only stops when you rake your fingers in his hair and physically pull him off, much to both your dismays.

you give him a look. that pursed lips, narrow eyed “what aren’t you saying to me” look that signals he’s going to have to fess up to whatever’s on his mind, or else the evening would be coming to an end right here and now. from the way he’s about to burst through the zipper on his dress slacks, you know he’s not considering weighing options.

logan sighs heavily. if you didn’t know all the variations of the sound, you’d think he was upset with you. but that was far from how the older man felt. he begins to examine your face, observing everything from the slopes of your bone structure, to the color of your irises. he studies your features like an artisan in a gallery, content on not missing a single detail.

after a moment, the corners of his mouth turn up a hair. eyes almost dopey; filled with a lovesickness he never thought could be possible.

“you’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmurs into the air, rough fingertips tracing back and forth across your spine.

you speak the language of logan fluently, knowing exactly what the underlying message of his words were. in reality, he was saying, “what did i do in this life to deserve you? will you ever know how much i love you? i hope you’ll be mine for as long as you’ll have me.”

suddenly his round of laughter from before rings brighter in your ears.

instead of saying another word, you guide his face to yours, connecting your lips in a silent understanding.

logan always kisses you like a man starved, devouring you whole as though every kiss may be the last. there was nothing tame, or tender about the man they once called the wolverine, but you managed to slip between the cracks of his stony disposition, and bring forth all the parts of himself he swore he lost decades ago.

your hands encircle around the back of his neck, logan’s squeezing at the flesh of your hips. he pulls you impossibly closer, pressing the swell of your chest against his own. the feeling of your nipples pebbling through velvet fabric reminds him of the true nature of your current situation.

tonight was for him. his pleasure, his enjoyment. he knew you’d be heavily dissatisfied if he didn’t indulge in what you were offering.

and what kind of man would logan be, if he disappointed his sweet girl?

you’re not expecting him to be so gentle when he turns and flips you over, mouth never once leaving yours. a large hand spread across your back as he lowers you down onto the mattress with a care reserved for you and only you. a fact that adds to your current state of arousal. your legs open like second nature, and logan slots himself between them as though that’s where he was always meant to be.

the whine that leaves you when he pulls away would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the hunger in his stare. those normally hazel pupils now a brownish black that overshadowed bright white. he sits back on his haunches, glazing over your pretty little lingerie with a newfound appreciation.

he reaches to toy with the end of the bow tied snugly between your breasts, a teasing invitation that he graciously accepts.

at a tantalizing pace, he begins to unwrap his present, watching with lustful eyes as more and more skin becomes exposed. you arch your back the slightest bit to get the job done faster, the shoe of impatience now snug on your foot instead of his.

normally, logan would scold, spit something about “being a good girl and waiting.” but he’s just as riled up and eager as you are, and he gives the velvet one final tug that has your breasts springing free.

god you were absolute perfection.

he can’t resist running a thumb over your erect nipples, reveling in the way you squirm over such a small touch. your color coated lips swollen and shiny from his kisses. body already relaxed and pliant, willing to do whatever he so pleases.

a few minutes ago, he would’ve torn your outfit off without second thought and shown no mercy. let the shitty week he was having take control, guide him through the motions of achieving pleasure. but something inside logan urges him to be a little sentimental; take his sweet time on the off chance that he wakes up and discovers this was all a dream.

so he decides that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

the path down to your core was a familiar one, a route he knew like the back of his hand. sloppy, wet kisses trail down your stomach, a small crack in logan’s otherwise composed exterior. by the time he reaches the hem of your panties, tongue teasing beneath the waistband, you’re bursting at the seams with desire, unable to stop yourself from whimpering and bucking your hips upward.

“i gotcha honey,” he whispers against the inside of your thigh, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. “m’gonna take real good care of ya.”

logan knew you were soaked the second you walked into the room. didn’t need to see or feel it to know. still, he indulges his ego and stares proudly at the dark patch in the center of your underwear. knowing it was all his doing, that he was the only one who could get you like this.

when he pulls the fabric to the side and is met with your glistening folds, he can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to me,” he all but growls before diving right in.

it’s in moments like these where he wishes that photographic memory was his mutation, though he doubts he’ll ever forget this. his perfect girl, laid out so delicately beneath him, basking in the pale moonlight that seeped in between the curtains. his own personal utopia, paradise within the four walls of this rickety building you called home.

logan wonders if maybe he’s finally succumbed to the poison in his bones. because this sure does feel like heaven.

at the very least, it most definitely feels like christmas.

because having the privilege of watching you come undone was the gift that kept on giving all year round.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals @hextech-bros

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[monster-mash-m]

Soaked

Yandere!Merman x chubby!gn!reader

Cw: possessiveness, yandere behavior, almost drowning, breeding, biting, dead fish, weird merman dick, marking.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

A merman noticed a human drowning, how’d this poor creature get stranded in the middle of the ocean. Awh! Look at their little legs flailing in a panic as they try to stay afloat. How cute… Soon too much water filled your lungs and exhaustion stiffened your lungs as your body gave out in the thrashing waves. The male swims closer in a sense of curiosity, not out of good will. His silky arms wrapped around your torso, gods you were so cold. He tutted as you lay limply in his arms, keeping your head above water as he swims you to his little hideaway, a cove only he knew of. You were just too cute to let drown!

You woke up with a burning feeling in your chest and a pounding in your head, sitting up like lightning and coughing out sea water with a pained expression. As you grasp at the sandy floor- sandy floor? You look around. What? All you remember was that you were on a boat with your family, next thing you know, you fell overboard and the waves were just too aerated so you couldn’t swim. Now… you’re here, in a cave, with glowing moss and crystals. Along with glowing plankton in the pool that leads out to the sea. You would’ve been in awe if you weren’t freaking out and mortified to notice you were only in your torn up shirt and underwear.

“Such a skittish creature…” I low voice called out from beside you. A man, well no a merman. You soaked in his appearance trying to accept the fact that mermaids and such were real in such a short span of time, “look at you, shaking all scared, just like a sea pup that’s lost its mother..” he hummed fondly. The fondness however was laced in condescension.

“W-where am I? Who are you?” You glare at the merman and shuffle away defensively. Wincing at your aching joints. He simply grins “You’re in my very own cove, little human, and as for me? Well I’m your rescuer.” He hummed out. Lifting himself out the water to sit on the sandy floor “I brought you some food, fresh from the hunt.” He threw a headless fish at you, how thoughtful. You grimace and look at the fish you just about managed to catch in your marred hands. “I…” you look awkwardly at him.

“I can’t eat raw meat, I mean I can technically… I just don’t think I could get this down without a fight…” you frown. He huffed and crossed his arms “you humans are so fussy.” He nodded his head over to a pile of random human stuff. “There might be something in there to cook your fish.” He said with an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on. “Oh… thanks.” You smile awkwardly and crawl over to the pile and look for anything… flammable.

Soon you find a rusty lighter, giving it a few experimental clicks, it lights up. And so do the eyes of the merman, watching you intently. You then see some dried out drift wood and placed it away from the pile of human stuff. Setting it alight. Then you place the fish on the burning wood, it was’t a high quality meal, but at least it would be more edible… hopefully.

Soon the fish was properly cooked and you started to pick at it and look at him “Why did you save me?” You asked hesitantly. He just gave you a wide sharp toothed grin “I thought you were a cute little thing so I swept you up and brought you someplace safe.” That made you sputter. “Oh I see…”

“Well… after this, could you return me to mainland?” You ask reasonably.

“No” he responded bluntly and immediately. “I found you, I keep you.” He said as if he was stating the obvious. Your brows quickly furrow “that’s not how it works… you can’t just keep me here-“ he shakes his head “oh but I can, I saw you flinging around like a panicked mackerel out there, I know you’re not a strong swimmer little human.” He hummed in an amused tone. Your heart sank. “I don’t think you could escape here without my help, and I’ve been awfully lonely, especially since it’s mating season…” he said the last part with a purr from deep in his throat.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Oh, no. Or maybe oh yes? You couldn’t tell what you felt right now. A hot fish man is insinuating he wants to breed you, but he also seems like he’s not going to let you go. Hm…. Well if you can’t beat ‘em join em! You glare at him with precaution “I’m not sure what you’re implying…” you say with faux obliviousness. He smirks as a wet hand grabs your ankle yanking you towards him. His hands immediately landing on your plump hips. “Mmm, you’re quite warm human…” he practically purred again. “I’m implying that I want you as my mate…” he said lowly as his hands trail down your big squishy thighs, giving them a squeeze “I won’t care if you bare my young or not, I’ll breed you regardless…” his grin only widens.

Your breath hitches at his words, and his hands that seem to be far too eager to be on you. “So go on.. tell me you’re mine… let me claim the treasure I found in the sea hmm?” He asked though it sounded much more like a demand. Although despite his eagerness to stuff himself in you, his words held no malice despite his creepy demeanor, it looks like he was stalling his movements, ready to get off of you if you said no. But you didn’t. Instead you look him up and down and think ‘I’ve done worse’.

Slowly you sigh and look back at his face “you… can mate with me..” you look away awkwardly after saying so. Oh and that was all the confirmation he needed before his cold lips started attacking your neck. Your breath hitches as you feel his sharp teeth graze against your neck before biting down rather harshly, making you gasp out. He snickered into your skin as he lapped up the bruising skin “Gonna look so pretty decorated in my marks, no one will dare touch you, everyone will know you’re mine…” he growled possessively.

That’s when you felt something wet and slimy bulge out of the slit on his tail, pressing against your inner thigh. “That was quick…” you gasp out as you feel him rut against you, his cool scales feeling rather soothing as his tail ran up and down your legs as he nudged his needy cock against your clothed sex, “ugh…” he gritted out “I need to be in you, turn over on your front right now human…” he growled out and flipped you over with ease.

You gasp, slightly winded as his slippery cock immediately pressed against your ass as he continued his rutting “going to stuff you full just like a good mate….” He huffed out and moved your underwear to the side. He impatiently spat on his hand, rubbing his spit in on his fingers. Not a second any longer and he was already stretching your hole out. Making you bite your lip and suppress a startled moan. He chuckled lowly “that’s it, taking my fingers like a good mate…” you only let out as small moan as he continued to work you open so you can take his cock.

After what he felt was an eternity, he was satisfied with how stretched out you were. Immediately angling his pretty blue dick against your entrance. His hands dug into your plush hips “mmmh, humans are much softer than any sea person… so supple and squishy… perfect…” he growled as he rambled into your ear. His cock slowly entering. Your tight hole clenching eagerly around his slimy cock as he bottoms out in you. He groaned out loudly as he ducked his head into your neck and began to mark you more.

Soon he was completely inside, his slit pressed up against your ass. He was big… the unusual shape filling you in all the places you never knew you needed. Your back arches as he began to move his hips slowly “fuck so tight for me human..” he gritted out. His long hair tickling your back with every slow thrust. His sharp claw like nails digging into your fat. “I can’t hold back dear treasure… must fill you to the brim with my seed…”

And with that his hips began to hump into you at a feverish pace, lewd squelches and fwops echoed throughout the cave as he continued to use your tight hole like it was his new favorite toy. Soon enough you felt a knot in your stomach built up. He grunted “I’m close…” it seems he had the same build up as well. His thrusts became more erratic and clumsy as he fucked into your sloppy hole in desperation,

A mix between a hiss and a moan left his lips as his warm thick cum gushed into you, giving you no time to react as your orgasm hit you in waves. The merman continued rutting into you to ride out his orgasm, milking every last drop for you.

Once you both came down from your highs, he pulled out, a soft pop followed. Turning you back on your back as you breathe heavily. He looked at you with desire and that same unsettling smile that strangely turned you on. He panted heavily as he moved a few strands of hair that clung to your forehead out of the way. “You’re mine forever now… little human… we mated, you’re mine for life…” he whispered with a cocky smirk,

“I’ll make sure I’ll keep you well fed and squishy for me.” He said in satisfaction as he continued to let his hands explore and squeeze your body. You don’t know how you’re gonna cope with a clingy merman for the rest of your life….

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Whoop whoop whoop! Mermen! Kinda hit right?!

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Danny and Ellie are forced to flee Amity Park. And find themselves in Coast City.

I started writing this with the intention of only writing a short prompt, but then I just kept going until I felt like I’d written enough.

Danny gets caught up in yet another fight with Skulker, only this time it wasn’t because Skulker had come for Danny. No. He’d come for Ellie. And she was already weak from fleeing the GIW who had shot at her the moment she arrived in Amity Park.

Whether Skulker is after Ellie for Vlad, or because he wants her pelt can be up to you.

Either way, he manages to beat Skulker and captures him in the thermos. Just as he lets out a long sigh of relief he hears the sound of an ecto-gun being fired and then his side is burning and he’s falling. He’s falling too fast and it hurts and he can’t stop-

Danny guys the ground hard. His head is spinning, his skin feels like it’s burning, and he can hear the stomping of feet as someone runs towards him.

He needs to get up. He needs to get away. Find Ellie and make sure she’s safe. He’s needs to MOVE- but he can’t. Black spots for his vision as he manages to stand up and his eyes meet the end of his mother’s gun.

Before anyone can speak, he’s falling again, handing face first in the dirt. And the familiar feeling of de-transforming washes over him.

The last thing he hears before loosing consciousness is the grief stricken sound of his parent’s voice as three voices shout in unison.

“OH MY GOD DANNY!”

“DANNY ARE YOU OKAY?!”

“NO, GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

When Danny wakes up again, he’s in his room, the curtains are drawn but he can see the sliver of sunlight pouring in through the gap underneath. He notes that his body aches, but not as much as usual after a fight like that. And there’s a warmth enveloping his hand. It’s soothing, and he almost considers going back to sleep when he notices that there’s a ghost in the room. And all too fast he’s sitting up and staring into the exhausted, red, puffy eyes of his mother looking back at him from where she’s sitting holding his hand in hers.

Just behind her he sees Ellie floating just above the ground talking quietly with his dad.

“Danny,” his mother’s voice draws his attention along with Jack and Ellie’s. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Are you in any pain?”

He didn’t notice when she’d helped him to lay back down again. “Do you need anything? Ellie here was just telling us about how regular pain medication doesn’t work as well for the two of you. But I’m sure we could find something for you that might-”

“Mom,” Danny rasps. Man his throat was dry.

As if reading him mind Ellie appears by his mother’s side holding out a glass of water with a straw in it. Maddie helps Danny to sit up a little more so he can drink.

“Mom,” he tries again, sounding better this time, “I’m okay. I promise. It’s not that bad!” He starts to lie as the panic sets in. He de-transformed in front of them. He knows he did. And the fear shows on his face, it must, because before he can even begin trying to think up an excuse his mother is crying.

“Oh Danny, it’s okay. We know. And we’re not angry at you. We love you. So much.”

And Danny’s heart swells at hearing it. “You don’t hate me for being Phantom?” He asks quietly.

“No! We could never hate you Dann-o!” His dad’s cheery tone doesn’t disguise the sadness and guilt etched into his face. “We’re just…so sorry that we never noticed before. And that we…” he can’t finish his sentence but he doesn’t need to. Danny already knows what he’s apologise for.

“I’m okay. I promise. I heal fast!” Danny tied to reassure them.

It seems to help a little, though his parents still have a grim look in their eyes. As they make connections in just how Danny would know that about himself.

And Ellie, with perfect timing to cut the tension, announces happily, “Danny! Good news! Your parents said I could stay with you!”

Ellie had told his parents while Danny was unconscious about being his clone. She saw how they fretted over Danny, cleaning and dressing his injuries with the love and care she only imagined from a parent that truly loves you. And they had accepted her almost right away. Jack even crying as he proudly declared himself a father of three.

Jack soon excused himself, saying he’ll go see if Jazz needs any help with cooking lunch. Danny and his mother share a look, and with a final kiss to his head says she’ll go make sure nothing gets brought back to life. And she asks Ellie to please make sure Danny stays in bed and rests.

Danny and Ellie are left alone in his room, and it gives Danny the chance to really revel in everything. His parents accept him. They love him, both sides of him. And they accepted Ellie too! And said she can stay! She doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

Now, a lot can happen in the span of a few seconds, let alone minutes. In the time it took for Maddie to reach the kitchen, their front door was kicked down and a group of GIW agents had stormed in demanding they hand over the ectoplasmic scum they were harbouring.

Jack and Maddie drew their weapons and planted themselves directly in front of the GIW agents. The agents state that a ghost shield was put up around the house to prevent any ghosts from escaping, and by law any ghosts within the premises were ti be handed over for destruction immediately. Jazz runs upstairs to Danny’s room to warn them that the GIW were inside the house and that they needed to run. They need to get to the portal NOW.

With all the authority of an older sister Jazz tells Ellie to grab the go bag Danny had insisted on having prepared, and picks Danny up despite his protests that he could walk. Or well, fly. Ellie turns them all invisible and intangible and takes them down to the lab.

They can hear the sound of shouting, and something breaking and a gun being fired all coming from upstairs as Jazz opens the portal for Danny and Ellie.

Another shot rings out. And then another, and more shouting.

“Quickly you two need to go!”

Another shot.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Danny, now Phantom, asks suddenly as he and Ellie are preparing to enter the Ghost Zone.

Two more shots.

“Someone needs to be here to deactivate the portal in case the guys in white make it down here. I’ll be fine. Mom and dad will be okay, they’re not here for us so you two need to go. Now!” There’s banging on the lab’s door and Jazz shoves both Danny and Ellie into the portal. The last thing Danny hears before the portal closes behind them is another shot being fired.

Danny is scared and angry as he and Ellie are forced to fly through the zone with no currently known way to get back to his family. He needs to make sure they’re okay. He needs to protect them.

But right now Danny is still hurt, and he needs to get himself and Ellie somewhere safe. They begin to slowly make their way through the zone, looking for somewhere to rest and avoiding any ghosts that might want to pick a fight.

Ellie isn’t sure how long she and Danny have been moving for. It feels like it could have been days, or hours, or even minutes. But Danny can’t fly as quickly right now. He’s trying to keep a brave face for Ellie’s sake but she can see the exhaustion beginning to take hold of him.

So Ellie makes the executive decision to touch down somewhere to rest. She tells Danny she’s tired. Danny knows she isn’t and it’s only because she’s worried and wants him to rest. So he goes along with it and they make their way to the next floating island they come across and thank the ancients it’s empty. The two halfas touch down and Danny slumps over as he sits against a nearby rock. Ellie pulls out some energy bars that were tucked away in the go bag and hands one over to Danny.

They do this a few times, stopping to rest, as they gradually make their way to the Far Frozen. Ellie had insisted on going there, Frostbite would know what to do, and he would be able to help Danny with his injuries that had started bleeding again in all the commotion of escaping, and then flying and hiding from ghosts known to attack Danny regularly.

But unfortunately luck is not on their side yet again as a natural portal rips open directly in front of them, and closes behind them after spitting them out in a city they didn’t recognise.

That’s how Danny and Ellie find themselves in Coast City, hiding out in an old warehouse by the docs while Danny heals and they figure out how they’re going to get back home.

That is, until now.

Danny stares up at his little sister and sighs with the resigned tone of an exasperated older sibling.

“Ellie,” he takes a breath, “what did you do?”

“I’m my defence,” Ellie glares up at Green Lantern, who has Ellie scruffed by the back of her hoodie, before looking back at Danny, “I simply do not vibe with the law.”

[pucksandpower]

War Is Over

Lewis Hamilton x Rosberg!Reader

Summary: Lewis parks his car … right into his best friend-turned-nemesis’ little sister (and somehow reunites Brocedes in the process)

Warnings: descriptions of serious injury

Note: the fact that he not only won a race again but it was his home race … this calls for a Lewis Hamilton fic 🥹

The Monaco sun glints off sleek sports cars lining the streets as Lewis navigates his Mercedes through the winding roads. He’s running late for dinner with some sponsors and the traffic is only making things worse.

Lewis mutters under his breath, “Come on, come on. Just need to park this thing ...”

He spots an open space in front of the restaurant and starts to maneuver in, glancing at his watch. The ticking seconds only increase his frustration.

“Bloody hell, why is parking always such a nightmare here?”

Lewis throws the car into reverse, not bothering to look behind him. He’s done this a thousand times before. What could possibly go wrong?

The sickening thud comes a split second before he slams on the brakes. His heart leaps into his throat as he whips around, praying he just hit a trash bin or something.

But the crumpled form on the ground is undeniably human.

“Oh God, oh God, no ...” Lewis fumbles with his seatbelt, hands shaking as he bursts out of the car. “Please be okay, please be okay ...”

He drops to his knees beside the prone figure, a young woman with long hair obscuring her face. Blood is already pooling beneath her head.

“Miss? Can you hear me?” Lewis gently brushes the hair back, and his world stops.

It’s you. Nico’s little sister. The girl he’s known since she was in pigtails, cheering from the sidelines at their early karting races.

Lewis’ jaw drops open as the full horror of what he’s done sinks in. “Y/N? Oh God, Y/N, please wake up!”

He cradles your head, heedless of the blood staining his designer shirt. Your eyes remain closed, skin alarmingly pale.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Lewis shouts, his voice cracking with panic. “Please, somebody help!”

A crowd starts to gather, murmurs of shock and recognition rippling through them. Lewis barely notices, focused solely on your still form.

“Y/N, come on, open your eyes. Please, you have to be okay,” he pleads, gently patting your cheek. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, I swear I didn’t mean to ...”

Your eyelids flutter, a soft groan escaping your lips. Lewis nearly sobs with relief.

“That’s it, that’s it. Can you hear me? It’s Lewis. You’re going to be alright.”

Your eyes open, unfocused and confused. “Lewis? What ... what happened?”

“Don’t try to move, okay? There was an accident. Help is on the way.”

You try to sit up, wincing in pain. “My head ...”

“Shh, just stay still. I’ve got you.” Lewis supports your shoulders, keeping you from moving too much.

“Did ... did you hit me with your car?” Your voice is small, disbelieving.

Lewis swallows hard. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t see you, I swear. God, Y/N, I would never ...”

You manage a weak smile. “Always knew you’d be the death of me, Hamilton.”

Despite everything, Lewis can’t help but chuckle. “Don’t joke about that. You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry to ruin your evening,” you mumble, eyes starting to drift closed again.

“Hey, hey, stay with me.” Lewis gently taps your cheek. “Keep those eyes open, okay? Talk to me.”

You force your eyes open. “About what?”

“Anything. Tell me ... tell me what you’re doing in Monaco. Are you visiting Nico?”

You shake your head slightly, then wince. “No, I ... I moved here. Got a job at the yacht club.”

“Really? That’s great. When did that happen?”

“Few months ago. Needed ... needed a change of scenery.”

Lewis nods, desperately trying to keep you engaged. “I get that. Monaco’s beautiful. Although the parking situation leaves something to be desired,” he adds wryly.

You manage a weak laugh, then grimace. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Lewis glances around anxiously. “Where’s that damn ambulance?”

As if on cue, sirens wail in the distance. Lewis breathes a sigh of relief.

“Help’s coming, Y/N. Just hang on a little longer, okay?”

You nod slightly, eyes becoming unfocused again. “Lewis?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell Nico.”

Lewis’ heart clenches. “Y/N ...”

“Please. He’ll kill you. And then me. For being stupid enough to walk behind a car without looking.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Lewis insists. “I should have checked my mirrors. I was distracted, rushing ...”

You shake your head stubbornly. “Promise me. Don’t tell him.”

Lewis hesitates. “Y/N, I can’t just ...”

“Promise,” you repeat, gripping his arm with surprising strength.

Lewis sighs. “Okay, okay. I promise. But he’s going to find out eventually.”

“Let me handle it. When I’m not ... you know. Bleeding on the pavement.”

The ambulance pulls up, paramedics jumping out. Lewis reluctantly moves aside to let them work, hovering anxiously.

“Sir, can you tell us what happened?” One of the paramedics asks as they begin assessing your injuries.

Lewis runs a hand through his hair. “I ... I hit her with my car. I was backing up and didn’t see her. It was an accident, I swear.”

The paramedic nods, focused on taking your vitals. “Miss, can you tell me your name?”

“Y/N Rosberg,” you mumble.

The paramedic’s eyes widen slightly in recognition, but he remains professional. “Alright, Y/N. We’re going to get you to the hospital. Just try to stay still for me.”

As they prepare to move you onto a stretcher, Lewis steps forward. “Can I ride with her?”

The paramedic hesitates. “Are you family?”

“No, but I’m ... I’m responsible for this. Please, I need to make sure she’s okay.”

You reach out weakly, grasping Lewis’ hand. “Let him come. He’s ... he’s family.”

The paramedic nods. “Alright, but stay out of the way.”

As they load you into the ambulance, Lewis climbs in beside you, still holding your hand. The doors slam shut and the sirens wail as they speed towards the hospital.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lewis says softly.

You give his hand a weak squeeze. “Couldn’t let you ... sulk all night. You’d probably ... crash into a street lamp next.”

Lewis chuckles despite himself. “There’s that Rosberg wit. You sound just like your brother sometimes.”

You grimace. “Don’t insult me when I’m down, Hamilton.”

The banter feels surreal given the circumstances, but Lewis is grateful for it. It keeps the crushing guilt at bay, if only for a moment.

“Y/N, I ...” he starts, then falters. “I don’t even know how to begin to apologize.”

You shake your head slightly. “Later. When everything ... stops spinning.”

Lewis nods, throat tight. He watches the paramedics work, feeling utterly helpless.

“Tell me something,” you murmur after a moment.

“What?”

“Anything. Distract me.”

Lewis thinks for a moment. “Did I ever tell you about the time Nico and I got lost in Ibiza?”

You manage a small smile. “No. Spill.”

As Lewis launches into the story, embellishing for comedic effect, he can’t help but marvel at your resilience. Here you are, cracking jokes and asking for stories while bleeding from a head wound he caused.

The guilt threatens to overwhelm him again, but he pushes it aside. Right now, keeping you conscious and calm is what matters. There will be time for apologies and recriminations later.

As the ambulance weaves through Monaco’s narrow streets, Lewis silently vows to make this right, whatever it takes. He may have destroyed his friendship with Nico, but he won’t let you pay the price for their rivalry.

The hospital looms ahead, and Lewis squeezes your hand. “We’re almost there, Y/N. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

You meet his eyes, a flicker of something — trust? forgiveness? — passing between you. “I know,” you whisper. “I’ve got my guardian angel, after all. Even if he is a bit rubbish at parking.”

Lewis laughs, the sound catching in his throat. As they wheel you into the emergency room, he realizes with startling clarity that nothing will ever be the same after tonight.

But looking at your brave smile as the doctors surround you, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, that might not be such a bad thing.

***

The steady beep of the heart monitor fills the hushed hospital room. Lewis sits hunched in an uncomfortable chair beside your bed, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form. The stark white bandage wrapped around your head is a constant reminder of his guilt.

A nurse pops her head in. “Mr. Hamilton? There’s someone here to see-”

She’s cut off as Nico barges past her, his face a mask of fury. “You son of a bitch.“

Nico’s fist is already swinging towards Lewis’ face when a doctor in a white coat steps between them. “Gentlemen! This is a hospital, not a boxing ring!”

Nico’s momentum carries him forward, nearly stumbling into the doctor. He catches himself, chest heaving as he glares daggers at Lewis.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nico snarls.

Lewis stands, hands raised placatingly. “Nico, I can explain-”

“Explain? Explain how you nearly killed my sister?” Nico’s voice rises, causing you to stir in the bed.

The doctor clears his throat. “Mr. Rosberg, I presume? I’m Dr. Moreau. Perhaps we should step outside to discuss your sister’s condition.”

Nico hesitates, clearly torn between getting information and pummeling Lewis. Finally, he nods curtly. “Fine. But this isn’t over, Hamilton.”

As they step into the hallway, Lewis sinks back into his chair, running a hand over his face. He glances at you, relieved to see you’ve settled back into sleep.

In the corridor, Dr. Moreau speaks in low, measured tones. “Mr. Rosberg, your sister suffered a severe concussion and a fractured skull. There was some internal bleeding, but we’ve managed to stabilize that.”

Nico’s knees go weak, and he leans against the wall for support. “Oh God ...”

“She also has three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and various cuts and bruises,” the doctor continues. “Frankly, it’s a miracle she wasn’t more seriously injured. The impact could easily have been fatal.”

Nico slides down the wall, sitting heavily on the floor. “She ... she almost died?”

Dr. Moreau nods gravely. “It was touch and go for a while. But she’s young and strong. With time and proper care, we expect her to make a full recovery.”

Nico buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. After a moment, he looks up, eyes red-rimmed. “Can I see her?”

“Of course. But please, try to stay calm. She needs rest.”

Nico nods, pulling himself to his feet. He takes a deep breath before re-entering the room.

Lewis stands as Nico approaches the bed. “Nico, I-”

“Save it,” Nico snaps, but there’s less venom in his voice now. He gently takes your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your palm.

Your eyes flutter open. “Nico?” You mumble groggily.

“Hey, little sis,” Nico says softly, managing a weak smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a car,” you deadpan.

Lewis winces, but Nico actually chuckles. “Well, your sense of humor is intact, at least.”

You try to sit up, grimacing in pain. Lewis and Nico both move to help, then freeze, glaring at each other.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Both of you, help me up. And then explain why you look ready to kill each other. Again.”

With their combined efforts, they manage to prop you up against the pillows. You look expectantly between them.

Nico breaks first. “How can you even ask that? He nearly killed you!”

“It was an accident,” you insist.

“An accident?” Nico scoffs. “He hit you with his car!”

“Which I’m pretty sure he didn’t do on purpose,” you retort. “Right, Lewis?”

Lewis nods emphatically. “God, no. Y/N, I swear, I never saw you. I was distracted, rushing ... but I would never intentionally hurt you. You have to believe that.”

Nico’s jaw clenches. “Maybe not intentionally. But your carelessness nearly cost my sister her life. How am I supposed to forgive that?”

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Lewis says quietly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself. But Y/N is the one who was hurt. Shouldn’t it be her choice?”

You nod, wincing at the movement. “Exactly. And I choose to forgive you, Lewis. It was an accident. A stupid, awful accident, but still an accident.”

Nico shakes his head in disbelief. “Y/N, you can’t be serious. You’re lying in a hospital bed because of him!”

“And he’s been by my side ever since,” you counter. “He rode in the ambulance with me, held my hand through all the tests and scans. He’s barely left this room in hours.”

Lewis looks down, uncomfortable with the praise. “It was the least I could do.”

Nico runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “That doesn’t change what happened.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you agree. “But it shows he cares. That he’s taking responsibility.”

“I’ll pay for all her medical expenses,” Lewis adds quickly. “And anything else she needs for her recovery. It’s the least I can do.”

Nico snorts. “You think you can just throw money at this and make it go away?”

“No!” Lewis insists. “I know nothing can undo what happened. But I want to help however I can.”

You reach out, grabbing both their hands. “Listen to me, both of you. I’m tired, I’m in pain, and I don’t have the energy for your macho posturing right now.”

They both have the grace to look ashamed.

“Nico, I love you, but you need to calm down,” you continue. “Lewis made a mistake, a big one. But he’s trying to make amends. And frankly, I need both of you right now. I can’t deal with you at each other’s throats on top of everything else.”

Nico’s expression softens. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just ... when I got that call, saying you were in the hospital ... I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

You squeeze his hand. “I know. But I’m okay. Or I will be. And having you two fighting isn’t going to help me get better any faster.”

Lewis clears his throat. “She’s right. Nico, I know you have every right to hate me right now. But can we please call a truce? For Y/N’s sake?”

Nico hesitates, clearly torn. Finally, he nods stiffly. “Fine. A truce. But only for Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you sigh, relaxing back against the pillows. “Now, can one of you please get me some water? And maybe sneak in some real food? I’m starving and the hospital jello isn’t cutting it.”

Lewis jumps up. “I’ll go. Nico, you stay with her. I’ll be right back.”

As Lewis hurries out, Nico settles into the chair beside your bed. “You sure you’re okay, little sis?”

You manage a small smile. “I’ve been better. But I’ve also been worse.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “When have you been worse than having a cracked skull and broken ribs?”

“Remember when I was eight and fell out of that tree in the backyard?”

Nico chuckles. “God, I thought Mama was going to have a heart attack. You were so stubborn, insisting you could climb higher than me.”

“Still can,” you tease.

“Maybe hold off on the tree climbing for a while, yeah?”

You pretend to pout. “Spoilsport.”

The banter feels good, normal. For a moment, you can almost forget you’re in a hospital bed.

Nico’s expression turns serious. “Y/N, are you really okay with forgiving Lewis so easily? You don’t have to, you know. Not for my sake or anyone else’s.”

You sigh. “I know. And believe me, I’m not thrilled about the whole getting hit by a car thing. But Nico, you should have seen his face when he realized it was me. He was devastated.”

“He should be,” Nico grumbles.

“I’m not saying there won’t be consequences,” you continue. “But I don’t believe for a second he meant to hurt me. And holding onto anger isn’t going to help me heal any faster.”

Nico studies your face for a long moment. “When did you get so wise, little sister?”

You grin. “I’ve always been the smart one in the family. You were just too busy crashing karts to notice.”

Nico laughs, then sobers. “I was so scared, Y/N. When they called and said you were in the hospital ... all I could think was that I couldn’t lose you.”

You squeeze his hand. “Hey, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. It’ll take more than Lewis Hamilton’s terrible parking skills to take out a Rosberg.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Nico says, but he’s smiling.

Lewis returns then, arms laden with bags. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I got a bit of everything. Sandwiches, fruit, some pasta salad ... oh, and chocolate. Lots of chocolate.”

You beam at him. “My hero.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but there’s less hostility in it now. “Is this really the time for sweets?”

Lewis grins sheepishly. “Hey, chocolate has healing properties. I read that somewhere.”

“Sounds like solid medical advice to me,” you chime in, already reaching for a candy bar.

As Lewis unpacks the food, a tentative peace settles over the room. It’s fragile, built on shared concern for you rather than any real reconciliation between the two men. But it’s a start.

You watch them, noting how they unconsciously mirror each other’s movements as they fuss over arranging the food on your tray. For all their differences, for all the bad blood between them, there’s still an underlying connection there. Years of friendship and rivalry can’t be erased so easily.

“You know,” you say around a mouthful of sandwich, “this whole arch-enemies thing you two have going on is getting a bit old.”

They both look at you, startled.

“I mean, come on,” you continue. “You were best friends for years. You’ve known each other longer than most marriages last. Is it really worth throwing all that away over some stupid trophies?”

Nico frowns. “Y/N, it’s more complicated than that-”

“Is it, though?” You interrupt. “Because from where I’m sitting — or laying, I guess — it seems pretty simple. You both love racing. You’re both insanely competitive. And yeah, sometimes that caused friction. But at the end of the day, who else understands what you have been through better than each other?”

Lewis and Nico exchange uncomfortable glances.

“I’m not saying you have to be best buddies again,” you add. “But maybe ... I don’t know. Maybe you could try not actively hating each other? For my sake, if nothing else. I’m going to need both of you while I recover and I really don’t want to deal with World War III breaking out in my hospital room.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Finally, Lewis speaks up.

“She’s right,” he says quietly. “Nico, I know things have been ... difficult between us. And I know this situation hasn’t helped. But Y/N’s important to both of us. Can we at least try to be civil? For her?”

Nico hesitates, then nods slowly. “I suppose we can try. But Lewis, I swear, if anything like this ever happens again-”

“It won’t,” Lewis says firmly. “I promise you, Nico. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

You beam at them both. “See? Was that so hard? Now, who’s going to help me eat all this food? Doctor’s orders, you know. Got to keep my strength up.”

As they both reach for the tray, playfully battling over who gets to hand you what, you can’t help but smile. It’s not perfect, not by a long shot. But it’s a beginning.

And really, you think as you watch the two most important men in your life grudgingly share a bag of crisps, sometimes beginnings are the best part of any story.

***

f1-fanatic-2024

[Image: Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg exiting a hospital, walking side by side]

OMG IS THIS REAL??? Brocedes spotted together??? What year is it???

#what is happening #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes

---

brocedes-no1-stan

[reblogging f1-fanatic-2024’s post]

I’m sorry, but are we just going to ignore the fact that they’re leaving a HOSPITAL??? Is everyone okay???

#concerned #hope everyone’s alright #but also lowkey excited

---

vintage-f1-vibes

Okay but why does this feel like a glitch in the matrix? Haven’t seen these two willingly in the same frame since like 2016 😭

#blast from the past #what year is it #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

racing-queen-93

[reblogging f1-fanatic-2024’s post]

BROCEDES RISE!!! 🙌🙌🙌

My 2014 heart is SOARING right now. Never thought I’d see the day. BRB, gonna go cry in a corner.

#i’m not crying you’re crying #brocedes #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #f1

---

silverarrows4ever

[Image set: Multiple angles of Lewis and Nico leaving the hospital, including one where they appear to be mid-conversation]

New Brocedes content in 2024? Maybe miracles do happen 😭

But seriously, hope everything’s okay. Weird to see them at a hospital.

#concerned but hopeful #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #f1 #brocedes

---

formula1-history-nerd

[reblogging silverarrows4ever’s post]

Okay, but can we talk about how neither of them has aged a day??? What kind of vampire magic-

#aging like fine wine #drop the skincare routine boys #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

racingdaydreams

Me: I’m over Brocedes, that ship has sailed

Also me seeing these pics: 🥺👉👈

#i’m weak okay #f1 #brocedes #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

fastcarsgovroomvroom

[reblogging f1-fanatic-2024’s post]

Everyone freaking out about Brocedes and I’m just wondering why they’re at a hospital??? Hope everyone’s okay!

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

f1-drama-central

BREAKING: Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg spotted leaving Princess Grace Hospital together. Sources say they arrived separately but left at the same time, engaging in what appeared to be civil conversation. More updates as the story develops!

#breaking news #what’s the tea #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

---

retro-racing-vibes

[reblogging f1-drama-central’s post]

2014 me is SCREAMING right now. 2024 me is cautiously optimistic but also kind of worried because ... hospital?

#conflicted feelings #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes

---

formulaonefanatic

[Image: Close-up of Lewis and Nico talking, both with serious expressions]

Whatever brought them together, it looks serious. Hoping everyone’s okay. But also ... is it wrong that I’m a little excited to see them talking again?

#concerned but intrigued #brocedes #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg

***

f1-gossip-central

[Image set: Lewis, Nico, and Y/N on Lewis’ yacht. Another photo of Lewis kissing Y/N with Nico cringing in the background]

WHAT IS HAPPENING??? Lewis and Nico on the same boat??? Lewis kissing Nico’s sister??? I need answers!!!

#what timeline is this #i’m shook #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

brocedes-ride-or-die

[reblogging f1-gossip-central’s post]

EXCUSE ME??? Lewis and Y/N??? When did this happen??? How did I miss this??? 😱😱😱

#new ship alert #what is happening #f1 #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg

---

vintage-f1-drama

Okay but Nico’s face in that last pic is sending me 💀💀💀 Big protective brother energy

#siblings be like #f1 #nico rosberg #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg

---

formulaoneobsessed

[Image: Close-up of Lewis kissing Y/N]

New F1 power couple alert? 👀 But also, how is Nico okay with this?

#f1 #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg #nico rosberg

---

racingheartstrings

[reblogging formulaoneobsessed’s post]

I can’t decide if this is the best or worst plot twist of the 2024 season 😂

Either way, I’m here for the drama!

#pass the popcorn #f1 #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg #nico rosberg

---

silverarrowsforever

[Image set: Lewis and Nico chatting on the yacht, looking relaxed]

Can we talk about how this is the most relaxed we’ve seen these two together in YEARS??? Whatever’s happening, it seems to be healing old wounds and I’m here for it 🙌

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes

---

f1-fanfiction-addict

Me: furiously rewriting all my Brocedes fics to include Y/N

The plot twist we never saw coming 😅

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg #fanfiction problems

---

speed-queen-101

[reblogging f1-gossip-central’s post]

Y’all are focused on the Lewis and Y/N kiss but can we appreciate how GOOD everyone looks??? That Monaco sun is doing wonders 😍

#glow up #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

formula1-history-buff

Imagine telling someone in 2016 that in 2024, Lewis would be dating Nico’s sister and they’d all be hanging out on Lewis’ yacht. They’d think you were crazy!

#how times change #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

racingdaydreams

[Image: Nico’s cringing face as Lewis kisses Y/N]

Tag yourself, I’m Nico 😂

#third wheel vibes #f1 #nico rosberg #lewis hamilton #y/n rosberg

---

fastcarsgovroomvroom

[reblogging racingdaydreams’ post]

Petition for a reality show following this trio because I would watch the HECK out of that

#make it happen netflix #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

f1-drama-queen

THEORY TIME: What if the hospital visit from last week was for Y/N??? And that’s what brought Lewis and Nico back together??? 🤔

#conspiracy theory #but makes sense #f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #y/n rosberg

---

brocedes-forever

[Image set: Lewis and Nico laughing together on the yacht]

My Brocedes heart is THRIVING right now. Yeah, the Lewis and Y/N thing is cute, but look at these two 😭❤️

#f1 #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #brocedes #friendship goals

[dakotalun]

"Oops" | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Part 1--Eddie "accidentally" sends a tasteful pic to his best friend.

warnings: mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), strong language, description of naked Eddie

word count: 3.4k

Part 2

a/n: went a little crazy at 3am the other night and wrote this. Part two will be up later this week!! Luv y'all <3

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Eddie is your best friend of many years, the two of you being inseparable from the moment you met. So when you got a text from him tonight you don’t think much of it, figuring it was just a dumb meme he saw or a random thing from today.

What you didn’t expect to see was a picture of Eddie standing in his bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders with a prominent boner happening.

His hair is wet as if he just got out of the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry it yet. The long dark brown locks stick to his neck and chest in a way that can only be described as godly. The tattoos on his skin are glistening but covered by the towel around his neck and as you move your eyes downward the path of hair that leads to his dick is delicious.

And talking about his dick it is, mag-fucking-nificent! The way that it hangs there, the tip swollen and red, leaking the smallest bit of precum. It has your mouth watering.

You nearly choked on your own spit when you saw it. Never in a million years did you think that Eddie would be sending you of all people nudes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wonder what he was packing but you never really indulged in those thoughts, until now. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, memorizing every little detail in the photo.

Eddie sends another text but you’re too distracted to see what it is. Then a stream of texts start flooding in from him.

‘SHIT!’

‘I DID NOT NMEAN TO SNED YIU THAT!’

‘IGNORE THE PICTUREA’

‘HOW THE HELL DO I DELETE THE PIC?!?!?!’

‘GOD I AM SOSOSOSOSOSOSSOO SOORRY!!’

You giggle at his frantic typing, noting all the typos. Curiosity gets the better of you and you scroll up a little to see what he had said after he sent the picture. You’re eyes go wide at the words displayed on your screen.

‘Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Jerked off twice while in the shower and I’m still hard. Wish you were here with me right now ;)’

You had no clue who this was really meant for but if it was meant for you you would 100 percent be on your way to him right now. The bottom half of the picture stares back at you as your eyes acan over the text again and again. You can’t deny the small hint of wetness that you feel on your underwear while looking at the two.

Twice? He came twice and is still hard. Whoever he thought about must be really hot if he can go 3 rounds without breaking a sweat. Could he go more?

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone receiving a call, from none other than Eddie himself. You sit up in bed and pull your knees towards you as you answer his call.

“Sweetheart I am so so so sorry I sent you that. It was clearly meant for someone else. If I had known it was your contact that I was on I would have never sent that at all. I want you to know that I don’t go around sending nudes to everyone or anything, I’m not a slut I was just-”

“Eddie it’s fine. No need to apologize. I figured it wasn’t meant for me anyways.” It pains you a little at the thought that someone else was supposed to receive that message from your best friend.

“I’m still sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” His voice sounds smooth like spreading butter onto fresh pancakes.

“Hmm,” You fake thinking about what you want even though you know exactly what it is you want, “You’ve gotta tell me who that text was really meant for.” Silence. For a whole minute there is just silence on Eddie’s end, you’d think he was dead if it weren’t for the fast pace of his breathing.

“Sweetheart,” The nickname is not helping the situation you have going on right now, “You don’t mean that. Can’t I just take you to breakfast or buy you a new outfit?”

“Nope.” You respond popping the ‘p’ as you say it. “Either tell me who it was meant for or I send it to the groupchat.” You were bluffing. You couldn’t let the others see him like that, that was for your eyes only. Not that anyone needed to know that.

“You wouldn’t dare,” His voice turned deep and threatening.

“Try. Me.” You challenge back.

Eddie groans, “Fine. You win,” A smile spreads across your face, “It was meant for Callie. This girl in my chem class, we’ve been talking for a little bit.”

You’re a mix of emotions right now; happy that Eddie found someone he’s interested in and took his shot, confused because he never told you about it, sad because you thought he trusted you with things like that, and slightly jealous because you want to be the one Eddie sent nudes to, purposefully.

“Sweetheart? You still there?” You completely forget that you’re still on the phone with Eddie until he says something.

“Uh yeah yeah I’m here. I’m um happy for you Ed. Glad you found someone. Look I gotta go to sleep, big test tomorrow, talk later. Bye.” You hang up before he can say anything else. 

Why did you feel this way about all this? You shouldn’t be thinking of Eddie in this way, he was your best friend. Best friends don’t think about going down on each other, or the way it would feel to have his cock inside you, or the moans he would release when he finally cums in you.

You shake it off and lay back down, setting your phone on your nightstand to charge. You try for half an hour to fall asleep but your mind can’t stop thinking about that damn picture. So you unlock your phone and go back to your messages with Eddie, looking to see if he deleted the picture or not. And to your luck it was the latter, the picture and text below still there for your viewing pleasure.

You’re still horny from the initial thought of him so it doesn’t take long for your hand to wander under your shorts and underwear to your clit. The thought that your fingers were his and the way he would whisper in your ear egging you on to finish.

The images of him jerking himself off in the shower flood you, his hand on the cold tiles, water hitting his back as he fists his cock, rubbing it slowly at first but becoming impatient and going faster until he cums all over the wall and his hand.

The image of his face when he does and the moans that would leave his mouth is what throws you over the edge yourself. Wishing it were him between your legs pulling it from you not your own fingers. Finally your body is tired enough to let you go to sleep, dreaming of Eddie once more.

---

You’re sitting with Eddie and the rest of Hellfire at lunch a week later. Neither of you have talked about what happened that night, both too embarrassed to say anything.

Things were normal though, Eddie would pick you up and drop you off to and from school. You’d talk on the phone every night about whatever happened that day that the other wasn’t there for. You liked the thought that the text didn’t hinder your friendship but you can’t help but be a little jealous about Eddie fucking someone else. It’s not like you were expecting him to confess his hidden undying love for you the next day but the realization that Eddie really did send you that accidentally; hurt.

The freshman are talking about some video game coming out when Eddie lean over to you.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?” There’s a smile on his face, one that you always loved seeing.

“Nothing,” You go back to eating your fruit.

“Alrighty then. Hey I was wondering what time you wanted to come over tonight?”

Your eyes grow wide, mind going back to the text, “Why?”

“Um it’s Wednesday. Horror movie marathon night, remember?” His head cocks to the side a little, his hair falling into his face. It reminds you of a dog questioning what it’s owner has in their hand.

“Oh right yeah. Um I don’t know if I can make it tonight.” That was a lie, you had nothing going on. But being in the trailer alone with Eddie after knowing what he looks like naked is not what you need right now.

“Awe come on! I rented Scream, Saw, and Halloween for tonight. You can’t make me watch them all alone,” He lowers his voice and leans closer, “What if I need protection from the bad guys?” His big doe eyes large and pleading with you.

You roll your eyes and push his face away from you, “Ugh fine. I’ll be there, how’s 8?”

“Perfect! I’ll order the pizzas, do you think you could make those amazing cookies for us?”

“You mean for you?”

“No. I mean for us, I would never eat all the cookies myself.”

“You did like 3 weeks ago! There were 30 cookies there and I had none of them.” You stare at him as he thinks back to then.

“Nope don’t remember which means it didn’t happen. So will you?” There are those puppy dog eyes again.

“Whatever but I swear if you eat all of them again I’ll castrate you.”

Eddie’s hands fly to his groin, protecting it from your threat. “Ouch, sweetheart. Didn’t know you hated my dick that much.”

I don’t. Just hate that it’s not mine. You thought, but you just rolled your eyes and continued on eating lunch until the bell rang.

---

Eddie rushed around his room looking for his favorite shirt when you showed up for movie night. You let yourself in, per usual and set the cookies down on the coffee table before heading to Eddie’s room. He was squating in front of his closet when you come in, you don’t announce yourself just stand there staring at his back.

He got a few new tattoos since last summer, two of which on his back. A skull and crossbones along with a knife wrapped in barbed wire. You haven’t seen them in person yet, it still being too cold to sit out in the sun. But looking at them now was a pleasure, the detail popping out as his muscles flex.

Eddie huffs and stands, defeated about not finding the shirt he wanted. He turns around and finds you standing in his doorway.

“Jesus! Why didn’t you say you were here?” His hand is over his heart as he catches his breath from the unintentional jump scare.

“I texted you like 20 minutes ago that I was on my way. Figured you knew I’d be here soon,” You say as you enter his room fully to sit on his bed.

“I did not see the text, I was in the shower,” The mention of this brought back memories of the photo, and what you did whilst looking at it, “Anyways pizza should be here soon and I’ve got beers and soda in the fridge.”

Eddie walks around you to his dresser, grabbing a random shirt and throwing it on. You’re sad at the loss of his bare skin but quickly shake the thought away. You get up from his bed and head to his living room, Eddie following in toe.

“So what are we watching first? I’ve seen Scream a few times but the other two I haven’t seen,” Eddie remarks as he grabs two beers from the fridge, opening them before handing you one.

You mumble a thanks before taking a sip, the bitter liquid coating your tastebuds. “I’ve seen Scream and Saw but not Halloween. Heard good things about it though, at least that’s what Robin said, Steve had other opinions.”

“Lemme guess pretty boy hated it and wished he never saw it?” Eddie laughs as he sets up Halloween on the tv.

“Yeah pretty much,” You laugh along. The thought of your friend sitting there watching the movie curled up in a blanket next to Robin bringing a smile to your face.

Eddie finishes setting up the movie and walks back the kitchen. He grabs a bag of chips and some dip before returning to your side on the couch. He opens the chips and pops one in his mouth, crunching it loudly.

You smile at the normalcy of everything right now, it’s as if nothing ever happened between the two of you. Which if we’re being honest nothing really did happen, Eddie just sent you a nude on accident. It’s not like you kissed or anything. Not that you’d hate it if you did.

You snack on the chips and dip with him while waiting for the pizza to show up, never starting the movie without it. The two of you talk about nothing in particular while you sit there. Eddie tells you about the upcoming DnD campaign he’s been working on.

His eyes lighting up and hands flying around erratically as he explains what he planned, the animation in his character brings an even bigger smile to your face.

Just as Eddie concludes his explanation, inviting you to come sit in and watch it at the end, the doorbell rings notifying the both of you that the pizza was here and it was now time for movie night to begin.

Eddie pays the guy and happily walks over to the couch and sets the food on the table in front of the two of you, he can’t even wait til the movie starts playing to begin eating. You laugh at him as he opens and closes his mouth quickly trying to cool the hot pizza in his mouth, you just hit play and start watching the movie.

The pizza is gone, same with half the bag of chips and the cookies. Eddie actually let you eat  a few of them before he scarfed down the others. You’re nearing the end of Scream, the third and final movie of the night when you look at your phone for the time. 12:25 stares back at you, you groan knowing that your parents are going to kill you for coming home so late on a school night.

Eddie hears you and turns to see why you made that noise. You just wave him off and go back to watching the movie, watching as Skeet Ulrich gets shot for the final time in the head. A few minutes later the credits roll and Eddie turns off the tv, letting the trailer fade into silence.

“Wanna tell me what that groaning was about?” Eddie asks turning to face you completely.

“Nothing, just didn’t realize that it had gotten so late. Parents are gonna kill me if I go home at this hour.”

“So just stay here,” He says with no hesitation, “You still have a few clothes here after last movie night. They’re just siting in my drawer.”

You think about it for a minute. You and Eddie have had sleepovers in the past, nothing special about them, just two people sharing a bed, occasionally cuddling because of the small size of it. But now the thought of it made you nervous, having him so close to you, so near yet not being able to touch him. It killed you, but it’s better than going back home right now and having your mom and dad rip you a new one.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to shower though. Coach had us run the mile today at practice and I still feel disgusting.”

“Yeah no problem, you go ahead and shower, I’ll clean up here.” He stands and starts clearing the trash from the table. You get up too and head into his bathroom, but no matter how hot the water is or how long you stand under it you can't get the thought of the picture and the words under it out of your mind.

He was right here, jerking off to the thought of someone. You scold yourself for thinking about him like that, again. But you couldn’t help it.

Recently you’ve thought about him more and more; his smile, the dimples that show when he’s really happy, how animatedly he talks, the way his hair is always unkempt but still looks so damn soft. You thought about him in ways you never did before seeing that picture; his arms, his muscles, his hands, his rings. Everything about him turned you on and you needed it to go away.

Eddie finished up cleaning and sat down on his bed, beer in hand while he took out his metal lunchbox for a joint. You walk into his room, towel wrapped around yourself, hair dripping wet from the shower. He stops his actions to just stare at you, the same way you did earlier that night.

“Uh could I borrow some clothes? I don’t have anything to sleep in,” You say wrapping your arms under your boobs, pushing them up ever so slightly.

Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, sure.” He gets up and walks over to his dresser, rummaging through it to look for something you can wear tonight. He pulls out a pair on your underwear that you “left” there a while back and one of his Hellfire shirts. You denied his offer of some pants, saying they would be way to big on you and you’d rather just sleep in the shirt.

Eddie’s mind went straight to the gutter at that thought, you sleeping next to him, in just his Hellfire shirt and a pair of underwear he stole from you. His dick was growing hard just thinking about it. He quickly got back to looking for his joint and lighting it upon it’s appearance. He took a few hits while you changed in the bathroom, his mind slowly fogging over.

You return, hair still slightly wet with the towel in your hand. You toss it into his hamper before laying on his bed, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. You lay back and close your eyes, letting the serenity of this moment wash over you. Eddie offers you a hit but you decline, being that you don’t ever mix weed and booze together.

He finishes the joint while you finish his beer. The two of you just sitting there with the light sound of whatever record Eddie has playing. Your thoughts are quiet for the most part, just soaking in the time with your best friend, until you think of something. A question you’ve been meaning to ask for a little bit.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He responds head leaning back onto the wall where a headboard should be.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, hit me.” You reach your hand out and hit him in the thigh.

“Ouch! Not literally, I meant with the question, sweetheart.”

“I know,” You giggle.

“Brat,” He mumbles back.

“Anyways, I was gonna ask -and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to it’s just something I’ve been thinking about- but did you really not know it was me you were sending that picture to?” The words lay heavy on your tongue as you say them aloud. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, it’s hard not to.

How did he not know it was you he was texting, your name was right there at the top of the screen. And if he was sending it to someone else how could he not double-check to make sure he wasn’t sending it to someone like Wayne or Robin.

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking about the best way to tell you that, yes he did know it was you he was sending it to. And yes he knew it was stupid but he wanted to try something to see if you felt the same way about him that he does you. Eddie’s loved you for about a year and a half now, never saying anything to anyone in fear of running your friendship.

But that night he was watching a show and one of the characters did this thing where they pretended to send a text to someone “they didn’t mean to”, to see how they’d respond. He thought that maybe this was an easy way of figuring out how you felt about him. But when you didn’t respond to his photo or texts he got scared and called you. Needing to clarify what he sent, and why.

Eddie Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis

[maimurariki]

Soft spot - nrk.

-I need you cause you’re everything that I’m not.

| pairing: delinquent!riki x rich girl!Reader.

| synopsis: in which you, the perfect, rich, and popular student helps the schools feared delinquent with a few small injuries.

• *+. Wrote this at 12 am! enjoy and reblog if you can🍂

You were sitting in class, talking with a few of your friends after the teacher finished the lesson for the day. It was fifth period, about an hour after lunch. You heard that there had been a fight, but didn’t look too much into it. In the midst of chatting with your friends, your head began to hurt. After trying to ignore it, you quickly asked your teacher for the pass to the infirmary.

After walking the halls for a while, you reached the infirmary. There you saw a boy sitting on a nurse bed with a disgruntled expression. His face and arms had a few bruises, two open wounds on his face bleeding. One on top of his left eyebrow, and one on his bottom lip. He looked like he had just gotten into a fight. The boy sat alone, looking quite lonely. Seeing your appearance in the doorway, he raised his eyebrows, observing you for a moment before turning his head the other way, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

There you stood, not really knowing what to do. You had looked over at the nurse, who wasn’t even bothering to help him. Did people fear him that much?

Your eyes went back to him, your lips moving before you could even think.

“Do you… need any help?”

The boy scoffed at the your offer, his eyes narrowing as he looked you up and down with disdain. “I don’t need your damn help. Especially not from someone like you.”

He turns away from you, wincing slightly as he examined the bruise on his arm. After a moment, he mutters under his breath.

“Besides. Those morons wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me. ‘Would rather let me bleed out if you ask me.”

He chuckled darkly, but there’s a hint of pain in his eyes - pain that goes beyond just physical wounds. His tough exterior cracks for just a second before he plasters that cynical expression back on his face, glaring at you.

“So why don’t you run along? Don’t want you getting your pretty hands dirty with someone like me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, looking at the nurse leave the infirmary, excusing herself from the awkward situation. You walked over and grabbed a first aid kit, standing in front of him.

Riki’s eyes widen slightly as you approached him with the first aid kit, clearly not expecting you to stick around. He watched warily as you set it down on the bed beside him.

“What, you’re actually going to bandage me up, or are you just here to gawk at me?” He said sarcastically, but there’s a small hint of curiosity in his voice. Like he can’t quite believe you’re still trying to help him. As you start to unravel the bandages, Riki jerks his arm away, scowling.

“I said I don’t need your help. Just leave it, alright? I can handle myself.” His tone is sharp and defensive, he’s used to being independent. To not rely on others. But he doesn’t move away when you try again, his tough exterior showing some cracks in the face of your kindness.

“Why’re you doing this anyway? You barely know me.”

You froze for a split second. He was right. You had only ever heard his name pumping your peers, but obviously didn’t know him personally. So why were you doing this? You continued to bandage his arm, a small shrug coming from you.

“I… don’t know. I just felt like it.”

Riki stared at you intently, searching your face for any hint of deception. After a long moment, he let out a restated sigh.

“Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t expect me to be grateful or anything like that.” He sat motionless as you started to clean and dress his wound, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

But every so often, he’ll glance over at you, like he can’t quite believe you’re still there. As you finish wrapping the last bandage, Riki flexes his arm experimentally.

Your hand lingered on his skin for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. He freezes at the unexpected contact, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

“There. Happy now?” He doesn’t pull away though. Doesn’t even move. It’s like he’s caught between the desire to shove her hand off, but also a strange urge to lean into her touch.

Soon realizing, you pull your hand away, studying his facial features. You notice the cuts on his face too, noticing that t your work isn’t quite done here yet.

“Hold on a sec, there’s cuts on your face… let me get those.” You sat down and leaned closer to his face, cleaning the cuts.

Riki stiffens as you move closer, your face now mere inches from his. He can see the details of you that he’s never noticed - the long, dark lashes, the softness of your eyes, and the careful way you touch him.

It’s unnerving, this close proximity to someone showing him such gentle care. His voice comes out softer than intended, almost a growl, he there’s no bite to it.

“You’re… too close.” He mutters, not moving back but not pushing you away either. It’s a half-hearted protest, a last-ditch effort to maintain his barriers.

As you clean the cuts, he watches your hands. They’re steady, and your touch, though light, is warm. It’s.. not unpleasant.

He realizes he’s been holding his breath and exhales slowly, the action more revealing than intended.

When you’re done, you lean back a bit.

“There. You look good as new.” You softly smiled.

Riki hesitates for a moment, the soft smile on your face doing something strange to his insides. He sits there, a mixture of confusion and a warmth he can’t rember feeling before.

His gruff exterior fades slightly, replaced by a genuine, albeit halting attempt to respond.

“Yeah… thanks.” He mumbles, looking down to avoid meeting your gaze directly. His next words are muttered to himself than to her “never had someone… do that for me before.”

The, unable to stop himself, he adds with a hint of defiance. “But don’t make a habit out of it, alright? I can handle myself just fine.” Even as he says it, his voice lacks the usual bite. It’s almost as if he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

You nodded, standing up and giving him what looked to be a sweet strawberry candy. “Here. You need it after the sour day you’ve had.”

His hand hovers above yours before he finally takes the candy, his large, calloused thumb unable to mask its delicate wrapper. “Thanks.” He manages, voice barely above a whisper.

You got up and made your way for the door, smiling to to yourself.

Riki’s gaze follows you, a mix of emotions playing across his face. Confusion, surprise, and something else he can’t quite place. He’s not used to such acts of kindness, especially from someone like you. Popular, wealthy, everything he’s always resented.

He clears his throat, almost as if he was arguing with himself.

“Hey.”

You stop in the doorway if the infirmary, not turning around.

“Stay away from guys like me, you hear? It’s…better that way.”

It’s a warning. A push, an attempt to maintain the distance he’s always kept. But there’s a hint of protectiveness in there, and note of genuine concern. He’s not used to caring, but something about you makes him want to shield you from the ugliness he knows all too well.

You look over your shoulder, eyes looking directly into his. The sunlight from the infirmary windows gracing onto your face and figure in the doorway.

“Okay.” You gave him a small smile before walking out, going back to your class.

Riki watched you leave, his eyes glued to the spot where you once stood in the doorway, bathed in the golden sunlight. There was a strange feeling in the boys chest, an unfamiliar tightness that’s neither pain or discomfort.

…

The boy had only known you for thirty minutes, yet he’s already gained a soft spot for you.

inspired from ‘soft spot’ by Keshi.

[oceantornadoo]

ch6 the wrong john | masterlist | next

tw: idiots in love acting like idiots, reader is insecure i fear

john price x f!reader, reader is johnny’s twin

--

Your cat likes John better than you and you can’t seem to care.

He coaxes her into the carrier with ease and you watch it like you’re not there, instead floating above your body. John’s hands rummage through your dressers, packing underwear and shirts and pants into the same suitcase you used when you visited base. There’s a joke in there somewhere but you can’t seem to find it, words turning to ash in your mouth. Johnny is missing, so there’s no reason to laugh. All you can do is stand in the corner, holding your cat’s carrier, watching a captain commandeer your apartment like it’s a mission. In five minutes, John has fit your necessities into two bags and has you out the door with a hand on your back. 

“You didn’t tell me her name yet.” You blink and there’s a black car in front of you, John’s hand pushing you into the passenger seat while he puts your stuff in the back and gets into the driver's side. The cat is on your lap, somehow not throwing a fit at her new home.

“Bubbles.” He hums, gunning the engine and turning the car into the familiar path to the airport. “Bubbles?” You glance out of the window, noting the day is as dreary as you feel. “She has a mohawk. Like Jo- my brother. He’s Soap, so I thought Bubbles…” Your throat tightens. Johnny’s missing and you’re sitting here with your cat, making stupid puns he would love.

John squeezes your thigh and returns his hand to the wheel. The loss of it is a shot to the heart. Now, you’re a victim to him. Sadness is not sexy. It’s painful but you try not to think of it too much. Everything is falling apart anyway.

“We’ll find him, sweetheart. Can tell ya more on the plane.” Everything is in slow motion. Bubbles licks your fingers through the mesh of her carrier and you focus on it like your life depends on it. 

“I’m supposed to work tomorrow.” 

“Already called ‘em. Y’r on sabbatical.”

“My plants…”

“Left a note f’ y’r neighbors.”

“How can I pay rent if I’m not working?”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. ‘ve got ya.” 

You nod and close your eyes, wishing everything away like a bad dream. When you wake, you’re on a small military plane. Bubbles is next to you, buckled in. You reach for your phone to take a picture for Johnny, to show him your military cat, but your hand drops when you remember. The heat of John’s stare burns the side of your face, and it takes a few seconds, but you finally gather enough courage to face him. The look in his eyes is haunting. You can’t tell, but John’s been replaying the moment he lost two of his men over and over since it happened. When he closes his eyes, it’s all he sees. Opening his eyes is worse, seeing you in pain and knowing he can’t do anything to immediately fix it.

“Was s’pposed t’ be an easy mission. They got the drop on us. Would’ve been so easy to take all four but they only took Soap an’ Ghost. Ghost’s only family is Soap so we think they’re goin’ to target you next. They’ve got a vendetta against y’r brother. Old wounds an’ all that. You’ll be on base where y’r protected.” He pauses for a second. It’s now dawning on him that you’ll be a few meters away, the fantasy he’s been wanting, but under the worst circumstances. “Questions, sweetheart?” Only one.

“Will you find him?”

“I will. Don’t care what I’ve got to do to do it.”

When you get to base, Kyle is there. He’s looking worse for the wear, a new scar decorating his eyebrow. “You look very chic, Kyle.” He shakes his head, pulling you into a hug. “‘m sorry, angel. We’re gonna find him.” It’s the first time it’s really hit you. Maybe it’s the fact that this is only the second time you’ve met Kyle and he’s already treating you like family on account of your brother. Tears form in your eyes and he tugs you closer, rubbing your back as you cry. You remember you’re still out in the open, standing in front of countless guards, and start taking deep breaths to calm the tears. “It’s ok, let it out.” You nod against him, then pull back to wipe the tears away. Bubbles meows, desparate for attention, and Kyle’s ears perk up at the sound. “‘m goin’ to walk you to your quarters an’ you’re goin’ to tell me when you got a cat.” John’s already ahead of him, your bags in his hands, so you turn to Kyle and hand him the cat carrier. “So it all started with a dumpster…”

There aren’t spare quarters in the task force’s section of base, so you’re staying in Johnny’s. As if that wasn’t already terrible, you’re across the hall from John’s quarters. John’s disappeared, the bags he packed for you neatly set near Johnny’s bed. Kyle brings you to the room, already having bonded with Bubbles, and promises that someone will be by with dinner. Every second is precious to find your brother, so you can’t blame them both for having to leave.

Your idiot twin didn’t even make his bed before he left. You tidy his room, ignoring your shaking hands, then venture out with a bag of his laundry just to give you something to do. A kind lieutenant in the hallway directs you, and you can feel pitying eyes follow you to the laundry room. A civilian staying multiple nights on base is unheard of, but the rest of the soldiers there are used to the task force operating by their own rules. It seems some groups have left, the building feeling emptier and less lively since you last visited. Or maybe they’re just giving you space in this time of half-mourning, this purgatory of doubt. While you wait for Johnny’s clothes, you try to remember the path to John’s office. It takes you a few backtracks, but you finally make it back to where this all started. You raise your hand to knock, but a bit of eavesdropping reveals there’s at least five people in the room. Not wanting intrude, you go back to Johnny’s room and wait. Waiting seems to be the only thing you can do.

Hours later, after a tasteless dinner of mess hall food, you still can’t fall asleep. It’s past midnight and base is quiet. In your state of delirium, you drag yourself out of bed and outside your room, feet tracing an easy path to John’s room. It feels selfish, seeking him out when your twin is probably in some sort of hell, but you can’t prevent your hand from reaching his door. You knock twice, then curse yourself as the logical half of your brain wakes up and asks what the hell you’re doing. It’s too late to turn back. “Come in.”

John’s sitting at a small desk shuffling through papers. He’s got on blue light glasses you’ve never seen before, and the utter attractiveness of them stops your mouth from opening. He still hasn’t looked up yet, making small notes on the papers in front of him. “What is it?” Finally, John’s head tilts up, then straightens when he realizes it’s you. “I’m sorry, I’ll go-” “Don’t. ‘M sorry sweetheart, didn’t realize it was you.” You twist your hands together, feeling awkwardly uninvited. His space is hardly lived in, no personal effects to be found except a blue blanket on his bed.

“Somethin’ botherin’ you?” You nod, taking a step closer to his desk. “Couldn’t sleep.” He nods back, eyes shining with understanding. Rolling out his chair from under his desk, he spreads his legs in invitation. You answer it silently, shuffling towards him until you’re standing in between them. His actions are so at odds with how avoidant he was in the morning, but you’re too tired to care. Rough hands caress the outside of your upper thighs, then move up to your hips and waist. He rubs small circles, similar to how he did during your bathroom confrontation months earlier, and the motion already starts to calm you. John scoots closer to the edge of his chair until his face is flush to your clothed stomach. Instantly, you reach out to pull him in, hands sinking into the strands of his hair until you feel his glasses poke your stomach. His hands settle above your ass, never stopping their circular caresses. The angle is slightly awkward, a bit uncomfortable, but it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, namely being this close to the man that haunts your dreams. The two of you stand in almost-silence, breaths syncing until you can’t tell where his start and yours end.

“Sleepwithme.” You pull back until your hands cradle his face, smoothing over the creases your shirt left on his skin. “What?” He releases his hold on you to take off his glasses, setting them down on his desk. “Sleep with me.” Your heart drops, hands leaving his face. The implication that you two only seek each other out for sex is clear, and you can’t even blame him since that’s how it started. He frowns at you. “I’m not really in the mood for sex, I’m sorry. Maybe tomorrow or…” John shakes his head, standing from his desk chair. “I meant jus’ sleep, sweetheart. Can’t blame you f’ jumpin’ to conclusions, I know I’m irresistible.” You roll your eyes, shoving him away. John catches your arm and pulls you into him, tucking your head under his chin like you were made to fit together. You let him hold you, nuzzling into him like you did the first night you meant. “I take this as a yes?” You nod against him. John turns off the light and ushers you into his bed. It’s a bit small for two until he tugs you on top of him, chest to chest. Your legs tangle, your arms flaying about for a better position until he tucks them around his broad shoulders. You can feel his muscles contract with every breath, how his heart beats strong as you shuffle your head up and into the crook of his shoulder. 

“Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

When you wake in the morning, your core is throbbing, and not in a good way. Your period’s early, a symptom of how deranged your mental state has become, and it would be fine until you remember the man under you. The man who’s seen you naked but not like this, not vulnerable in a way you can’t control. Early morning sun peaks through his curtains, reminding you that you’ve only slept for a couple of hours. The light reveals a small stain of blood on your pajama shorts and John’s boxers, a bit on his chest since he slept shirtless. It’s your worst nightmare.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You whisper-yell. John’s up and moving before you have the chance to take stock of the situation. Always a man with a plan, he peels you off of him, pushing you towards his ensuite bathroom. He murmurs sweet nothings you’re sure are empty platitudes, just him being nice. 

“‘S okay, jus’ some blood, pet.”

“Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

“Take a shower, be there in a second.”

In the shower, you want to bang your head against the tiled wall. The shock of your period almost erases the memory of Johnny being missing until it comes back in full force, along with worser cramps. Tears stream down your face, washed away quickly by the shower. Everything is unfair, and your hormones join the party to make it worse. That’s where John finds you, wiping away the puffiness under your eyes as the water turns cold.

“None of that, pet.” There’s still blood on his chest and he notices the same time as you do, shucking off his boxers and joining you under the shower spray. It’s not sexy, the first time you shower with John. You feel stripped raw, maneuvering yourself into the corner so he can have the water. John’s having none of it, tugging you into his arms. 

“John…” You murmur. Satisfied that you’re clean, he reaches around you to turn off the water. He’s so nonchalant that you’re both bare, that your body is bloated and sore in all the wrong ways. 

“What?” He finally replies. Getting out first, he hands you a towel, then grabs another to wrap around his waist. There’s a pair of your underwear on the counter, clean, and you question how he got it without leaving his bedroom. It’s a mystery not worth your time. He hands you a container of pads and tampons. 

“Where’d you get this?”

“My cabinet.”

“...Why do you have these?”

“Jus’ like to be considerate is all.”

His thoughtfulness collides with the fact that he has period products for any menstruating woman in his bedroom. Does this happen often? Do women’s bodies sense how safe and nuturing he is and just let loose?

“Jesus, why aren’t you someone’s boyfriend yet?” You mutter it, mainly to yourself, as you’re sticking a pad on your underwear. John’s head snaps up at you, eyes questioning. “What’re ya talkin’ about?” You ignore him in favor of putting on your underwear, stumbling with wet legs until John catches your shoulder. “That. This. All of this. The fucking period products. You’re like a walking template for husbands. How are you single?” Finally, you’re eye to eye with him, gripping your respective towels. His brow is furrowed, stubble slightly outgrown in a way you’re itching to feel. His eyes, normally blue like the ocean, are stormy. “Didn’t think I was single.” Um.

He walks out of the bathroom and you follow him to his closet where he’s digging for new boxers. “You have a girlfriend? How could you not…oh my god. I’m such an idiot. What, is she waiting for you at home somewhere?” Clothed in new boxers, he finally hits you with the force of his full glare. You almost step back under the cloud of his anger. “There is no girlfriend waiting at home. I thought you were waiting for me. Guess I miscalculated.” The weight of his words drags down your shoulders. You sit in his desk chair, mute as he gathers a clean set of fatigues. It’s only when he’s putting on his belt you finally find your voice.

“You thought we were dating?” He scoffs at your question. “Clearly, we’re not. Guess that one’s on me.” You fumble for something to say. “John, I told you, we can’t.” He shakes his head, and you note how he has to try twice to get his belt through his pant loops. “We can call and fuck and sleep, but we can’t date. Thanks for clearin’ that up, sweetheart.” He’s already lacing his boots and you’re still in his fucking towel, dripping water onto the floor. John approaches you and for a heartstopping second you think he’ll kiss you, but he just reaches around you to grab the paperwork on his desk. “Well, hope you feel better. I’ll be out workin’.” You nod silently, tracking his footsteps to the door. “John.” He stops with a hand on the doorknob. It’s the most vulnerable thing he’s ever done. Your tongue fumbles to find the right words, the right order to say them in, but all you can settle on is a “Thank you.” He shakes his head, not turning back when he replies. “I’ll see you later.” You busy yourself with gathering your bloody clothes, finding a T-shirt of his to wear so you don’t step into the hall naked. Tears threaten to fall but you choke them back, refusing to cry over him.

When that nice lieutenant finds you again, she tells you John’s been deployed, and he won’t come back until he finds your brother.

-

is anyone noticing how he uses different petnames based on the circumstances? no, just me? also i swear this has a happy ending we just have some idiots in love.

taglist

@lveegsoi

 @galactict3a 

@nova-willow-541 

@sirbonesly 

@starlightkitten19

@prettycatboy

@roastyyytoastyyy

@autumnheartsprice

@lucienofthelakes

@eyeless-kun

@bina-passion-fruit

@lilynotdilly

@lovenewfandoms

@tired-writer04

@sleep101

@konigsm

@mehjustalasshere

@alyssajofreitas

@thriving-n-jiving

[luveline]

hi honey bun! i was just having a thought about someone coming home after a night out, a little drunk and sleepy, just crawling into bed with the reader? n maybe trying not to wake her w cuddling and such? 🥺 im so indecisive and couldn’t choose between peter or one/poly marauders, but please also feel free to disregard if it’s not the one for you! kisses xx

Sirius tries to tell them to be quiet, but James is so drunk he’s going to wake up amnesiac and Remus isn’t far behind him. Sirius has a kinder buzz, opening and then closing the door for his idiots begrudgingly. “Shush. You’ll wake her.” 

“She should be awake I miss her so much I’m gonna throw up,” James says, all in one breath. 

“That might be the Guinness,” Remus laughs. His cheeks have gone pink. Sirius thinks it’s the cutest Remus has ever looked, and he gives him an affectionate smile that’s returned tenfold. 

“Be quiet,” Sirius says. A yawn comes suddenly. “Go sit down and have some toast or something.” 

“I definitely will throw up then,” James groans, bending over in the middle of the hallway. 

Remus, despite being similarly belligerent, starts doting on him. “You okay?” he asks, bending down with a similar sigh of pain. “Come on. I’ll make you a– a glass of water.” 

Sirius has spent the night with them, so he loves them, but he misses you too much to stay. He chucks his shoes vaguely in the direction of the shelf and starts up stairs. The walls move under his hand and the bedroom door proves hard to open, but he sees you and forgets that he’s drunk. You’re laying on your side curled into a pillow, arm curled around, one leg sticking out of the quilt. 

Sirius pulls the blanket back gently, remembers he’s wearing jeans, changes out of the jeans, and slides into bed in front of you. He slowly, slowly, pulls the pillow from your arms, wrapping his arm under yours and behind your back, the other just shy of your face. Beautiful girl, he thinks, a little woozy from having suddenly changed directions. 

You mumble and hug him weakly, fingertips tickling his side. 

“For fuck’s sake!” James says somewhere downstairs. “What is this?” 

“Water, Jamie,” Remus says, quieter. “You can’t have anything else, don’t be–” A sound and a laugh. “No, kissing me won’t change my mind.” More laughing. 

Sirius tugs your hand up to smile into your palm. 

“Home?” you mumble. 

“Mm,” he hums, eyes closed and heavy but his arm awake behind your back, pulling you closer to his front. “I told them to be quiet… didn’t listen.”

“You…” you’re still stuck in the throes of sleep, and forget you’re talking. Sirius laughs a huff and you blink. “Okay?” 

“Yeah. Everything was okay. Next time I’ll stay home with you,” he promises, rubbing his nose into your cheek. 

“I liked being alone for a bit, but… missed you in the end.” 

Footsteps start up the stairs. “Sorry for waking you up,” Sirius says. 

“S’okay. Make them be nice to me.” 

That’s easy. As the door begins to open, Sirius pulls you right into his chest, as close as you can possibly be, and shushes you gently. Remus’ laughing swiftly ends, and James says, “Oh no, what’s wrong?” in his softest tone. 

James climbs over the bed still in his shoes. Remus grabs him before they can touch the sheets and takes them off, and then James crawls up behind you and hugs you, Sirius’ arms included. “Hi… my angel.” 

You ignore him with a disgruntled whine. 

“Sorry we were so loud.” 

You whine again. 

“Do you want Remus instead?” 

“No. I don’t not want Remus,” you clarify. “I’m not mad at you. Stay here.” 

Remus falls rather drunkenly in behind Sirius, forcing everyone to move over. You look for him in the tangle of arms and blankets, everyone Sirius loves rammed into one bed and exhausted. 

“Is anyone in the mood for a kiss?” James asks.

“Too tired,” you mumble. 

“Too far away. Make it up to you in the morning,” Remus says into Sirius's shoulder. Sirius is having a hard time following the conversation, distracted by the smell of your perfume and all the skin pressed to his. 

James sighs forlornly. “Fine.” A pause. “Sirius?” 

He snores. 

[itsnesss]

hwang jun ho fluff pleaseeee anything

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | jun-ho, struggling with the search for his missing brother, finds comfort in your presence. through quiet support, gentle touches, and a deep kiss, you offer him the solace he needs during his emotional turmoil

warnings | fluff, emotional distress, angst, vulnerability, light romantic/sexual content (kisses and caresses), healing through affection

word count | 2.5 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The room is shrouded in a heavy stillness, and only the faint sound of the distant city filters through the window. It’s as if, for a moment, the entire world decided to stop spinning. Everything is silent, except for the soft, synchronized breaths shared by two people who are hesitant to break the calm.

You sit on the edge of the sofa, gazing out the window. The sky is covered in a gray blanket, and the rain seems ready to fall at any moment. It’s a quiet afternoon, but the anxiety lingers in your chest. You know Jun-ho is close, but you also know that something is weighing heavily on his soul.

It’s not something you can touch or easily describe. You can only see it in his eyes, in the subtle movements of his body. It’s as if he carries an invisible weight, something he can’t put into words. His search for his brother, the anguish of not knowing where he is, all of it is consuming him. And you see it.

Jun-ho enters the room with firm yet slow steps, as if each movement costs him more than usual. It’s not that he wants to show it, but you can tell. The exhaustion is written on his face, in the shadows beneath his eyes. Desperation has never suited him, but today, he seems unable to avoid it.

He removes his coat and tosses it over a nearby chair, his gaze fixed on the floor. He hasn’t spoken a word since you arrived, but you know him well enough to understand what’s going through his mind.

"Jun-ho," you say softly, not wanting to interrupt too much, but knowing it’s necessary.

He looks up, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours. There’s something so transparent in his gaze right now. Frustration, helplessness. And that weariness that’s been building up, that emotional exhaustion that’s consuming him.

"Can’t find him," he whispers, his voice breaking from trying to maintain composure. "I’ve searched everywhere. I don’t know what else to do."

The pain in his voice pierces you. You know he’s fighting, that he’s given everything he has. But even so, seeing him so vulnerable makes you want to embrace him and make all the suffering he’s carrying vanish.

You stand slowly and approach him, without rushing. There’s no need for words right now. You just come closer to his side, placing your hand on his shoulder gently, offering him silent comfort.

"You’re doing everything you can, Jun-ho," you murmur, not letting go of him. "That’s what matters most."

He doesn’t respond at first, but his eyes, always so calculating, soften slightly. You can see that your words have pierced something within him. He doesn’t say it, but you can see the calm starting to fill the space between the two of you.

"It’s not enough," he says in a low voice, lowering his head. "I don’t know if it’ll ever be enough."

You sit beside him, keeping your hand on his shoulder, your calm pulse in contrast with his, which beats strong. You want to say more, but words seem insufficient. So, you lean toward him, touching his face with a gentleness that speaks of comfort.

Your fingers trace his jaw, and as soon as you feel his skin, you realize how tense he is. His body seems to resist the contact, but little by little, he relaxes under your touch.

"Jun-ho," you whisper, looking into his eyes, "I understand. And I’m here."

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see how his eyes close for a moment, as if by hearing your words, he feels a small relief. Then, he looks at you again, and there’s something different in his expression. A vulnerability he’s never shown. And for some reason, you feel that this is the moment.

You do it without thinking too much, you simply feel that this is what both of you need. You bring your lips to his, first brushing them gently. It’s a short kiss, almost shy, but full of meaning. In that moment, when everything else disappears, both of you find each other in that small refuge.

Jun-ho, surprised at first, doesn’t take long to respond, pulling you closer, as if he needs you more than he could admit. His hand finds its way to your back, seeking contact, seeking that warmth that only you can offer him right now.

The kiss deepens slowly, as if you both are falling into a safe space, a place where shadows can’t reach you. His lips move with more urgency now, as if each kiss is a way of releasing all the accumulated anguish. As if, by kissing you, he can find some peace.

With one hand, you begin to caress his hair, feeling the softness of his strands. Your fingers slowly slide toward his neck, tracing a path that seems to calm him even more. Jun-ho, feeling your touch, tenses a little, but then relaxes, his shoulders falling slightly. It’s as if he’s letting go of all the weight, at least for a moment.

"I need you," he murmurs against your lips, almost as if confessing something deep and vulnerable. "More than I can admit."

You respond without saying a word, simply cupping his face in your hands and kissing him again. This time, the kiss is longer, deeper. As if time has ceased to exist between you two. As if only this moment, this refuge, remains, where there are no fears, no anguish.

His hands move over you now with more confidence, sliding toward your waist, pulling you closer to him. The softness of his touches is reassuring, as if he wants to make sure you’re there, that you won’t leave. You, in turn, can’t stop caressing his face, as if by touching him, you could erase all the darkness surrounding him.

As the kiss continues, Jun-ho pulls away slightly, breathing deeply. His eyes meet yours, and in that moment, there’s something in his gaze that tells you everything he can’t put into words.

"Thank you," he says softly, his fingers still caressing your skin. "Thank you for being here, for giving me something to hold on to."

You smile, caressing his cheek with tenderness. You don’t need to respond. You know. You know that sometimes words aren’t necessary when gestures speak louder.

"I’ll always be here, Jun-ho. Always."

And, for a while, you stay with him in silence, holding him, kissing him gently again, as if the world could pause for just a second, so that both of you can find comfort in the only thing that matters: each other.

[infictionalwonderland]

Heyyy! I’m the anon that asked for JJ overstimulation & was wondering if I could make a smut req for Rafe now! Tutor reader putting Bully Rafe in his place??? Like, she’s been tutoring him for a few weeks and all he does is make lewd comments and passes and be a dick etc - so she decides to shut him up and make him learn. Edging him with every question he gets right and not letting him cum until the whole page is done and all right - he’s a babbling, pleading mess. No Bully Rafe in sight 😫😫

“Oh—fuck, oh shit—“ Rafe fucking Cameron choked out desperately, his hard hot cock throbbing and pulsing hopelessly in your hand, the trip an angry neglected purple with pre cum slathered all over it.

“Answer the question Rafe.” You guide him sternly, one hand wrapped lazily around his dick, giving him just enough it make him shake and whine and throb but cutting it off everytime he got close, leaving him aching and wanting. You were sitting next to him at your desk, in your bedroom, the material for your tutoring session in front of you—his trousers and boxers pooled around his feet, hips bucking into your hand uncontrollably. You were fully clothed next to him, the picture of calm and authority.

He’d been your tutee for a while now—and you’d known him even longer as the fuck boy bully of your school. As a student, he wasn’t much better, also making inappropriate, dickish remarks and barely focusing on the learning. So, here you are now, forcing him to learn by using his pleasure as derivative.

(And, if you enjoyed seeing Rafe Cameron, the big bag bully at school, a whimpering whining shaking mess from just your hand, your denial of his pleasure.. then well, that was your business)

“Shit, shit, shit—I’m gonna—“ He whined out, loud and obscene, his dick twitching in your hand. You let go of him immediately, your hand going to his hair and tugging harshly in reprimand, bringing his eyes to yours.

Rafe cried out, body shaking and cock pulsing hopelessly - he sniffled as he brought his eyes to yours, the baby blues red rimmed, with anger and need and desperation (and probably coke too).

“Answer the fucking question Rafe.” You demand sternly, his hair in your grasp still. Eyes holding his.

He closed his eyes, nose scrunching in futile anger and overpowering painful need. He stammered out the answer to the question you’d asked—voice broken and garbled, thighs trembling faintly.

“Good boy.” You cooed patronisingly, giving his cheek a light slap. “It’s not so hard to listen to people when they tell you what to do, huh? You should learn to do it more. People might actually like you then.”

(He hated that way his dick throbbed and twitched like some desperate bitch at the praise. At your mean tone of voice)

“You fucking—I’m—you’re such a bitch.” Rafe gritted out, his voice cracking with a pitiful whimper, opening his eyes to give you a half lidded scowl—ruined fully by the flush on his cheeks, the way his legs were squirming about in the chair for something anything. Pathetic.

You laugh at him outright, your hand in his hair tightening even more as you move your face closer to his—letting your breath ghost over his lips.

“And you’re a dumb fucking slut.” You smile mockingly, moving his head to expose his neck and run your fingers over it, lightly holding it. “So desperate for anything, can’t even speak properly. Stumbling over your words like a toddler, baby. What happened to big bad Rafe?” You coo tauntingly, fingers tightening around his neck. “All your promises to make me feel good if I let you have me. Now fucking look at you, you couldn’t handle even a second in this pussy, baby.”

He bit down on his lips hard, almost drawing blood, his hands white knuckling his bare thighs as he squirmed and withered about in his chair—the heat in his cheeks flaming even hotter at your words, as well as the heat in stomach. The muscles of his abdomen clenching.

“I—I—I cou—“ Rafe stammered desperately, wanting to prove himself. Wanting to defend himself. He was on the verge of tears at this point, his mind foggy and wanting. Dick aching and pulsing harder than it had ever before. The hand on his neck and the brush of your breath against him sending shockwaves of pleasure up his spine that had him clenching his legs together, trying not to come from just your fucking words (god, he was so pathetic).

“I—I—I—“ You mock back, your hand traveling down from his neck to wrap around his pulsing neglected cock again, squeezing him. Spreading his thighs wide once more. “What you can do is finish answering the questions with that stupid slutty brain of yours, okay? Then maybe I’ll let you in my pussy. Even though you won’t last a second. Fuck, you probably never do.” You giggle tauntingly again, reciting off the next question for him to answer.