#the first two lines just fit him too well

[rafey-baby]

rafe has always been close with his sister...(part two)

c/w: incest, some dubcon touching & a kiss from rafe, both of them are more or less drunk, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.3k

previous part & moodboard

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx

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It’s well past 3 am when they stumble through the front door— wobbly on their feet and drunkenly giggling about some stupid joke Rafe had muttered while fumbling with the keys. Yet another party her big brother had dragged her into, and if it weren’t for his hands on her hips guiding her upstairs right now, she’d wake up the entire house tumbling down the stairs when she’d inevitably loose her footing.  

“Rafe, m’never going out with you again. Told you I wanted to leave like two hours ago,” she complains the moment they make it to her bedroom; her feet aching and head spinning.   

“‘N she’s complainin’ again. I mean, my apologies for wantin’ to—to show m’little sister a good time,” he huffs, peeling off the shirt that’s beginning to stick to his skin. “Don’t even try t’act like you didn’t have fun.”  

“Well, yeaah, but now m’sooo tired and gross and I need to shower and…” she yawns around the rest of the words; hand on his bicep for balance while she kicks off her shoes. 

“Don’t— don’t need to worry ‘bout that, told you I’d help you out, yeah?” he slurs, already beginning to tug down the zipper of her dress.  

“Nooo…can’t shower yet. Need to take m’makeup off first,” she blabbers, brows pulling together as if he’s just committed some heinous crime, making him roll his eyes before he’s searching through her vanity for makeup remover.  

And despite her drowsy resistance about wanting to shower alone, Rafe manages to drag her into the bathroom (after wiping her face clean) anyway — the thermal water soaking through her fatigued limbs feeling entirely too good for her to push him away when he corners her behind the shower curtain, its printed seashells beginning to twirl against the cream-colored material when she stares at them for too long. 

And she’s almost starting to believe he’s truly doing all of this for altruistic purposes; thoroughly washing her hair for her and making sure to coat the strands with a generous amount of conditioner afterwards.

But when his soapy palms mindlessly glide along the wet skin on her tummy— inching closer and closer towards her tits, she realizes that she was wrong. However, she’s far too out of it to care, and upon noticing the fact, he’s letting his eager paws grope at the squishy flesh; covering them in the foamy shower gel in the process.  

Only when his thumb is smoothing over a sensitive nipple, does she blink away the haziness blurring the lines of what a brother should and shouldn’t do to his sister. And at first, her dozy complaint doesn’t even reach his ears because he’s entirely too focused on the way her tits fit perfectly in the palms of his hands, wondering how it would feel to—  

“Rafe…can you not do that?” she suddenly takes a tentative step back.  

“Hm? Jus’ makin’ sure you feel all nice ‘n clean,” he drawls out, seemingly confused before he’s tugging her closer with a hold on her waist. “Can you wash my hair next?” he pleads; an abrupt attempt to distract her intoxicated brain. 

“I can barely stand and you want me to wash your hair? Can’t even reach your head when you’re a fucking giant.”  

But when he leans down for her, she reluctantly begins to lather the shampoo into his roots— gaining a delighted grunt from the back of his throat when her fingers absentmindedly dig into his scalp. However, with the new position, he’s now eye-level with her tits; soap bubbles and water droplets trickling down the smooth skin, and with his thoughts muddled, he’s unable to resist the allure for very long before he’s gravitating towards them.  

“Rafe, stoop,” she stumbles backwards when she feels the flat of his tongue laving over the valley of her breasts.

“M’sorry.” But he doesn’t seem all that sorry, not when he looks up at her under his lashes, offering her an inebriated grin— something nauseating coiling in her belly in response.  

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When they finally make it out of the shower, he insists on patting her dry, the foggy mirror saving her the absolute mortification of having to watch her brother’s eyes skim across the expanse of her bare skin during the unnecessarily long process.  

“Let me take care of m’favorite sister, yeah?” he croons when he’s tugging down the hem of her sleep shirt afterwards — a shirt that just so happens to be stolen from him, the worn fabric apparently softer than anything of her own.  

She’s unsure as to why he’s suddenly being so nice, but she’s not exactly complaining when his uncharacteristically gentle fingertips daub her face with her night cream when they sit down on her bed— making sure to rub the moisturizer into her forehead as well. And she thinks he almost looks cute like this; brows furrowed in concentration, flicking her nose with a sleepy smile when he’s finished.   

“That smells so fuckin’ good,” he groans after applying a layer of chapstick to her lips; his heady gaze fixed on the action of her rubbing them together, something she’s too dozy to notice.

“I know, right? I looove anything vanilla-scented,” she gushes over the product while placing the rest of the skincare on her nightstand.  

“Can I— uh, try it?” his question sounds innocent enough, but she should know better.  

“Of course,” the naive girl fully expects him to uncap the lip balm once more but instead, he’s suddenly grabbing her jaw into his massive hands and pressing his mouth against hers— swallowing her surprised squeak before she’s quickly pulling away.   

“Rafe, you promised you weren’t gonna do that anymore,” she whines, but the way her button-eyes blink up at him — the betrayal so tangible — lures him in to do it again; smearing their mouths together with a satisfied hum before she’s shoving at his shoulder.  

“Ray, m’serious, it was one time,” she lets out an annoyed huff.  

“Calm down, m’lips were jus’ dry, alright?”  

“You could’ve just— nevermind, m’too tired for this right now,” her attempts at putting some much needed space between them prove to be futile when he just follows her under the covers— acting as if he doesn’t hear her muttering how he should sleep in his own bed for a change.  

“Listen, m’sorry, okay? Don’t like when you’re mad at me,” he ignores her protests and nestles his face into her neck, nose soon nudging her throat and eliciting a somnolent giggle from her. 

“Ray, stop. You’re being annoying,” she tries to swat his hands away when his fingers suddenly begin to poke and prod at her sides because he knows how ticklish she is.  

“Yeah? Tell me you forgive me then.” 

Involuntary laughter bubbles from her chest when she shakes her head and squirms in his arms— desperately trying to wriggle away, but he’s much stronger and she’s no match. And when she grows even louder, he’s forced to slap his palm over her mouth to muffle the noise.

“Shut up, Sarah’s gonna wake up ‘n tell dad we were out late again,” he hisses, suddenly remembering how his other sister is sleeping on the other side of the wall, nonetheless continuing his attack when she attempts to escape once more.

“Stop tickling me then,” she manages out between fits of laughter, uncomfortably writhing in his hold because she hates when he does this. However, she quickly realizes he’s not planning on stopping anytime soon, and the feeling is quickly turning into something unbearable, more or less forcing her to finally let out a sigh in defeat. “Okay, okay, I forgive you— whatever, jus’ let me sleep.” 

His breathy chuckle fans the expanse of her neck before he finally relents, but when she tries to shift away from him, he merely tucks her closer against his naked chest; large palm slipping under the hem of her shirt to splay over the expanse of her stomach to keep her right where she is.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs into her hair, tone suddenly desperate, needy. It makes her swallow around the knotted coil in her throat before she reluctantly gives up altogether— entirely too exhausted to put up a fight when sleep is already dragging her into its dreamy embrace and she feels so warm like this.

[arbitrarykiwi]

Third Times a Charm: Oral Fixation 2/3

Nam-Gyu (Player 124) x AFAB reader smut series

Summary: you ran into him three separate times. First was at a party, second time was at a club. And like his favorite drugs, he was addicted. The third time? Well he wasn’t going to let you get away so easy. Third times a charm and he was going to get his fix. ((Non-squid games au))

Warnings: Smut (18+), LONG (y'all.. I went over board: 6.4k words), id say this is significantly more debauched than the first chapter, alcohol use, drug use, substance mixing, stalker! Nam-Gyu themes (he finds your info online), porn with plot (long intro, there is a divider added for convenience if you wish to skip to the fuckin') , oral (m receiving), choking, dirty talk, name calling ((this chap. is significantly more gendered than the first one)) (pretty girl, good girl, whore and slut used once), face fucking, sugar daddy! Nam-Gyu themes, spitting, cum play, breath play, he’s nasty- got a filthy mouth on him, brief mention of death threats (he threatens somebody for interrupting y'all), proof read but I am dyslexic, there's prolly more- read at your own risk

Previous chapter: Taste Test 1/3

Next chapter: Bodytalk 3/3

AN: gonnna be so real yall, music inspo for this fic is São Paulo ft. Anitta by The Weekend…if you wanna read it with the fic be my guest 😋 (best time to start it is when yall meet again in da club)

The second time you ran into him was at a club.

It has been about two weeks since your interaction with him. Nam-Gyu. To say that he was all you thought about would be putting it lightly. The thought, the feel, the scent of him, was all you could think about.

Figuring with just a name to go off of and the drugged out crowd you often hung around, your luck of finding him was slim to none. You tried to search him up, nothing. All searches took you to was links about a ‘Club Pentagon’.

You tried to go out with some men, often finding yourself repulsed anytime they put your hands on you. Pushing them away and calling a cab to just go back home and get yourself off. None of those guys seemed worth your time- you’d just be thinking about him anyway.

His hands felt better. His lips felt better. He felt better.

You found yourself in your room, with a half smoked blunt hanging between your fingers as you scrolled through social media aimlessly. While scrolling you watched as a notification popped up at the top of your screen, your phone resonating a ‘ping’- a text from your friend asking you to go out to, none other than, Club Pentagon. You clicked the notification with a speed you didn’t know you had.

A reply is sent quick, agreeing to meet her at the club in a few hours. You stood up off your bed, taking a drag of the blunt you rolled- getting ready or not, you can’t waste it!

In the span of a couple hours you got ready, dolling yourself up in the best outfit you could think of. One of your favorite dresses, the one that was just a little too short but fit oh so perfect. You hope by some grace of the universe- he’s there. And with the chance that he may be there…you wanted to take a little extra time with your makeup.

After finishing off your blunt, taking more than a couple shots, and a excecuting perfect face of makeup- you’re calling a taxi with a nice buzz and making your way to Club Pentagon.

The night is cool when you step out the taxi. You pay and thank the cab driver, turning to find your friends in the long line of people. It doesn’t take long, they find you. They yell your name from the crowd, excitedly pulling you into the line. “God damn!! You look good!” One of your friends cheers, you laugh and give a little twirl. The group you find yourself in catches up, chatting, while walking slowly with the line of people waiting in queue for the club.

Soon you make it to the entrance, a large bouncer stands near a velvet rope that block the front door of the club. The large neon sign sporting the words ‘Club Pentagon’ flash a vibrant pint that illuminated the area outside the club.

Your group begins filling into a small cluster behind the velvet rope, waiting by the entrance for the rest of the group before heading into the club. Your friend in front of you passed the bouncer, adjusting her pink wristband sporting ‘21+’. It was the usual band bars around here used to signify the person wearing it was of age to drink.

You hand your ID to the bouncer patiently waiting to be let into the club. The bouncer looks to you then to your ID, he seems to re-read it then looks back up to you. “Wait here.” He tells you, stepping away. You look to your friend with a quirked eyebrow, wondering what the hold up is.

Your friend laughs, cupping her hands around her mouth and calling out to the bouncer. “She’s of age officer I swear!!” You reach over to swat her arm to get her to stop. “Bitch c’mon! For one, he’s not an officer. Two, that’s literally what someone with a fake ID would say.” You laugh, already tipsy from the pregame.

The bouncer returns with a chuckle at your friend’s antics. “Not worried ‘bout that girls.” He says to you and your friend with a jovial laugh. “Your name was familiar, saw it on the VIP list.” The bouncer says, to only you this time, placing a lime green wristband on your wrist, on it the acronym ‘VIP’ is printed around the entirety of the paper bracelet.

“Huh?” You say incredulously, you haven’t even been to this club before and you sure wouldn’t pay for a VIP band yourself. You look to your friend group, wondering if they had something to do with it. Their faces mimicked yours, confused, so they obviously had nothing to do with this.

“This must be a mistake- I didn’t pay for this.” You say not wanting to get overcharged. “No mistake Ma’am. One of our club promoters put you on the list personally.” He says opening the red suede rope to let you into the building.

You’re confused, you don’t know any club promoters. But you nod, in thanks to the bouncer as you join your friends. You are still wildly perplexed but not complaining- it’s a free all you can drink ticket! Your friends ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ at you as you walk in with them.

“Which club promoter’s dick did ya suck to get that~” Your friend teases leaning into you, you laugh and shake your head. “Genuinely…no one’s. I have never been here before….the covers always been too high.” You say, your eyes scanning the grand entrance of the club- chandeliers covered the ceilings, various colored lasers reflecting off of the diamonds and dispersing into colored rays that flood the floor.

“Ohhh??? A secret admirer??!!” Your friends giggle as you make your way to the bar. You laugh her off, shaking your leaning on the bar. “For real I can’t imagine who would put me on the list…” You shrug as you all order your first round of drinks.

In your head you’re trying to find any possible reasoning. It’s couldn’t be him, could it?

Anytime you looked up his name, and you typed out those six letters more times than you could count over the weeks, he never came up….but this club that you find yourself at - Club Pentagon- did. Was he a club promoter here? Was he the club promoter that put you on the expensive VIP list?! Even if he was…you didn’t give him your name the last time you saw him. You were pulled away from him before you could even thank him for the mindblowing orgasm he gave you, let alone give him your name.

Your eyes darted around the place, examining the club that you never bothered to come to. Sure the cover was expensive but as you see the extravagant decoration, multiple stages lit up with flashing, multi-colored panels, and intricate carved marble columns throughout the place- the price seemed worth it.

You make good use of the VIP wristband, ordering rounds of shots that were covered by the lime green piece of paper that’s on your wrist. But you still can’t stop thinking of who would have put you on the list.

With the free VIP bracelet came an exclusive area within the club, a small lounge area that was one of many within the establishment. Each VIP with a bracelet and their group got one.

So there you found yourself, getting ready to head to the dance floor after spending some time on the plush leather couch of the sectioned off area.

You can’t count how many shots you’ve taken at the VIP table but you were feeling great. Your friends excitedly stood up, hearing one of their favorite songs come on. You laughed, standing with them to begin to head to the dance floor.

Your friends practically ran to the dance floor, leaving you there laughing at just how fast they made it- drunk and in heels nonetheless. Just when you’re about to leave your table you hear someone clear their throat.

You turn immediately to the person, your eyes widening. “Nam-gyu!” You say with a smile, walking over to him. He’s dressed to the nines, a black suit, a red undershirt that’s unbuttoned revealing his collarbones. He’s leaning against one of the columns that had intricate carvings on it.

He smiles, taking a drag from a blunt that he had. “Well, seems like you finally took advantage of your VIP privileges I gave you.” He says with a wicked grin. Under the flashing lights he looks like a snake ready to strike, it’s alluring in ways you can’t even put into words.

You gravitate towards him, your eyebrows raising as you realize he was the one to give you this VIP pass. “You’re the mysterious club promotor who gave me the VIP?” You question as you walk to him. You come close to him, standing in front of him- looking up at him.

He nods, looking you over like he’s a predator ready to catch his prey. His hand reaches out and dances along your arm in a light motion. You watch as his eyes take all of you in, his teeth catch the corner of his bottom lip. His chest heaves as he takes in a deep breath. You don’t know it but all he can think of is the way your cunt felt around his fingers and the way your cum tasted on his tongue. “Put your name on the list personally.” He responds.

“How’d you-“ You begin to say. He cuts you off, pulling you closer into him by the small of your back. “Find your name?” He says, almost mocking the way you’re sure you would have asked it. It’s a demeaning, taunting tone that does nothing to help the growing warmth in your lower stomach. You nod in response, swallowing thickly as his hand runs down the curve of your ass to grip at flesh.

He laughs, guiding you into the rhythm of the music. The hand that wasn’t gripping your ass held a lit blunt. He brought it up to his mouth and took a long drag. As he does, he doesn’t look away from you. His dark eyes are lit up in an orange hue as the cherry of the blunt rages when he draws in a hit. He drops his hand to his side again.

Smoke rolls out of his mouth in smooth streams as he looks down at you and grins. “Sweetheart, s’not that hard….” He drawls on, leaning down closer to you. A devious smirk spreads across his lips. “I didn’t just get your name, I found your phone number and address too.” He rasps, pulling back after his words to look at you.

He has a mischievous, almost wicked glint in his eyes that has you spinning. You should be freaked out, fighting against him for being some sort of crazed stalker- but you don’t. You keep grinding against him, your hands finding purchase around his neck.

Your eyes scan his, wide and trying to figure out what to do. ‘Cute’ he thinks. It was like your common sense was fighting your desire for him, and it was a battle he loved to watch. “You knew where I lived and had my number…why didn’t you-“

He cuts you off with a squeeze of your ass, once again, his ringed fingers gripping into the flesh as if you’d run away. He brings his hand up in between you two, holding the blunt so that it faces you. You can taste the wrap on your lips.

You look up at him through your lashes in a way that makes him want to forget pleasantries and fuck you here and now. But he restrains himself- nodding his head towards the blunt, his eyes never leaving yours.

When your lips wrap around the blunt and suck in the smoke, you can hear him hiss. He speaks through gritted teeth. “There you go….” He rasps. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He says, it’s a tone that makes you melt, you can hear the hunger in his voice, speaking through gritted teeth as if he was fighting himself from ruining you on the spot.

When you release the blunt and let the smoke billow out of your lips he speaks again, “You’re right,” he says, finally beginning to answer your question, grinning down at you. “I could have texted or showed up to your apartment…” He says as he spins you around against him, pressing your back into his toned chest.

“But I’m not some stalker..” He hums into your ear, hand hands all over you. “..so I just put you, my pretty little thing, on the VIP list. Hoping that you and your group of friends would show up here.” He hums in a low timbre that sends goosebumps up your skin.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you look back over your shoulder to at him.

“How could you have been so sure I would have came here?” You say your hand reaching back around him to entangle your fingers in his hair. You find yourself inhaling his cologne, even with significantly less drugs in your system than when you first met him- the scent is just as intoxicating.

“I wasn’t sure. In all honesty if I had to wait any longer I would have showed up on your door step.” He says, the tone in his voice tells you he’s not lying.

And it just makes you hotter.

“But there’s no need to think about that..you’re here now.” He breathes into your ear, his free hand that wasn’t holding the blunt, moving inwards from your waist, traveling down your stomach to grip at the inside of your thighs.

Wherever his hands go, they leave a trail of white hot fire, the only solace is the small cool sensation from the metal rings adorning his fingers. You arch into him, a small gasp coming out of your mouth at his fingers digging into your thighs, just centimeters away from where you needed them most.

“I was thinking about you…” You squeak out in a weak attempt to respond to him. “Tried to look you up.” You say, your breath hitching, breaking up your words into pathetic syllables as you feel him drag your ass against his growing hard on.

Maybe it was the way you were more coherent, less drugs in your system this time meeting him- or maybe it was the thin fabric of your dress leaving nothing to the imagination as he pressed against you- or maybe it was the way his fingers left you a shaking mess during your last meeting so you couldn’t pay attention - but you swore you could feel his erection against your back better than the last time you had an encounter with him.

And he was thick.

He laughs, the vibration tickling at the skin of your neck. “I’m not one to run around with the best crowd, sweetheart. Don’t need people findin’ me so easy.”

He puts the blunt out in a swift motion on an ashtray nearby. His one hand remains on your hip, the one now free from the blunt runs up your back.

He pushes, causing you to bend over in front of him. It’s raunchy, it’s debauched but you let it happen. His hand continues its path up your back to grip the hair at the base of your neck. The way your hips move in tandem is sinful. Your dress has long since bunched up above your ass, allowing his cock that strains against his pants to rub against your clothed cunt in the most delicious way possible.

You’re bent over in front of him, one of his hands tangled in your hair while the other continues the rhythmic sway of your ass against his erection.

“But I had no worry, I’d knew you’d find me eventually…huh, pretty girl?” He has with a scoff in his voice. “Like you said, been thinking about me….” He growls, his hand that’s in your hair pulls you back against him in a rough movement. You can feel the way his clothed cock is spreading your pussy, allowing the tent in his pants grind up against your clit.

A whine is pulled out of your throat as you press yourself back against him even more. Your head nodding in reply to his words. A low groan resides him his throat has he throws his head back, basking in the feeling of how warm his dick feels pressed against your clothed pussy. The slow grind of your body against his is in time with the music. The loud thrum of the bass only serving to make every moment of this even better.

He pulls you back up by your hair, the arm on your hip wrapping around your torso and caging you into him. “Y’know…I played your little game last time, fair and square. I’d say I impressed you at that little party, wouldn’t you?” He says into your ear as he shifts his hips upwards, deliberately dragging his clothed cock up into you, the only thing keeping him from sinking into your velvety walls was your underwear and his pants.

You let out a choked gasp, feeling yourself clench around nothing. It was embarrassing, yet again, how quick he could get you to come undone. Your lip catches on your bottom lip as you try to grind down into his motions.

His hand releases from your hair and comes up to grip your jaw. “Answer me. Use your words.” He says, his breath ticking your ear. The low growl of his voice is smooth but devilish, a warning. You can feel the way his chest heaves with heavy breaths against your back. A sing that you had just as much of an effect on him that he had on you.

“Y-you did. You impressed me.” You say desperately your words slurred by his hand that grips your jaw. His grip loosens, his head dropping to your neck. His lips dance along your pulse point, tongue leaving a warm, wet trail along the column of your throat to under your ear.

“So then you should agree that I should get a nice little reward, for being so gracious, even after you cheated at your own little game?” He says, his lips tickling your ear. You nod frantically, reaching behind you to palm his erection over his slacks to prove a point of how desperately you needed him.

He growls into your ear, spinning you around to face him before smashing his lips on yours. You whine against him, reciprocating the kiss with equal desperation.

You don’t even realize when he leads you down a hall in a feverish mess of kissing. Your back is pressed against a closed door before he hastily fumbles with the knob.

You both stumble into office in the back of the Club Pentagon- being one of its top promoters had its perks of a private office and Nam-Gyu was going to use it.

It’s a fast paced mess of tongue and teeth. You find yourself turned pressed up against the door, closing it with a soft thud. His hands remove themselves from your waist, coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs rest on your cheeks while his pinky’s are nestled right under your ears. He pulls you to him, as is he’s trying to merge you into him.

His tongue explores your mouth in a skilled way that has your mind melting. You whine against him as he bites your bottom lip. Your hands work in clumsy, jittery movements to unbuckle his belt. He chuckles against you, finding your feeble attempt to rid him of his pants endearing.

He breaks this kiss, his forehead pressed to yours as his hands trail up your sides to your chest, stopping to grope at your breasts. “Eager are we?” He chuckles against your lips.

You kiss him again, the taste of his lips addictive. Pulling away to pout, looking up at him as your hands dance along the buckle of his belt. “Yes. And so what if I am?”

He grins, laughing at your words, his hands that massage your breasts slow their ministrations. His thumbs being to work against your nipples under your shirt. He brushes his thumbs over them in feather light touches, relishing in the feeling of your nipples beginning to harden under his touch. When your breath catches in your chest and you arch into him, he scoffs. “Pretty and sensitive…I’m going to have fun with you.” He says in a degrading tone, enjoying the small hint of an attitude you had being subbed out so quickly by him playing with your nipples.

He kisses you again fervently, hands removing themselves from under your bra to push you backwards by your hips. Your knees buckle when you hit a piece of furniture.

You fall to a sitting position onto a small couch in the room, whining when your lips part from his. He comes close to you, standing between your legs and looking down at you.

His eyes are dark. His hair was tousled, some strands still pushed back with whatever product he used to style it while others fall over his face. He smiles down at you, his hands running over your shoulders, along the sides of your neck to cradle your head.

His hands move up into your hair, tangling into the strands and cranking your neck back to look up at him. He moves even closer. Your chin is touching his lower stomach, forcing you to hold his gaze as he grinds his erection that is painfully hard against in his pants against your neck.

He looks down at you as if you’re a goddess in a renaissance painting. “Aren’t you just a sight…” he muses. His hands leg go of your hair, his warning gaze is enough to keep you in place. One of his hands comes up, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

You do it almost instinctively, wrapping your lips around his thumb. Eyes never leaving his as your tongue swirls around the pad of his finger.

His eyebrows raise, the breath he sucks in has your pussy clenching around nothing. “Oh…” He drawls on in a low amused hum. His eyes don’t leave your lips, it’s like he’s transfixed on where his thumb disappears into your warm mouth. “You’re fucking dangerous…” He muses in a low rumble. You can feel the way he grinds his erection into you throat as his thumb massages your tongue.

“C’mon then, I need to be inside your fucking mouth.” He growls, removing his finger from your mouth and quickly getting rid of pants and boxers. He doesn’t even have the patience to rid himself of his clothes, simply pushing them down to his knees.

His cock falls free from its confines and lands heavily in front of you, the tip smacking against your lips with a hearty sound.

Taken aback, you grip the base of his dick with one of your hands pulling your head back to look at it. It’s thick, long, the tip an angry red. The dark hairs at the base trail up his stomach in the most tantalizing line.

He hisses at the contact, you can feel it twitch in your hand. “Please, sweetheart…I’m dying…” He says, an upward cadence to his voice but his words are muffled. You look up from his cock, confused and when your eyes trail up his toned stomach to his face, your mouth is dry.

It’s a beautiful view. He has his red dress shirt is pulled up and out of the way by his teeth. His hair is disheveled, falling around his face and framing it in small shadows. His eyebrows are upturned, watching you- more specifically your mouth in a frenzied look, pleading for you to continue. His sleeves are rolled up revealing tattoos on his forearms that decorate his skin in intricate lines of black and grey.

How could you say no to him?!

Your mouth parts in a slow movement, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. You place his cock on your tongue, smacking the angry tip against your tongue a couple times. Each time, you see his stomach clench as the warm wet feeling of your tongue met his dick.

He watches as you lick him from base to tip, stoping to wrap your plush lips on his the tip of cock. It’s a tease for the feeling of heaven that is your mouth because soon you release him, running your tongue along the underside of dick. The sounds he’s making are sinful, low moans and groans of your name that has your thighs pressing together to ease the ache in your cunt.

He groans, taking his shirt out of his mouth and holing it in one of his hands. His other one makes its way to the back of your head, fisting your hair and yanking your head back.

“Enough of this teasing, sweet thing. You’re still the same slut that let me finger her on the dance floor weeks ago…so you’re gonna act like it, yeah?” He says looking down at you as he begins to jerk his cock over your face.

You smile, it’s a sight that has him gripping his dick tighter. Your mouth drops open, you nod. “That’s right…” he coos, shaking your head by the grip in your hair. “Stick your tongue out.” He demands, punctuating his words by tightening his grip on your hair.

You obey, lolling your tongue out, never breaking eye contact. He leans over you, making you watch as he sucks and then spits into your mouth. You moan out when you feel the taste of his saliva hit your tongue, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in ecstasy. “Swallow.” He demands again. “And fucking look at me when you do it.” He says through gritted teeth.

You open your eyes again, watching him continue to pump his thick cock over your face. You obey, closing your mouth and swallowing his saliva. Your gaze locked to his and its filthy. He stands over you, one hand on the back of your head, the other twisting around his length as he watches you swallow.

“Ohhh….” He coos, his eyebrows knitted together in an upturned expression as he watches you. “That’s it….” He says, taking a step closer to rub the tip of his dick over your plush lips. He grins down at you, his dark eyes trained on you as you stick your tongue back out, running it on the underside of his thick length.

“I don’t even have to ask? Y’know just what to do, huh? How fucking filthy you are…” He mocks in a condescending tone. His hips thrust forward just the tiniest bit, pushing the angry tip of his cock between your lips before pulling out. His eyes trained on the way your lips move around the ridge of his cock-head.

He hisses out a shuddering breath, biting his lip before speaking again, this time his tone drastically different- it’s softer. “You look so pretty like this..” He says in a soft hum, his hand brushing your hair back out of your face in a strangely comforting manner.

He surges his hips forward more, sinking his cock into your mouth. The sound he lets out is sinful. You look up, his head is thrown back, his hand clenching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip. “O-oh fuck…” He hisses.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, your tongue beginning to memorize every vein along his length. He isn’t quiet, he’s obscene. Every time you move your head up and down his cock he’s chanting praises followed by moans that fuel the wetness that pools in your underwear. You’re sure by this point it’s staining the fabric of the couch you sit on.

His head saga to the side, his eyes back on you. “You can do b-better than that. I know you can.” He says, panting between word, a degrading tone lacing his voice.

He moans as he feels you begin to work harder, your hand coming up to stroke at the length that you didn’t have in your mouth. His hand that’s at the back of your head moves to the side, the hand that’s holds his shirt drops the fabric to mirror his other hand.

Both hands on either side of your skull, he smirks down at you, panting. “You can take it.” He says with a chuckle, it wasn’t a suggestion.

You moan around him at his words, only spurring him on to press you down his length. As your lips inch down his cock he groans, indulging him self in the warm, wet, solace that was your mouth.

He keeps his eyes trained on you, watching as spit begins to spill at the corners of your mouth, creating a ring around his cock every time he pulled your head back and forth. He was simply addicted.

“This….” He’s cut off as you straighten your tongue out, allowing him to begin to sink in the tightness of your throat. “O-oh f-fuck….” He shudders out through clenched teeth, the words aggressive. “T-this is so much better than any fucking drug I’ve done.” He huffs out.

His hands continue to press down. His head falling backwards once more as he uses your mouth. When the head of his cock finally slips past the tight ring of your throat he lets out a moan that is so wicked it has you echoing him. You let out a sound that is between a gag and a moan, it’s debauched. Porn worthy.

His head snaps back forward watching you with a dark look. When he sees that you don’t pull away, and instead look up at him- taking more of him in your throat without the push of his hands- he laughs. It’s a soft sound, one of awe, shock and pride.

“Takin’ me so well…so fuckin’ well.” He says, punctuating his words by returning his hands to the back of your head forcing you all the way down. With your nose pressed into the coarse hairs of his pubic bone your eyes roll back into your skull as you gag and choke around him.

One of the hands on your head drops to your throat, cradling it- feeling where his cock was nestled. Your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, the restriction of air leaving your pussy practically weeping onto the couch.

He pulls back, his cock pulling out of your throat in a messy string of saliva and his pre-cum. You gasp and cough, looking up at him with watery eyes. “Y-you’re so big…” you choke out in a raspy whine. He looks down at you with a pout, rubbing his hand over your lips, smearing your spit on your face.

“I know, pretty. But you can take it, yeah?” He says, his hand stopping at your cheek, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle. “Mhm.” You say with a nod leaning into his hand.

He smiles down at you, his hands returning to their position to cradle your head. “Gonna let me cum down your throat like my good whore, huh?” He says, the words down right depraved but he has such a soft and sweet tone it has your brain spinning.

You nod, mouth opening again, tongue stuck out- waiting so patiently for him.

The rapid pace is set instantly. His cock enters your mouth, instantly sliding to the back of your mouth. His cock bullies its way down your throat relentlessly. You swear your throat is going to be permanently molded to the shape of his dick. Your tongue flattens more, licking against his balls every time he sinks you to the base of his cock.

“F-fuck, your fucking throat is so tight.” He almost chokes out, his hands working your face against his cock at a meteoric speed. Any time he felt you gag, it just made him fuck your face harder- and you loved it.

He looks down at you, his head lolled to the size, his gaze hazy. “I needa cum in y-your throat so bad..” he says in almost a pleading whine. The desperate hitch to his voice has your eyebrows turning up and eyes rolling back. You moan and gag around him, an attempt to spur him on.

“S’gonna feel so good, balls deep in your fucking throat.” He rambles, his breathing becoming heavier and his thrusts sloppier. “And you’re gonna swallow it all.” He mumbles, more to himself than you but you moan in agreement. A few more thrusts is all he needed before he’s nearing his limit

“I’m going to fucking c-cum…” he chokes out, in a growl, his hands twisting into your hair, forcing your all the way down his cock- holding you at the base, tongue lapping desperately at his balls. He hunches over you, pressing you deeper into him in ways you didn’t think was possible.

You feel it in an instant, the warm spurts of cum that flow out of him, his hips thrusting in shallow movements as he milks his cock in your throat. Despite gagging and choking around him, you swallow, greedily, trying your best not to waste any last drop.

He pulls you off of him, a filthy web of your saliva and his cum connecting his dick to your lips. You choke and gasp, catching your breath. When you find it, you look to him. He’s smiling wide.

“Damn….” He says, his hand that’s not on your head swipes between you two, collecting some of the fluids that string the two of you together. “Messy lil thing aren’t ya?” He hums, bringing his fingers up to his lips to suck the mixture of your saliva and his cum off his fingers.

You giggle, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Not my fault you cum so much.” You tease back. He laughs again hands coming to hold your face, “Uh actually yeah it is…you I think you sucked the soul outta me…” he says, leaning down to kiss you.

It’s messy, but he takes his time, his lips moving in a soft rhythm against yours- almost as if it’s a thanks for the orgasm you gave him.

He pulls back, his hands working to readjust your dress and smooth out your hair. His thumb even swipes under your eyes- a feeble attempt to fix your makeup- but an attempt nonetheless.

You jump when you hear a loud knock on the door, you gasp- knocking the door was unlocked. Nam-Gyu moves himself completely in front of you- shielding you from the door if whoever was knocking happened to barge in. “S’okay.” He soothes, looking back to you. “Locked or not these fucking dumbasses know not to enter in here without me telling them to.” He says with a grin. You giggle, your fingernails still lightly raking against his thighs.

“Hey!” Someone shouts, then another round of knocks. “We got an issue that requires your help out here, boss.” The individual calls. Nam-Gyu groans. “Can it fucking wait?” He calls over his shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No can do! People out back are trying to lowball us for this batch.” The man calls back. Nam-Gyu looks to the door then back to you. “‘m sorry, princess. Gonna have to take a rain check…” He says, a genuine look of upset in his eyes as he realizes he’s going to have to depart from you.

He reaches down to pull you to stand, kissing you once more. This time it’s slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your lips. You sigh into the kiss, the feeling of his lips on yours makes your body light up in ways you’ve never felt.

He pulls away, working to pull up his pants and boxers, tucking his semi-hard cock into his pants. You look at his cock, pouting, pressing your thighs together. He looks up to you, then down to your thighs. “‘M sorry sweetness, next time it’s all about you. Consider it the last of your payback for leaving me hanging the first time we met.” He says, taking a step back towards you, his hand coming to the back of your neck, pulling you to him and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You coming boss??” The voice calls impatiently from behind the door. “For fucks sake!! Yes. Give me a damn minute.” He yells over his shoulder.

“Wait I don’t have your number. I’m not going to find you again” You say, eyebrows knitted in a worried expression- you lost him once and with dick this good- you couldn’t lose him again.

He finishes up buckling his belt, looking to the wall and into the cracked and dirty mirror that hung there to straighten up his hair. Another loud knock comes at the door. “I’ll be there in a fucking second!” He seethes at the door. “Knock again and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” He yells in an enraged voice. His face twisted in an annoyed and enraged scowl- a genuine hatred in his eyes that has you scared. The way he was saying it showed that if another knock came, there would be someone’s blood painting the wall.

However, when he turns around to you his face immediately softens. He hurries over to you, his hands cupping your face and shaking his head. “Not gonna have to worry about that, sweet thing.” He coos, brushing your hair, helping to smooth out the evidence of how much he just wrecked you. “I have your number, remember. Promise I’ll text you.” He says with a grin, kissing you once more.

He pulls away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. He hands you a couple 20’s. “You get home safe. Cabs on me.” He says looking at the bills in your hand before shrugging, placing even more 20’s down into the pile- way more than what you needed for cab fair. “And tomorrow get yourself a gift- on me as well.” He says winking.

Before you can respond he’s walking over to the door of his office and whipping the door open, yelling at the person who was knocking for not having any patience. He pushes the individual who was knocking back from the door way immediately so they wouldn’t see you in your less than appropriate form.

You stand there, heart thudding in your chest as you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. You open your phone to many missed messages and calls from your friends. Gathering your things, you call them as you walk out to hail a cab- ready to relay all the details about who exactly gave you the VIP wristband.

Tag List: @heyitsayjayy , @chxrrybomb22 , @ziallgff , @ametheslime , @hornyfordaryldixon (( let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for the last part <3 ))

[solbaby7]

I love the idea of the drink menu for the requests! It's brilliant ✨️

Could I please get an Old Fashioned, salt rim, neat? Take your time 💋

[ “no, no, leave your clothes on for me.” + smut + az ]

thank you so much for the request and being patient with me 💕💕the vibe of this one is giving situationship that yearns to be more, been watching too much scandal🫣

-> BLURB BAR <-

—

You’d learned pretty early on in life that asking for forgiveness was better than begging for permission.

It was just easier, usually made things less complicated which is why you significantly downplay the importance of the dress purchase that had half a dozen seamstresses prattling about your bedchambers. One of them promptly shoos Azriel away once they notice him eyeing the divider you strip behind, ushering him up and out of the doorway. He’s adjusting his pants when the door shuts behind him, vividly recalling the glimpse all that tight fabric and the way it cinches at your waist, accentuating the full curves concealed beneath. It leaves him hungry; wanting—salivating like starved wolves that scavenge through the Middle for mere scraps.

“Hot date?”

Azriel’s brows furrow, still a little dizzy from the sight of you and your lingering scent; his body annoyingly attuned to your own. “No, why?”

Rhys lazily points in the direction of your room, eyes trained on the array of chilled whiskeys at the bar cart before him. “The dress she’s wearing is designer—exclusive; one of a kind. Need to book an appointment a year in advance as well as having a good word with the owner type exclusive.”

“So?”

“So,” Polished crystal clacks heavily against metal, one, two, three ice cubes fall inside before a hefty pour of some smoky whiskey that’s been sitting around longer than you’d been alive. “They don’t sell a single dress without taking specific measurements for alterations, making multiple appointments for fittings.” The lack of response makes Rhys turn, fingers brushing at the crease in his dress shirt as he takes his brother in. Hazel eyes are clouded with curiosity, a million possibilities being pinned up on a board as the hunter within him collects pieces of a puzzle. “My point is, no male in his right mind lets the woman he wants go out in a dress like that without having some sort of claim on her first.”

Suddenly, it makes sense why people of power are urged to be of sound mind; to have a level head so that advice like that didn’t send one into a spiral.

Azriel quickly learns that he is not of sound mind. A harsh truth that he realizes seconds after Rhys leaves him alone to settle with those words. They echo in his brain, repeating in his mind like some curse that’s dead set on haunting him.

Sure, the two of you hadn’t exactly put a title on all the secret moments spent scuffling off to some dark corner for a few frenzied kisses. The times where group nights at Rita’s leaves two bodies disappearing out back for his hands to hike up some skimpy dress enough to get a good grip of your ass. But that alone had to count for something at least, didn’t it?

No way some other male would get the chance to see you how Azriel did, right? His hands twitch at the uncertainty—jealousy lighting a fire in his ass that has him bee-lining it to your room like he fucking owns the place.

It’s almost comical, the way your door bounces off the wall under the pressure of his palm once he’s finally reached it. Too bad he’s too honed in on his target to take in the true humor of six attentive ladies shooting daggers at the towering interruption that keeps making your arms fidget or hips shift while they try to work. “Az?”

“We need to talk.”

“Oh, can it wait? They’re nearly finished with the—“

“No, I’m sorry. It needs to be now, it’s urgent.” Shadows are already following their masters will, urging the ladies out of the room and into the hall, the door shutting before their disgruntled words could breech the barrier. He turns, a speech brewing at the tip of his tongue but it all goes blank when he looks at you—really looks at you. “Wow, you look….wow.”

You preen under the attention, one arm holding up the bodice as you give him a spin. “I just knew when I saw it, it had to be mine.” There’s a few loose threads, buttons waiting in a little dish to the side to be sewn on properly but he gets the gist. Fully understands the intent of such fabrics when he sees it holding onto the shape of your curves. “Fits like a glove.”

“I can see that.” Grace is granted when you fully return to face the mirror, too entranced in the little details to even notice the way Azriel eats up the picture you paint. All soft lines and pretty shadows casted by the flickery golden light emitting from the candles you favor. Warm notes of vanilla and honeysuckle fill his nose and he commits every bit to memory; latching on to whatever he can of you. “A little skimpy for Starfall, don’t you think? Or is there a matching coat I’m not seeing?”

The cutting look you throw his way is felt through the reflective glass. “I’d never waste a dress like this on a familial event.” A neat brow raises as you carry on with your hair, hands holding it in a pony. Twisting it into a neat bun. Letting it all free and tousling it messily, lips pouting at the sexy bed head texture it creates.

“Then, what’s it for?”

“To get laid.”

Raw jealousy is injected into Azriel’s veins faster than he can even comprehend the attack. It shoots through his bloodstream, gobbling up all sensiblities while simultaneously planting seeds of doubt. Every inch of him goes rigid, lids narrowing and pupils dilating. Acid pools on his tongue, singeing through the words he speaks, “What gave you the impression that anyone else could touch you while you’re fucking me?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe, it’s the lack of exclusivity?” Mascara is brushed through your lashes. Lipgloss smeared across supple lips. “Or maybe it’s because I’m just too fucking pretty to be always second guessing why you won’t make a move already.”

A muscle ticks along his jaw, “I thought it was obvious enough that you and I—you belong to be.”

“Says who?” He abhors the way you laugh around your words. “Because, that conversation doesn’t ring a bell.”

Azriel’s shoulders shift, frustration lingering in his stance and you find yourself annoyingly attracted to the entitled way he begins to fill up the space of your room. Outside shoes sink into the soft plush of your rugs until he’s standing behind you, one finger flicking at your dress as if it were personally offending him. “Says me.”

A scoff passes glossy lips, a hand waving absently in his direction as if shooing off an insect. “Save the brutish male bullshit for a female who favors it. This dancing around your feelings thing is growing tiresome and borderline pathetic.”

You’ve gone too far.

The absence of his reply makes you sure of that. Too many seconds pass in silence, long enough for the mood to grow awkward. Lips part and close, the heat in Azriel’s stare too ambiguous to go off of.

Fingers fiddle with dainty gold rings held snug against your knuckle. “Az, I’m—“

“—In need of some clarification, it seems.” Every syllable comes out alarmingly even, forcing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand at attention. “Go to the bed and bend over.”

“…is this a joke?” You question over a tense laugh.

Not a single thing about him indicates so. “Does it feel like one?” He leaves no room for a response, jaw jutting out towards the bed. “Bend over.”

You swallow thickly, moving to comply while shimmying the dress down your torso.

“No.” Azriel’s voice cuts through like an arrow through the night, shadows curling around the curve of your shoulder, teasing through your hair. Goosebumps kiss your flesh, neck craning as your body melts to mush under his attention. “Leave your clothes on for me. You spent so much money,” Every step he takes is as silent as a whisper; the only way you can tell he’s directly behind you is because of the foot that nudges between your ankles, widening your stance. “Let me appreciate it how it deserves, yeah?”

He’s not really asking for a response but you nod along either way.

Anticipation burns beneath your skin, warms your belly, makes toes curl in expensive shoes when you hear the shift of his clothes as he crouches down to his knees. Shadows hold up the hem of your dress, preventing you from seeing exactly what Az is doing, but your imagination fills in the blanks when you feel his breath against the back of your thighs. "Pretty," The muscles in your legs jump at his touch, cool fingertips trailing up your calves, squeezing at the thickness of upper thighs while running his thumb under the fat of your ass.

You get the feeling he isn't referring to the intricate lace detailing or near invisible line along the side that concealed the zipper running from hip to rib. Not when he spreads you open, a deep hum rumbling in his chest at the wet sound of your cunt separating beneath thin cotton.

“Now there’s a warm welcome,” A hooked finger peels it away, revealing bare sex and dripping arousal. Calloused skin dragging against a sensitive clit has your hips jumping at the sudden attention.

Teeth bite at supple lips, a moan crooning free as pleasure licks up your spine—it’s not enough. You shift from foot to foot, heels forcing a strain in your hamstrings while bent over in this position but Azriel doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. “Beating around the bush, as usual.” He’s perfectly content exploring around with your sex, circling around your clit and teasing his fingers into a warm hole that all but weeps in rejoice at the attention.

“Don’t rush me.” Your throat rolls with a thick swallow at the authority in his tone, brows pinched with pleasure as he works you open. “A male can spend all day tinkering away with his toys if that’s what he pleases. Don’t you agree?”

It should bother you more that Azriel plays fucking dirty.

He’s just daring you to deny him while he’s got you so exposed—so vulnerable. Fingers abusing at a sensitive spot that has your legs shaking and pelvis bulging a little at the intrusion. Arousal pools in his palm, fingers coaxing your mind to mush; pulverizing all the fight you have as he works you to your high.

“Yes!” You all but shout, back arching into the orgasm that washes over you. Incoherent little babbles follow, choppy encouragements and whispered pleas for reprieve but all Azriel can hear is ‘yesyesyes’ ‘yoursyoursyours’.

Someone of his own to covet. To kiss and love and fuck and ruin.

Something like satisfaction coats his cadence. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

[lol a lil bonus part i couldn’t make fit but refused to delete]

“Pathetic, hm?”

A satisfied grin spreads along flushed cheeks, hair messy and lipgloss smudged. “You do your best work when provoked.” Something like realization bleeds back into your eyes and in seconds you’re flailing from his arms, slipping off the mattress and using the discarded dress as coverage when you rush to the door.

There’s a few seams loose, string hanging out haphazardly and wrinkles all over but your smile is bright—damn near dopey when you drop a thick velvet bag in their palm. “Final payment plus tip—the dress is perfect.”

“It’s ruined!”

“Trust me,” Fabric whispers as it moves, legs shuffling to tuck your frame better behind the door. “It served its purpose.”

[yearsbecomingcool]

dress | dmitri kravinoff

donate to gaza here | masterlist

pairing | dmitri kravinoff x f!reader

synopsis | dmitri takes you dress shopping for the grand opening of his fathers new club

warnings | 18+!!!!, sexual content, insecure!reader, reader has sensory issues, teasing in public, bratty!dmitri.

word count | 2k

a/n | this is the dress i describe in the fic. i deserve financial compensation for rewatching kraven for this i stg. everyone involved in the film deserved a better film because i truly don't know what it was they put out. anyway if y'all want a part 2 let me know

You had never been to a store this nice, well actually, you had. In high school and college you used to love going to the luxury stores at the nicest mall in the city. You could never afford any of the pretty clothes and sparkling accessories that filled the stores but you loved to look. After hours of wandering through the nice shops you’d make your way back down to Forever 21 and H&M and regret ever stepping foot in a dressing room. Nothing ever fit right, or felt right. These pants were too tight or this color washed you out, the lack of AC would get you overwhelmed even quicker and eventually you’d storm out with just a pair or two of socks. Dmitri had insisted on taking you shopping, the dresses you kept in rotation for dates were nice…enough. But he wanted you to have something nicer, he wanted to spoil you. You were hesitant at first, but eventually he’d convinced you to go.

You’d never dated anyone like him, you never imagined you’d end up with someone so…rich. Growing up you thought a two story house meant you were rich so when you saw Dmitri with his private drivers and penthouse apartment you were awestruck. You’d met him at his fathers club, your friend had gotten a promotion and took you and a couple other friends out to celebrate. You caught his eye in your backless dress and he was quick to approach you. You thought he was cute, a little shy at first, but still cute. He’d comped you and your friends' bill in exchange for your number. It didn’t take long for him to invite you back to the club for a private dinner, it was the most romantic thing a guy had ever done for you and you fell for him quickly. His father would be opening another club location soon and Dmitri insisted he buy you a new dress for the grand opening. 

“I think it would look a lot nicer if we matched, don’t you?” He said, stroking your hair. Your back was against his chest as you laid on his couch watching a movie together. You knew he wanted you to be at the opening and already had a dress in mind, but he had other plans. 

“Yeah…I don’t think any of my stuff matches yours. The material is gonna look a little cheap next to all the nice stuff you’ve got.”

He smiles down at you, “Then we’ll just go get something to match each other so we don’t have that problem. I wanna get you something nice and silky.” 

You bite your lip and smile, “Like the one I had on when we met?”

He groans at the thought of it, “God that dress…still my favorite on you. Gives me a lot of access,” he teases. 

“Is that what you want in a dress? One that lets you put your hands wherever you’d like?” 

He moves his hand down to the hem of your shirt, sliding his hand up to your breast, beginning to massage it. “I think we both like that, hm?” You melt into his touch, moaning softly as you throw your head back against his shoulder. He smirks down at you, starting to leave soft kisses on your neck, “Let me take care of you.” You giggle and let him continue.

That was all it took to convince you to let him take you shopping. You didn’t tell him about your insecurities with trying on clothes, you were hoping you’d feel comfortable enough with him there that it wouldn’t be as bad but as soon as he led you into the shop you felt inferior. Everything about the store just screamed money. It was mostly empty, save for a few employees dressed in all black, designer clothing lining the walls. Dmitri picked up on how you were feeling pretty quickly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “You okay?”

You nod, “Mhm, I’m fine Dima…just haven’t even shopped in a place like this before. It feels like I shouldn’t be here.”

He scoffs, “You definitely belong here. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you don’t, hm? C’mon, you said I could take care of you.” He kisses your cheek and leads you over to a rack full of dresses, an employee approaches, ready to help. 

You let Dmitri take the lead in explaining what you’re looking for as you look through the rack. You see a couple dresses you like but as soon as you see the price tag your eyes go wide. “I didn’t know a piece of clothing could be this expensive…” you mumble to yourself. 

Dmitri hears you and chuckles, “Hey, I’m paying. Stop looking at the prices and just pick what you like, you know I can afford it.” 

“I’ve never shopped like that before, it feels…wrong,” you sigh, scratching the back of your neck nervously.

“Just try for me, yeah? I’m gonna look at some suits, I’ll meet you in the fitting room. He kisses your cheek and heads to the other side of the store to look for himself. The employee he had just spoken to stays by your side to help you out. 

After about an hour of looking you feel decently confident in your choices. You picked dresses in all different colors, materials, and lengths. You know he wants you in something silk but you wanted to keep your options open. All the dresses are hung up for you in the fitting room already and Dmitri’s is set up right across from yours. As soon as you step in and shut the door you feel a tightness in your chest. The bright lights and floor length mirror bring back the anxiety you feel every time you step into a fitting room. You strip off to try on the first dress, it’s knee length and velvet. It’s a rusty orange color with a built in corset and off the shoulder straps. You run your hands down it and cringe, the feeling of the velvet under your nails makes you want to puke. 

“How’s it fit?” Dmitri asks, knocking softly on the fitting room door. You open the door to let him take a look. He leans against the doorway, “You look amazing, do a spin for me, c’mon let me see it.” He makes a little spinny motion with his finger and you smile and oblige. He grabs your waist and pulls you towards him, “Do you like it?”

You hang your head and mumble a quick, “No.” You feel bad, you should like it, but the material ruins it. 

He grabs your chin and lifts your head up to look at him, “What’s wrong with it?”

“I-It’s stupid…”

“It’s not stupid, just tell me what you don’t like about it.” He’s always sweet with you.

“The material feels awful to touch…I don’t know why I thought I’d like velvet this time…” You mutter.

“No more velvet then, yeah? We’ll get you something that feels nice.” He kisses your cheek and moves his hand to unzip your dress.

You put a hand on his chest and your eyes go wide, “Dima! The door is still open,” you giggle. 

“Hurry up and take it off for me, I wanna see the silk ones,” he says, continuing to tug the zipper down as you try to hold the dress up. He lets go of the zipper and shuts the door, going to his fitting room to try his suits on. 

The next dress is much better, a floor length silk gown with shiny embellished flowers. It has just one drawback, the color washes you out. You look in the mirror, groaning in annoyance at how lifeless it makes you look. Two dresses in and you already want to scream. You open the fitting room door and knock on Dmitri’s. “Dima, do I need to show you every dress?” 

He opens the door wearing a suit of a similar color to your dress, “Not if you don’t want to. Why? Is this one not a winner either?” He smiles.

You shake your head, “Washes me out. The color’s cute on you though.” You reach out and feel the material of his suit. “I wish I looked good in this color, I like this suit.”

He blushes, “When you find one you like just show me, yeah?” 

You nod and head back into your dressing room.

You feel like you’ve tried on half the store by the time you get to the last dress, it’s one you’re not sure of. It’s silk, just like Dmitri had wanted. It’s strapless and would be practically floor length on you, it’s a beautiful red wine color. You slip it on running your hands down the fabric and smiling to yourself, it’s nice and smooth. You look in the mirror and smile, you’ve never felt better. It hugs all the right places and feels secure, unlike other strapless dresses you’ve tried before. You call for Dmitri to have a look, opening your door for him. He comes out of his fitting room, having changed back into his normal clothes already. “What do you think?”

His jaw drops as he looks at you. “Fuck…it’s perfect.” He grabs your hand and spins you around to get a look at the back. “This is the one, it has to be. I have a suit in there the same color, it’ll be perfect.” He pulls you closer to him, his hand going to your lowerback. You bite your lip and look down.

“You really like it, Dima?” 

“I love it baby, god…you’re gonna kill me. Go find some shoes to go with it, yeah? I wanna get the full picture.” He says, calling for an employee to come over. “Could you find them some shoes to go with this?” The employee nods before going off to find some shoes for you. Dmitri calls out your size, realising he hadn’t told her.

He pushes you back into the room, “I’m gonna worship you when we get home…it feels impossible not to do it here. But, Papa would have a field day if we got caught. I can imagine the headlines now, ‘Son of Nikolai Kravinoff Caught Fooling Around in Fitting Room’.” You laugh and shake your head at his imagination. He kisses you, wrapping an arm around your waist and his other snaking up to cradle the back of your head. You melt into the kiss, you can never get enough of him. He pulls away when he hears footsteps.

“I found a few pairs that might work, Mr. Kravinoff.” She’s got a couple boxes of shoes for me to try. Dmitri thanks her and has you sit down on the bench in the fitting room.

“You’re gonna put them on me?” You chuckle.

“Mhm,” he responds, grabbing the first box. He pulls out a nude pump, holding it up for you to see. He grabs your foot and presses a kiss to your ankle before sliding it on.

“Dima…” You whine. 

He smirks and repeats the motion as he slides the matching pump onto your other foot. “Something wrong, love?”

“You tease…”

“Not teasing just…being a gentleman…” He says, blushing.

You roll your eyes at him and stand to see how the shoes feel, “Hmm, not bad. I wanna try the rest though.” He kisses further up on your leg when he removes the shoes. For every pair he puts on and takes off you his kisses get higher, you know what he’s doing and he looks so smug about it.

“Dima…” You warn, raising an eyebrow once he starts to lift your dress.

“I’m being good, don’t scold me.” 

You laugh and shake your head at him.

Eventually the two of you decide on a pair of matching pumps in a similar silky material. He grabs your items and makes sure to stand in front of the card reader so you can’t see the total. “No peeking, just let me spoil you, love.” You roll your eyes but comply anyway. 

Once you’re back in the car you lean into him, “When we get back to your place you’re so getting it…teasing me like that…Dima you should know better.” 

He chuckles, “I’ll never learn…” 

[dabratzchronicles]

Funny How Time Flies (When You're Having Fun)

Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond

You as Yourself

Summary: After your convo with Terry, you went to the library to get back into your lost-out hobby.

A/N: This isn't very long but it is something! cute and adorebleness is something I've been NEEDINGGGGGGGGG, so I made it. Enjoy my babies and who knows? may get a double upload.(also i recommend this book! definitely a good fuckin read.)

Warnings: Nothing, playful banter and cuteness.

Chapter Two:

You hopped off the bus, stepping on soggy leaves and damp pavement. Today was the day you went to the library! You haven’t been here since you were little and they renovated the entire building, bringing a classy yet homey style you admired.

You walked inside and fell in love with the interior. The library side was slim to dim, and the children’s learning center was bright! It was filled with computers, books, and a few splashes of color, but not too much color to the point that it didn't make sense. 

Approaching the desk, you asked for a library card. The process was fast and easy, choosing the library mural design for your card, the black family happily looking into the book they were reading, you prayed silently that you would have a family like that. 

You thanked the kind lady and grabbed your newly-issued library card, trying to contain your excitement but failed miserably to do so. 

The library was filled with so many books, books and books and books! And you didn’t know where the fuck to start at, it was soooo many of em, Did you want to go to a thriller? Did you want a good mystery book? Did you want to read a beautiful romcom? Many Possibilities, Many Outcomes, again.

You wandered around the library until you found a lonesome computer behind one of the adult fiction aisles. You messed with the thing until you were able to search, but for what? You didn’t know a book off the dome you wanted to read, let alone search for! 

A thought infiltrated your mind, prepping your fingers to type ‘White Smoke’ into the machine, it was in stock! only one but you had to go get it before someone got it. 

You exited from the search, returning the screen to how you found it before making a bead line to the Teen Fiction aisle. 

Rounding the corner, you made it to the section and slowly examined everything. With as many books as it had and the mind that you have? You wouldn’t leave with the book you were supposed to leave with. 

Your eyes hunted for the damn book, nibbling at your bottom lip as all the book titles became a blur, it's like a white man giving his daughter his card, it never goes well. After almost what felt like an eternity, you found it! There was only one left in stock, your hand flying out to grab it like it was Black Friday.

You looked a little to the right to see a new book from the same author, your interest was piqued as you grabbed the foreign book. It was titled, ‘The Weight Of Blood’, The name alone was a good eye-grabber, you gave props where props were due. With the books clutched in your arms, you scouted around for a resting area, somewhere cozy and dim.

You finally found a corner to read in, your feet going autopilot as you looked down at the book to read the blurb on the back, sensing Carrie vibes, just fuming off of the book, the more you read the more you it intrigued you– Oof!

Books cracked open on the floor, the sweet-smelling brolic figure you just bumped into let out a tiny laugh as you were down on the ground trying to achieve the fallen collection of books that scattered across the floor, apologizes flew out like playing cards trying to get the precious books off the all walked over the floor.

Separating the books you didn’t have in one arm and the ones you did in the other, you looked up to see who you bumped into and it was… Terry? The man almost looked unrecognizable in casual clothing, well you wouldn’t say causal, more like, different-from-first-time-seeing-him causal, his navy blue polo sweater fitted loosely on him, his black jeans sitting on his waistline, it was refreshing to not see someone sag their pants, and to top the fit, gold jewelry with his Los Angeles dodgers low dunks. “Terry!” a high-pitched calling of his name filled the silence for a little bit, stares and shushing filled it quickly after.

He snickered, looking around at the annoyed daggers of stares at the two of you. “Are you oookay?!” he whispered softly, lowering his head and then his body. 

You gave him a little smile with all thirty two gleaming, “I’m Fine!” 

“Good, now hurry off this floor before they kick us out for lewdful activities.” he said with his hand slowly extending towards you, his ear to ear smile returning when he saw your face at his snarky comment.

“You are so naughty Mr. Richmond!” you giggled like a school girl, accepting his hand up. 

His hands were soft, almost as soft as fabric softener makes clothes, his vibe was gentle and serenely warm, your head shook on its own in efforts to shake away feelings, but it didn't help.

You stood straight till your knees bent almost out of place. You fixed your glasses and dusted off places covered with dirt, geez and you’d think they would clean these floors now and again. 

Terry studied you, to your hair that could only be described as a lion mane, but you kept it tame with your hood. To your outfit, which you kept casual. Your dark blue jeans hugging your lower body perfectly, your freshly washed Tokyo Ghoul hoodie kept you warm and comfortable, but when it got too hot you wished you put on a fuckin shirt underneath. 

His hand flew to the chairs, signaling you to lead the way as if he didn’t know where he could have moved his long legs. You corrected your face from the reaction you wanted to give in your head. “After you.” 

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, holding her books as you waltzed to the seating area. You felt funny walking in front of him. Not because he could possibly be staring at your ass, but because you felt comfortable in his presence, like he just gave off natural protector energy, a lion protecting his lioness, you felt pretty and safe. 

You chose the olive green armchair near the window, sitting in knee first, leaning towards the window. 

You cracked open the book and man, it brought back your love for reading, the character's introduction sucking you further into the book. A light-skinned finger slowly creeping into your view spooked you into the armchair. “Jesus, Terrance.” 

“I’ve been pspspsps-ing you like a stray cat!” Terry whispered his shout, looking at the book that so desperately caught your attention. “That’s not white smoke…” 

“I know,” You said, looking at the book cover with satisfaction. “This is another book by the same author. I don't know, just caught my eye.” 

He looked at with a pleased face, his bottom lip turned outwards as his eyes traveled across your side, your face sculpted by confusion and scareness. “Is there something on me?” 

“No.” He smiled, setting his book on the side between you two, scooting his chair next to yours, your hands flew out to replace what would have been your screams. 

He sat down in the now moved seat and crossed his legs, his hands reaching for your book with his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. 

Something unspoken was spoken between you two, his eyes rolled jokingly as he leaned towards you. “This is fine as long as we put it back where it belongs.” 

“How the fuck does your whispers sound like your speaking regularly?!” 

“Simple, My tongue is silver.” 

Oh, how you wish it was on you. 

You shook your head blinking back other unwanted thoughts. Your hand flew to the book, flipping the skinny pages to where you left off at, catching him up to where you got stopped at, which wasn’t far. 

“So she was passing as a white girl until that one day at her track meeting?” 

“Yes,” You answered, starting you up on one of your blabs.

It's funny how time flies when you’re having fun, as the great Janet Jackson said. You sat in the same spot for some hours—how many? You don't know. 

It’s been nice reading with someone, thoughts after each chapter, the passion of reading each sentence like it were lines to a script, the sudden moments to go with every other sentence, this was the best impromptu book club you could’ve ever joined. 

“5 Minutes till closing.” An Employee said, waving her hand to politely exit the area.

You looked outside to see the sunset. Closing the book to set it on top of the other book. Damn, you forgot you even checked that book out. 

“So,” His voice took you out of your thoughts. “Mind if I walk you to your car?” 

“Er…” 

Car. A fuckin Car. You don’t have one! You got two black Cadillacs that gets you places and singles to give to the money eater on those buses. You internally croaked over as you silently spoke the words: 

“I don’t have a car.”

“What?” His head tilted toward you to hear you better but you jerked yours back. 

“I don’t have a car! Teehee. I caught the bus.” You admitted to him, his face not changing at all. “Oh.” He said, “That’s all?”

“Yes that’s all!” you felt offended, it took a lot to admit you didn’t own a vehicle and all you get is a ‘That’s all’!?! The nerve! “It ain't easy to admit that you asshole.” You playfully hit his shoulder, giggling at how he faked how bad it stung. 

“I can take you, It’s not that big of a deal.” I want to fuck you so it is.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to have you doing anything extra-”

He shushed with his finger on your lips, dragging his index finger down and flicked your bottom lip. “Imma stop you right there. You ain’t prolonging shit, nor are you stopping me from doing something that I want to do. Plus I’m not letting another man scoop you up like that! That’s my job.” 

“Boy if you don’t move yo finger off my mouth,” You attempted to bite his finger away but he was quick to withdraw it. “I will take you up on your offer, but if you do that Disney Channel shit on me again I will lick you.” 

“You can lick me anytime you please,” he teased, his smile grew fatter seeing your eyes react to his statement. “Cmon lil lady,” He stuck out his free elbow while the other one had your books and his, “Times ticking and it's getting cold out.” 

Your eyes rolled involuntarily as you linked arms with Terry, walking together to the exit.

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[charmac]

can you talk a little more about how each of their reactions to finding out they were sexually assaulted by that monkey fits with their history of trauma? i always love your interpretations and sunny meta

For sure. Just to preface this, though, I don't think I have anything too crazy deep here, I think if anything it's mostly the idea that RCG all definitely sat down and thought about how their characters would react in this situation that gets me. Like yeah, they wrote their history and they acted it all, but it still makes me spiral to see that even in the smallest ways it continues through their performances. Especially any time their characters face sex and/or assault, their minds clearly being deep in their lore gets me.

Finding out they were ostensibly raped by a monkey, Charlie and Dennis are both disgusted while Mac is a dichotomy between them, somewhat enthralled by the idea:

Charlie's disgust is an immediate, bodily reaction. His CSA was his first exposure to sex, resulting in his sex repulsion that is very physical in nature (obviously there's a lot of mental stuff there as well, but that's coupled with more complexities). Puking the moment he learns he was raped exemplifies the fact that his body physically reacts ahead of (or regardless of) mentally processing what happened (then and now).

Dennis' disgust, while still immediate, is more processed. He grapples with the idea and causes himself to spit out the taste in his mouth, dropping low and then paralleling Charlie:

Further, Dennis is then the one to engage with Frank about the monkey, unhappily and in disbelief as he learns Frank was well aware of the situation he was putting them in (while Charlie sits there silently until he pushes the conversation past it). While maybe not indicative of his CSA to the extent Charlie's reaction is (bc honestly anyone could/would react similar to Dennis if this happened to them), there's clear remnants in Dennis' reaction and an obvious parallel of the two of them, divided by Mac's freak.

So, Mac. Finding out the taste in his mouth is the result of a monkey fucking his face while he was blackout drunk leaves him chuffed, happily reserved with that knowledge. While Mac doesn't necessarily have a history of CSA, he does have a heap of childhood trauma in the form of physical abuse and neglect, which has clearly resulted in his desperate need for affection and attention. Latching to Dennis, Mac's obsession with him growing more heightened as the years go on then being met with neglect and physical abuse, all while their relationship hovers an extremely sexual line, has resulted in him getting off on being used and abused. Waking up with scratches and bite marks and finding out he's been used like a sex toy by anyonething is a fantasy for Mac.

[ashtxrie]

summertime (jeongin)

PAIR. musician!jeongin x reader GENRE. angst, right person wrong time, missed opportunities, pianist x violinist, reader fumbling, jeongin deserves better WORD COUNT. 2.1k WARNINGS. mentions of drinking NOTES. oh yeah it's the post-finals ash comeback !

i think i’ll miss you forever  like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky 

june 00

summer had begun. 

sunlight draped through the windows in veils of liquid bronze, winking off of the steinway in the center of the room. yang jeongin sits at the bench, fingers flitting across the monochrome keys. he locks eyes with you momentarily, your violin on your shoulder. you both exchange one of your secret smiles. we’re doing well. 

yang jeongin was only supposed to be your accompanist for one concert, a little over a year ago. it was his first time; his mentor had called in sick that day, so he — a novice of age eighteen — was called on to play with you for your concerto. you were also eighteen at the time — a violin prodigy, a local legend. 

it only took that one concert to note that the chemistry was undeniable. instead of one instrument line chasing another, it was as though time itself warped to fit your tempo. the pianist, no matter how skilled, was never to distract the audience from the soloist — but together, both of you shined the brightest. and so he was called on for your next concert, and the next, and the one after that — until the two of you became some sort of a package deal, where one was never in a concert hall without the other. 

tabloids called it a dual sensation, a collision of harmonizing colors. later, you’d jokingly call it fate. you’d miss how elated jeongin was from your statement, eyes squinted in crescents for the rest of the day. 

“you’re a star,” jeongin smiled one time, after a particularly successful performance. you had received a standing ovation. 

“if i’m a star then you’re the sun,” you replied, expression mirroring his. “just look at the way everyone gravitates toward you.”

even you? jeongin wanted to ask, but he swallowed the question. 

june 01

at nineteen, summer had arrived again. jeongin was going to confess today. after a year of nearly blurting it out loud, he hid flowers in the corner of the room, waiting for the end of this rehearsal. you were shining, as always. 

you reached the end of your cadenza. suddenly, you turned around. “i’m not sure if i told you already, but i’m moving to the states in three months. i was going to tell you earlier, but couldn’t really find a good time to,” you breathed a little laugh. “it shouldn’t really affect you though; you’re really famous around here already anyway.” 

jeongin’s eyes shifted to the corner of the room, where he could barely make out the pale pink petals. he waited too long. he had smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “that’s such a great opportunity, i’m so happy for you.” 

“i’ll keep in touch,” you assured. words thrown out, haphazardly. it wasn’t a promise, and jeongin knew it. but in his mind, he hoped it was. 

you picked up your violin, and jeongin faced back toward the piano like you always had before. you both didn’t say a word for the rest of the rehearsal. 

july 01

one month had passed since then.

somehow, the two of you have gotten closer than ever before. jeongin seemed to find himself going to the cafe with you after practice, texting you late into the night, and running useless errands together. 

“i’m going to get new strings. come with me?” you ask. jeongin knows you just changed it two months ago, far too recent to need a replacement. but he doesn’t dare ask you about it and agrees to go with you anyway. 

maybe another version of yourself would have loved him. and maybe he would have been brave enough to ask you on a proper date, if he was a better man. but he isn’t, so he hopes and dreams and damns himself. 

august 01

two months in. one month left.

jeongin gifts you a music box: a delicate wooden contraption of two figures dancing, lacquer smiles plastered on their faces. he’d spent his month’s paycheck on the custom-made design, and even more on the musical mechanism. 

“play it,” he smiles eagerly. he leans forward, clasping his hands. 

and you do, using both hands to wind it up. it plays a sweet melody, one you recognize instantly. the woman and the man, spinning around and around. you play it again after the song is over. 

later, as you’re cleaning up your sheet music, you find the find the first piece you and jeongin worked on together. the same score that you both had used for that very first concert, the one he landed by chance. 

“let’s play it again? for old-times’ sake?” 

of course he agrees. jeongin could never say no to you, always a call away. 

now you’re sure that you’ve heard that song before, the one in the music box. it’s playing now, after all. 

september 01

your last performance. jeongin would never forget it. 

maybe you both were good, really good, or maybe you were terrible. jeongin doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t care, because he’s playing to your cadences, and you’re playing to his tune. 

after the encore, you rushed over to hug him, thanking him for the past year. 

“do you ever have dreams?” you looked up at him, eyes glistening.

“dreams?” he laughed. “well, i’m in one right now, aren’t i?”

october 01. 

it was no longer summer when you left. 

without the sun, jeongin’s days are dimmer. he runs through his warm-ups in an hour, sitting through a limbo between consciousness for the other twenty-three. 

in the morning he’ll call you, and that is the only time he feels alive. 

you talk about places, and things. sandy beaches and wide roads, skyscrapers and subways and neon lights. jeongin says to wait a few more years, when his brother moves out for college, and he’d fly over too. 

he hangs on to the sound of your voice, ever a hoper, a dreamer, and imagines hearing it for years to come. 

december 01. 

the last day of the year. an almost-snow crowds the corner of his window. jeongin gets to stay in his apartment for half a week. 

his neighbors are more festive than ever before. he hears the sounds of plates clambering, eager footsteps, and a steady drum. 

jeongin calls you, the line connecting on the second try. there’s the faint sound of a piano playing in the background, of you laughing at a residual joke that someone made. he’s alone in his apartment. 

“hello,” he smiles. 

“hello jeongin,” he imagines you smile back. 

“it’s new year.”

“sure is.”

“what are you doing?”

“talking to you.”

he laughs. you smile.

“did you hear the news?” you ask. 

“what news?”

“orpheus’ orchestra is coming around. they invited me to play a concerto with them. i just met my accompanist today, he’s really nice.”

“oh.”

was that who she was laughing with before? he wants to go. with you. you should go together. 

“i’ll buy your tickets,” he starts. you both know it’s impossible. 

“front row seats, i hope?”

“whatever you’d like.”

his neighbors change the channel. sometime, sometime, it sings. 

long after you hang up, jeongin leans against the wall closest to the radio. phone leaving red imprints on the side of his face. 

“happy new years, darling,” he says, softly.

the radio plays. aren’t you a little in love, too?

march 02. 

you don’t pick up jeongin’s calls much these days, and when you do, it’s always brief, ended abruptly. you’re always busy, always needing to go. 

the walls are thin. jeongin thinks of calling you. 

half of the time you don’t pick up, but he likes you, and he wants you to like him too. 

so what if he stalls a little on your calls? two minutes into three, three into four, four into five–

he squints his eyes against the sun. 

he dials your number, and he hears the piano again. a two-minute reverie before you have to leave again — the shortest call yet. you hang up mid-goodbye. 

you don’t call again for a while after that.

october 02. 

it’s been six months since he last heard from you. his neighbors had moved out not long after, and a young man around his age had moved in. his name was kim seungmin — the vocal protege who was relocated here for a local tour — and he was desperate for a piano accompanist. they bonded quickly, and a little part of jeongin reignited at playing an accompaniment part for someone again after so long. 

tonight, in particular, they had decided to grab a drink together. mid-way through the fourth shot, jeongin’s ringtone suddenly plays. 

yang jeongin’s eyes wander over the foreign digits on his phone. an incoming call from an unknown number. he excuses himself and goes outside; he picks it up anyway. 

he hears a familiar voice from the other line. “hello?” 

“sorry, who’s this?” he wonders if he’s drunk already. 

“oh shoot, sorry wrong num– wait. jeongin?” 

“yes?” realization hits him. he calls out your name softly, apprehensively, afraid of it sounding foreign on his tongue. it’s been so long, after all. 

all the walls he’s built for the past six months break, going back to the dreamer of a boy he was one year ago. maybe it was the fact that he missed this sound for so long, or maybe it was the alcohol, but he asks the person on the other line to stay just a little longer. 

“okay,” you say, and it’s silent on both their ends. 

don’t let it end this time, he says to himself, when the line dies. don’t let it end. 

october 05. 

it’s been three years. jeongin’s gotten into fashion, met friends who he regards as family, found a love for diabolical footwear. his days are a lot less lonely now, with him performing with a full-time ensemble with seven other members. they were touring in america, for god’s sake! he finally got to visit the place he wanted for so long. 

he’s known as another name now, remembered as the artist “i.n” instead of jeongin, the one who accompanied you all those years ago. but he never forgot. 

jeongin walks into a thrift store on one of their tour stops with hyunjin, tasking the older to “rate the fit” as he looks for what he describes as “peak vintage sustainability.” 

browsing the aisles, he pauses at a familiar object. a music box, with two figures dancing. 

“you can go ahead actually,” he says to hyunjin, waving him on. “there’s just something i want to look at.” 

he takes a while staring at at his own reflection in the figure’s glossy face. twenty-four, he counts out. he’s almost twenty-four. that means you are too. 

hands shaking, he twists the handle of the music box. he closes his eyes, and lets the familiar melody play until it unwinds completely. he wished it never ended. it would make it all too real. 

jeongin wonders if this is yours. he wonders if you still think about him from time to time, like how he does of you every day. 

he pays for the music box and leaves. 

in the morning, on the train, there’s a woman sitting across from him. she looks to be about the same age as him. the same age as you. he’s in america now, after all. she smiles down at him, hands clutched above at the handle. he’s holding the music box. 

a second, then she is gone. jeongin looks into the sea of people of wherever he’s arrived, when the train’s stopped and he has to leave. 

jeongin wonders if he would still recognize you on the street if you walked by. he’s scared. he’s afraid that his memory of you is becoming hazy, and replays your voice in his head until your last half-assed cut-off goodbye is all he can hear. 

and he finds you, in the girl with a red scarf and the lady with polished fingernails. the musician with a violin case and the girl with a dog. 

maybe you’re not in this city at all. maybe you’re out, in the streets of another foreign town. 

under the roof of a korean cafe.

at a cheap motel, payment upfront. 

it doesn’t matter who you are. he’ll find you everywhere.

in a broken-down apartment, at the last stop of the train. 

he’ll be yours for all of them. 

TAGLIST : @star-sim @boyfiejay @jlheon @jwsdoll @dimplewonie @suneng @en-gelic @mygnolia

*tagging my previous gen taglist for this one but from now on the ppl i tagged above will only be tagged in my enha-centric fics! if you'd like to be added to the general taglist (which is everything!) or the skz-focused taglist, please lmk with an ask or comment <3

[seven10th]

When It Rains It Pours

pairing: hwang jun-ho x f!reader

summary: the odd police man you keep taking around to different islands reveal something that’s very familiar at the club you work at.

warning: none tbh, but reader has a bit of lore because I like world building lol :3 she has two jobs: the main one is working as a bottle girl at a HipHop club in Hongdae, the second one is captain of a small touristic boat she manages, which she followed as a passion. Also, I describe her as foreign in this for some small details but that can be ignored :D

word count : 1.3k o.0

This is my first try at a fanfic so advice is welcomed :3

September 24th, 2023

The weather has been less than kind lately, and paired up with the odd client Captain Park has redirected to you, you came to realise that maybe the tours you took in the summer for schoolchildren to see how it was on a boat were something you took for granted.

“Can you go north two hundred meters mor-“

“No.” You responded to Jun-ho, the man that kept you occupied, yet paid. “There’s too many rock formations underneath the water ahead. They might puncture the motor or the bottom of the boat. Or you if you chose to dive here.”

You couldn’t tell if he kept suggesting doing stupid things intentionally or not. He was a detective, for fuck’s sake. You did your research before agreeing on taking him on these trips, not believing it was really a man working in the korean police system that could spend almost every waking second on a boat, searching for some secret island.

As he puts on his diving suit, you glance at the photo copy of the card used to coax people into joining the game. A circle, a triangle and a fucking square are holding this man in a short leash, all his energy put into the search for this damn island…  You didn’t help him because he paid heavy, he was relatively polite or you pitied him when Captain Park told him his boat was broke… No.

It was because of that damn pink solider.

September 2nd, 2022

Since the weather got chillier, you had to lessen the ammount of trips you’d make each month, now doing them thrice a week, causing you to take more shifts at W-East Coast, a well known club in Hongdae, popular amongst both locals and tourists. Blasting Hip-hop and rap music at every waking hour,bustling with customers and bottle girls in the main area and private dancers in the back, the club was a tourist attraction itself.

And so were you. Of course you were a bit deflated upon seeing a line of girls holding their cvs, all dressed up head to toe in attire fitting for the club’s theme.

“Finally! Ma giiiiiirl!”

Upon entering the manager’s office, you were welcomed by a very stuffy room, walls covered in record cases, basket jerseys and random awards won by the club. The manager, a guy in his early 30’s greeted you cheerfuly as he held his hand up to dap him. Upon you doing so, he snatched your CV, barely paying attention to it as he turned back to look at you.

“You’re hired! Ah, you’re perfect for this job! A godsend if I say so.” He circled you, not in a creepy way but… it definitelly made you a bit awkward and confused onto why you were the perfect candidate yet when much more experienced and probably korean speaking girls were lining up for hours outsi-

“A foreigner will be perfect as a bottlegirl! Dad’s gonna be super proud of me for finding a foreigner to do this…And ya aint bad lookin either’… just need a bit of… Glam!” The manager grinned as you understood exactly why you were the perfect choice.

Not that you were complaining. No. It was actually one of the best jobs since you have been hunting them in Korea.

A club where music in a language you knew was played, surrounded by people who simply were amazed by the fact you were… you. And to be honest, you started to like 50 Cent’s songs despite them being overplayed. Salary raises came easy, especially if the manager, who you learned called himself Ty, reference to the overplayed artist, called you in for music management. It did help for your reccomendation to write ‘Assistant manager’ afterall.

Octomber 31st, 2022

Your boat hours were cut even shorter with the shortening of the day, meaning you took more and more shifts at W-East Coast, making you one of the most popular bottle girls. The customers were a bit shy to order from you, especially when you took the extroverted and friendly persona. And maybe you felt a bit like an animal in a zoo with how they looked at you all the time, sticking out even between the bottle girls, which only three more were foreigners… but it paid well. Matter of fact, very well. So well that…

“Nah, man. Sorry. I’m just the server. Dancers are back there.” You spoke from behind the bar as you refilled a ice bucket when a guy in a pink jumpsuit approached. His voice was muffled by the balck mask he wore, a white square on it.

“My boss can pay you very well. They have shown an interest in you, and are willing to spend any sum.” The guy continued, very insistent. Usually, they’d leave or ask for a photo, but this time, you felt something was odd, really odd. With the skill you earned after working for 2 months there, you looked around the club to see another 2 bottle girls having some odd business card in their back pockets, identitcal to the one the pink guy slid to you over the bar. A idea began to shape in your mind seeing as the two girls who got the card were the foreign ones, the korean bottle girls not having any on them.

You tried to ignore him, working onto the expensive order you just got but he only kept going.

“It wouldn’t take much of your time. And it’s very discreet. No one you know would know.”

Seeing you still ignoring him, he gave up but slid the card further towards you, only moving when you finally pocketed it with a roll of your eyes.

“Really? No fucking tip? And he says he knows a rich guy…” You muttered to yourself before going to serve your table, now more aware of the people looking at you. Did you really stick out that much?

September 24th, 2023

Your spaced out a bit, the memories of the halloween party from last year resurfacing in your mind, the same card in the photograph was in your drawer in the small apartment you rented.

“The one in the club didn’t seem to have a gun…” You muttered while thinking of how Jun-ho described the guards he interacted with… Tracksuit, room, guns, shapes, circle, triangle, square- It was all a big mush of ideas on the notebook he carried, which you’d look through when he’d be diving in search for some phone ‘he lost’.

A few minutes passed in a haze as you looked at the surface of the wtaer, realising the only person who had an explanation for the weird guy that day was a good few meters under the water, the sea a bit aggitated. A knot formed in your throat and suddenly you were up, tugging at the iron chain that held him connected to the boat. You pulled on it until he finally came to the surface, gasping for air.

“HEY! What was that for?” He yelled, a bit angry from being yanked out. Yet you didn’t have any explanation. You simply stared at hime, blank faced before speaking stern.

“The weather is worse. Get out of the water unless you want the waves to ragdoll your ass around those rocks.” You commanded. It was a lie. The water was okay-ish for the time of the year but a sudden fear ran through you. You have been working with him for a good three months now but couldn’t say you developed any relationship besides the customer-worker one… it was the information he knew and the strong will that drove him to keep on searching for the island that made you realise just how serious this could actually be…

[takiishichika]

What do you like about Endo character when his entire personality is being brainless dog for chika? Outside chika he has no real character or development at all .

i know you sent this in bad faith and i should ignore this, but you've given me a good excuse to talk about endo, so thank you! before i begin, let me say :

why are you on the Endo Liker blog hating? that's, like, my brand. being the Endo Liker. i won't agree with you.

in case you are genuinely curious, strap in!

i love "loyal dog to a master" trope in general so yes, part OF the appeal for me is that he's takiishi's loyal dog.

as many characters in Wind Breaker, Endo follows a trope: "brainless loyal dog to evil master". that is his trope, however, when he's introduced, this is NOT how he's introduced, is he? Endo is first shown as someone who pretended to be part of KEEL to see a fun fight play out, and we learn that he orchestrated this. then, we learn he orchestrated the Gravel incident too. two things that matter here: none of those were for, or because of, Takiishi. we learn about him later. so, importantly, Endo is already displaying that he does things outside of his time with Takiishi, and does things that have nothing to do with him at all. he clearly has connections in the criminal underworld and uses them well for goals beyond, or unconnected to, Takiishi. either for his own amusement or because he needs to build some sort of rapport for something else, etc. we didn't even know Takiishi's name at that point. he also has his own sense of style, humor, scents he likes.

the point of his character is that he largely (not entirely, as i wrote above) has no personality outside of Takiishi's likes/dislikes/etc and that THIS IS A PROBLEM. Endo isn't happy, in fact it makes him quite miserable because you cannot base your life around just one person and then be okay. you can see this through the entire fight between Ume and Takiishi, yes, Endo is jealous, but you see that even before - when he fights Sakura. if he really was just a brainless dog with no personality, he wouldn't care if Takiishi ever acknowledged him, yes? of course, Endo SAYS he doesn't care and he was going to continue following him regardless, but he wasn't going to be happy with it - how long until he finally broke down? Endo as a person is first of all a liar and second of all unable to understand how his own brain works, which makes him prone to tantrums and hissy fits. Endo's jealousy wasn't just based on "oh no the person i like likes someone else!". it was based on the fact that he believed, truly, that Takiishi doesn't know he exists. if he was a brainless dog with no personality, he wouldn't care. but he does, and it injures him. it makes him miserable, but not only that, he understood what IS exhilarating - fighting (being heard by) someone who acknowledges (looks at) him. that is a part of who he is, as a person, and it's something Takiishi did not give him. he realized this. that's part of his development.

to understand though why Endo would follow Takiishi to this degree, though, you have to have some critical thinking and understand Endo's past/childhood. Endo claims it was okay, but let me reiterate, Endo is unable to understand how his own brain works so you have to read between the lines there. he was born with Alexithymia. his childhood was lonely, so lonely he claimed he preferred to DIE than go back. do you understand this? do you understand what it means when a child is happy getting beat up by their friend every day, ignored and discarded, and they say they'd rather DIE than stop experiencing this? do you understand the level of loneliness and trauma that being unable to participate in society brings? this is a recurring theme in Wind Breaker, really: how someone can become an outcast, why they may turn to delinquency, and it does it with grace and understanding. neither of the cast really WANTED this life, but because of the fact they were born outside the norm, this is how things ended up. it is the same with Endo, too. for the first time in his life he was able to feel happy and excited. for the FIRST TIME he wasn't faking it. nothing, NOTHING else had made him feel this way until Takiishi, and then until Sakura. so yes, if only one thing in the whole wide world made me feel excited or scared or anxious for the first time ever, i too would cling to it, i think.

Wind Breaker does a good job, imo, of showing complex personalities and mistakes people make in a way where "everyone is wrong and with a good conversation it will be okay". Ume made Takiishi and Endo come to have a proper talk, and we haven't seen this yet - so we don't know how Endo and Takiishi's relationship has changed now. we'll have to wait and see.

if you didn't understand any of this about him, then you didn't understand Wind Breaker in general and you didn't understand Choji either. not all development is overt, spelled out, or linear.

[fourfollie]

Now that you bring it up, I would've LOVED the idea of having actual character progression rather than the two of them INSTANTLY being friends. It's just... why IS Two so good at socializing with the contestants?

Four and X are depicted as weird and alien, because they ARE. After the split, there's a focus on how their struggles with fitting in impact their relationships. Four's entire arc revolves around the fact that they need to adapt and better understand their contestants on a personal level if they want said contestants to actually be their friend. X had to host without Four for a few episodes, and it allowed him some time to shine on his own and grow and get closer with the contestants on their own, which is also probably why they all love X towards the end of BFB while Four still had to sort of "earn" their friendship.

But Two... doesn't have this arc. Two, when they were first introduced, was just as weird in their own right. They popped up out of nowhere, was smug as hell, and the main focus on their introduction were their alien powers. Even in the beginning of the first episode of TPOT, you could even argue that Two struggled with their socializing as well, similar to Four and X, but recently... This flaw of their alien nature seems almost... Erased??? Why is Two seemingly so accustomed to Earthly manners while all the other Algebraliens aren't?

And yes, I know Two and Gaty focus on this a little in their talk, where Two talks about how they don't exactly "fit in." It's a beautiful scene, but like... imagine how much more impactful that scene could've been if Two and Gaty had more time to settle into their dynamic? What IF Two was full of themself? What if they struggled to socialize because they thought they were better at hosting? What if they couldn't relate to the contestants or empathize because of this aspect of their personality? What IF Gaty had a chance to maybe even dislike Two in the beginning?

I just think it would've been really fun to see Gaty hating on Two at first, having all sorts of comments and comebacks against them and their smugness, and gradually, overtime, we see Two PROGRESS into their current personality that they have NOW. What if the loss of Gaty was the reason WHY Two transitions into someone so much kinder? Imagine Two understanding why their own contestants may find them annoying THROUGH Gaty being angry at them, or ignoring them, only for their friendship to form more organically. There's just so many parallels that Two could've had to Four and X, while still making them their own character.

It just sort of sucks how TPOT wants to be mature and serious and more character-driven, but it doesn't want to toe the line if that makes sense? They're afraid of having their characters have negative traits, but by doing so, they're removing their complexity!

But I also get why; look at Pencil. Or Pin, or literally any character that may be a bully or harsh in tone. The kids vote for who is super nice or entertaining to some degree, and it shows. They CAN'T be as serious as Inanimate Insanity, or something like ONE, because as we see time and time again, audiences don't WANT to let a character finish their arc.

Look at Clock and Winner; Clock was making Winner uncomfortable. The second Clock opened up about why he's being a little too much on Winner, he was voted out. What about Pencil, especially in BFDIA? She shows heavy, negative traits. Or in TPOT, she's having a classic trauma response due to tears of isolation and change she WASN'T there to witness happen. She's struggling to cling onto stability, but while SHE'S still the same, all her friends are different now. But people DON'T want to look at this, all they're seeing is how she's being "annoying." Yes, sorry she got kidnapped for six years without any real contact from those she loves and the possibility of being trapped again, excuse her???? I GUESS???

Or Pin! Her face was removed, her limbs were removed, even her very SOUL was removed for half the season for literally no reason by the writers... but now that she's revenge-focused people think it's annoying or out of character.

This is all to say.... Two isn't allowed to have negative traits, and neither is Gaty, or anyone else for that matter, because the second they showcase these flaws, they're actively disliked by the fandom, which are all little kids. TPOT wants to be mature, or at least, better written than BFB, but I'm sorry.... that Firey and Leafy scene still better showcases emotional maturity than what I've seen so far in TPOT. Yes, you can definitely say I'm biased and whatnot, but as someone much too old for this show... those are just my thoughts lol.

I'd also like to add that, as much as I love Two's empathy and sunshine personality, I really DO miss that little tinge of smug snootiness they used to have when we first met them. There's moments of it I can't think of at the top of my head, but like... it's so far and in between. I'm sort of hoping that, with the loss of Gaty, we get to explore more of Two actually being upset or angry. I feel like TPOT is too afraid to allow characters to be angry or mean, but at the very least, Two IS permanent, so maybe they'd be more willing.

[queernyra]

JUST DONT LEAVE ME ALONE WONDERING WHERE YOU ARE!!

watch on tiktok here!

[iamacolor]

Lee Soo Hyuck as Park Joonggil (Tomorrow, 2022) - Devil Saint

K-DRAMA SECRET SANTA 2023 for @khaoray

happy holidays Vic, wishing you all the best for next year! 💜

[furrysmp]

I am HEARTBROKEN

[webism]

pornstar!shiu who started out as your agent. he’d book your gigs, stand and watch with cigarette in hand as you were fucked on film for a fat check that he’d take a cut of.

pornstar!shiu who would take you out for celebratory drinks after landing larger acts—be it a shoot for a dirty magazine or a collaboration with the current biggest name in adult film. shiu is good at getting you in—and he doesn’t much mind watching your artwork either.

pornstar!shiu who helps you set up a secondary source of income: an onlyfans. he helps you garner an audience, set your prices and start looking for guest stars. he lines a few up, lets you pick from them and even pours them a drink when they come over to film. shiu lets you have privacy with these shoots, but insists on staying in the house just in case anything goes sideways: they never do, though. most of the guys you film with are put off by the look shiu gives them when they first walk in. mean.

pornstar!shiu who slowly starts to get sick of accommodating the men you film with. it's just work, sure, but he doesn't get jealous like this of the girls that his other client Toji works with. he doesn't watch their videos back on repeat to make sure their hands don't wander where they aren't welcome. he doesn't fuck his fist at night thinking about him. it's just a you thing.

pornstar!shiu who gets an email one day from a well known pornstars agent practically begging to hitch up a collab between you and him. satoru gojo is a name shiu has heard plenty times before, be it through the business side of being your agent or through his computer speaker when he's edging himself to mindless porn in the dead of night. he knows he fucks good, seen it first hand.

pornstar!shiu who knows you're excited for this shoot, to finally get to try out the guy known for giving real orgasms in hopes of a more raw shoot. shiu almost feels bad when he tells you, twenty minutes before your shoot, that gojo can't make it. that he's sick with something nasty and you'll have to reschedule if his calendar opens up for you.

pornstar!shiu who listens to you whine about how you promised your online audience something good tonight. nods as you beg for him to find someone else on such short notice. he pretends to scroll through his phone and send a few texts as you stress your pretty mind over leaving your followers hanging. shiu can't help but smile at your desperate pout when he tells you that no one can make it on such short notice... but that he does have another idea, albeit an unconventional one.

pornstar!shiu who, within twenty minutes, has your face pressed into your pillows and his hand forcing your arch so he can fuck you just that little bit deeper. the moans you let out, even though they're muffled by your satin pillow, are nothing short of pornographic. it's fitting, and pulls a smile onto shiu's face because he's hearing better moans from you than he thinks gojo could ever pull. and god you feel better than he'd ever imagined: he wonders how he'll ever lay down for another person again know that he's felt you wrapped around his cock.

pornstar!shiu who insists it's just a favour: just work. he's given you five orgasms and a dirty movie to show for it too. you two fuck for an hour and he showers at your place before helping you edit and post it over dinner. it's casual, nothing awkward, but when the comments start rolling in about this new man that makes you cum like none other has, you swear he blushes.

pornstar!shiu who quickly becomes a regular on your page. goes from being your agent to somewhat of a partner in film. over the course of a few weeks, you have more money than you know what to do with: people keep subscribing to watch you cum on his cock in the mindless way it seems only he can pull from you. your library grows daily, with videos of him fucking you on the kitchen counter, whipped cream eaten straight from your chest, to videos from his perspective as he takes drags of a cigarette while you get your fix from your lips wrapped around his thick cock. he's somewhat of a pornstar himself now.

pornstar!shiu who, for someone who insisted this was just work, gets into the habit of kissing you through your orgasms. or conveniently forgetting to press record so that your marathon sex session on his couch stays for his eyes only. or starts leaving things at your house on the off chance to have someone else over to film with, so they'll see his hair gel or large shoes by the front door and realise you're spoken for, even if he doesn't have the right to speak for you.

pornstar!shiu who's asleep in your bed one night, his cock still nestled deep inside of you after making love to you for the first time. you're littered with lovebites and your mind is hazy with feelings you never thought you'd have for your agent of all people. the night is dark, and as you're cockwarming the man who is much more than just a co-star to you, your phone dings. he stirs, and you check it to find a message from Satoru Gojo, who is asking after you. he says he's upset you didn't get to film together the other week but he hopes you're feeling better. your sickness seemed pretty nasty, from what your agent said when he cancelled on your behalf.

what a shame!

[chuluoyi]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 (𝐔𝐍)𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋

- sylus x reader

master and servant. man and his right hand woman. you and sylus are labeled many things, but does love exist in many labels of your relationship?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, fluff, unrequited love, explicit smut, fwb, jealousy, hurt/comfort, description of major injury, blood loss, gore, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), spoilers! takes place throughout long-awaited revelry

note: my very first love and deepspace fic! :') w.c 5.2k ! i have a severe brainrot omg

Everyone knows of your relationship with Sylus.

The leader of Onychinus and his notorious lady assassin, you two strike fear into his foes and allies alike. You are as deadly as you are beautiful, and that's more or less why he keeps you around.

What everyone doesn't know, however... is that behind closed doors, you too share his wealth and his bed.

“I don't mind to spend the whole night with you,” he’d whisper in your ear seductively at nights, deft and veiny hands roaming your body all over. He often made you ride on top of him, dark burgundy eyes hazed with lust, knowing full well that you desired the very same goal he did.

And you’d respond his hunger with the same fervor, crashing your lips into his, your tongues intertwining, your hips moving vigorously against him.

“Ahh... ah!” Before you knew it, his cock—thick and long in size—slid inside you in such a snug fit, making you throw your head back and dig your sharp nails into his skin.

“Keep me going with your voice, kitten.” Sylus growled, eyeing your wobbling lips and tightly-pressed eyes as he sank even deeper inside you. “Yeah, just like that...”

Sylus always began roughly, seemingly not minding your breathless moans and wishes, and you liked him that way too—

“Is this... all you've got?” you panted in a hoarse voice, sweat lining your neck and forehead, the coil in your belly tightened so deliciously each time he thrusted into you. “Surely... y-you can do better...”

“Ha,” he gave a low snort, his red eyes blazing as he grabbed your bum and squeezed it, making you gasp. “Careful what you wish for... sweetie.”

And then your vision literally tilted upside down—Sylus gladly flipped your position so he could see you even better. This way, he also had even better access to you, intertwining your hand with his, spreading your legs wide so he could rut into you.

“—!” Breath was knocked out of your lungs as immeasurable pleasure washed over you, crashing and receding in an instant. You almost screamed as your back arched.

He broke into a satisfied smirk. “Let it out,” he murmured against your neck, biting gently into your skin, voice muffled. “You never hold back with me, do you, hmm? So, don’t start now.”

“You b-bastard...” you looked up at him with a breathless smile, knowing how close you were to losing your wits.

He simply made your nights worth remember. His allure was undeniable, with a voice that was naturally sultry. And his hands... fuck, they did heaven's work.

It didn't take you long to finally reach your climax, and once you did, your moans were the nastiest all night as you continuously lined his back with scratches.

You could feel how he was chasing his own orgasm all the while, before pulling out right at the last minute and made a mess on your belly, falling beside you.

“Tired?” Sylus’ chest rumbled with laughter as you laid sprawled there in a haze. His eyes narrowed at the sight of your burning cheeks. “I really like this look on your face right now.”

You rolled your eyes, catching your breath and shivered. “I bet you tell that to all other women you manage to lure to your bed.”

“How presumptuous.” He sent you a sour scowl. “I have a high standard— you should consider yourself lucky.”

Well, you do. Holding back a smile, you changed the topic. “I’m cold. Clean me up already.”

“Now, now… what a spoiled little thing you are…” Sylus chuckled, his voice deep and low, yet wrapping his arms around you nonetheless, hoisting you up.

Nights of passion. Mutually beneficial relationship. Nothing more and less.

No strings attached.

This is thrilling. Intimacy without commitment is more than enough to spice your checkered life. After all, what could be better and more rewarding than fucking the hottest man in N109 Zone and getting away with it?

At least, you thought so.

. . .

“Damn, you’re going to make me sore…” you grumbled, letting out a deep sigh as you sank into the sheets after he had cleaned you up, still basking in the afterglow and ready to drift off to sleep. “Ahh...”

Sylus’ lips curved into a wry smile as he watched you make yourself comfortable on his bed, slipping on his black shirt. “Well, I’m just that good, and you did ask for it.”

“Are you going out?” you asked in a small voice, teetering between sleep and wakefulness as you noticed him taking out his favorite gun. “It’s midnight.”

“Luke and Kieran said she has arrived.” Sylus said in low voice, not even sparing you a look. “After all, she has gone through all that trouble to come here, it is only right that I greet her myself.”

The woman. Sylus had told you several times, how a woman with Aether Core and powerful Resonance Evol would eventually come to N109 Zone. And that when the time came, he would make her resonate with him.

A part of you didn’t really know what to feel about this vague plan of his. “Will you bring her here too?”

“I’ll have her stay here until we have reached resonance,” he responded casually while shrugging on his coat.

Sylus valued others depending on their worth. He said it so himself—he isn't a philanthropist. He saw potential in your evol—the Speech Manipulation—which is why he rescued you three years ago, even after you had swung a blade to his throat.

This time must be the same. You played with the edges of your hair. “Well, consider me jealous then. Seems like I’ll have a rival soon.”

Your quip finally caught his attention, as he finally turned to you, one side of his mouth upturned.

“Ha.” Sylus strolled over to where you lay on the bed and placed a hand under your chin, letting out a throaty chuckle. “Is there even anyone brave enough to go against you?”

You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “We shall see about that.”

Little did you know, the coming of this new girl would be the start of the undoing of your mutually beneficial relationship.

You would've expected the woman bearing Aether Core inside her to be way more interesting than that clueless, weak and easily spooked hunter from Linkon City.

But your and Sylus' definitions of interesting clearly differed though, as you caught him smiling after he pulled the most outrageous stunt on himself— having her shoot him right in the heart.

“She is funny,” he said to himself, almost snickering even as you wiped the blood off his toned body. “She was shaking so much the moment I pulled the trigger.”

“Is that your only finding—” you snapped as you wrapped the bandage around his bare chest, fuming. “—after shooting yourself just to mess with her?”

Luke and Kieran told you how he had used his Evol to pull the hunter girl onto his lap, then handed her a gun and made her shoot him. You couldn't believe it at first, until the sight of Sylus staggering to his bedroom, his shirt bloodied and clutching his chest made you almost scream in horror.

“Is that really necessary?” you scowled, tightening the bandage with more force than needed. “Or are you just trying to get her attention?”

Sylus’ sharp gaze settled on you then, seemingly not taking your comment well.

“What’s got you so worked up about this, hmm?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he observed your cross expression. “Last I checked, we agreed not to get involved in each other’s personal affairs.”

Personal affairs, he said? Everything you two had done had long past breached all personal boundaries.

But the fact remains that you two are nothing more than—

“Fine.” You tied the bandage abruptly and about to storm off, making no effort to conceal your ire. You couldn’t say you were worried or that you hated seeing blood smeared across him. That was never in the agreement.

Until you felt a hard tug on your arm—

“And where does the angry kitty think she is going, hmm?”

Before you could discern it, your back was pressed against the wall—your left arm pinned beside your head, with Sylus filling your view.

His sculpted abs were right in front of you for the taking, his scent permeated the air, and his unsettling swirls of crimson eyes had you completely captivated.

“Have I ever told you that you look beautiful when you’re angry?” Sylus laughed as he leaned in, gripping your chin with his other hand. “If I didn’t know you were more than capable of slitting my throat in my sleep, I’d want you to look at me like this every day.”

It struck you how your heart raced wildly under his intense gaze. With his perfect face so close, the only sound that seemed to be most prominent was the pounding of your own heartbeat.

“What’s wrong? We’ve been closer than this,” Sylus taunted with a wide grin, his breath warm against your ear as he pressed his body against yours. “What’s making you so nervous?”

If you knew anything about Sylus, it was that he took pleasure in seeing you squirm in his hold. You glared daggers at him. “I hate you.”

“How lovely.”

“You’re infuriating,” you spat, devoid of any amusement.

He barked a satisfied bout of laugh once again, before releasing your chin. However, to your surprise, that very same hand groped your chest roughly—

“Then perhaps...” he hummed, a wicked glint in his red eyes, whispering to you with sultry voice right before he pulled you into him and devour your lips in heat: “You can help to fix me, sweetie.”

His kisses were hot as his tongue and hands made his mark on your body. Pressed against his bare skin, you gripped his strong, broad shoulders as he lifted your legs to his waist.

As always, he managed to dissolve all your lingering thoughts with lust. You just never knew one day you would finally reach the last straw though.

. . .

"Are you going out again tonight?" you muttered, tracing your fingers along his abs as you lay in his arms, still a bit giddy after your passionate session.

"No, I'm sleepy," he replied quickly, his voice low as he pulled you closer and closed his eyes. "Go to sleep already, kitten."

"I can't sleep."

"Poor you. I can though."

You quirked a frown at him. "You're so annoying these days."

"Oh?" Sylus cracked his eyes open, a smirk on his lips. "If you find me so disagreeable, you can always make me obey you, no?"

Your speech manipulation could make people do your bidding and it was a pretty useful talent. Apart from the first day you met Sylus three years ago in the wasteland of N109 Zone, you had never tried using it on him again.

"I won't, you idiot." You sighed and turned away, your back facing him. The idea of bending him to your will somehow didn't sit right with you. It was against your conscience now.

"Why are you facing away? It's freezing," he grumbled almost in a petulant voice. You nearly rolled your eyes, until you felt his strong arms wrap around your middle from behind.

"Why are you hugging me? We’re not usually this touchy after sex."

"I'm telling you, I'm cold, and you're my heat pillow."

"You're so damn insufferable..."

Despite your sharp retort, a smile found its way to your face. Moments like this were rare, and when he was the one seeking you, you couldn't help these butterflies in your stomach. Still...

You two are not in love, dammit. Sometimes it confused you a great deal. What is love anyway?

“Caw, caw, caw!”

“Mephisto, shush.”

Sylus’ robotic pet crow had surprisingly taken a liking to you shortly after you began living in the base. He obeyed your commands just as he did with his owner. The same couldn’t be said for Miss Hunter though, as Mephisto seemed to have a strong dislike for her.

You were idling at the living room with the crow when you realized how close it was to dawn.

“Luke, Kieran,” you called to the twins, who were bickering over a crate of oranges, frowning. “Where did Sylus go?”

Both stopped and looked at you, and Kieran blurted out, “Boss? Oh, he went out with Miss Hunter!”

You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised, but you were nonetheless. “And he still hasn’t come back?”

“Ah, yeah... but I think they just went on a short errand. He’s probably back or already on his way?” Luke mused, and you clicked your tongue.

It irritated you, it gnawed at you—how Sylus had been spending so much time with that hunter these days. He was trying to make her resonate with him, but still, the way you saw it, he was going through his playbook—

Just as he had done when he pursued you.

Calling her “kitten”, “sweetie”... everything he did with her seemed like a replay of the first year you spent in this place.

Deep down, perhaps you had hoped that, in some way, Sylus would see you as you saw him. Love might be out of reach in your bleak existences, but you at least wished he would consider you an irreplaceable presence.

You were petty, and you knew it.

“Mephisto,” you whispered to the cooing crow as it turned to you pliantly. “Go find and bother her, okay? Don’t let her out of your sight,” you added, letting the bird fly away on your command.

Deciding to rest in his room, you left the living room with a sense of exhaustion. You had stayed up for Sylus on a whim, as he had promised to share his plans for the upcoming auction soon. However, sleeping at dawn was giving you frequent headaches, and the habit was wearing on you.

You took a bath and then headed to his bedroom, and you would have never guessed what scene you'd walk into—

Sylus, in his bathrobe, and that girl… nestled against his chest on his bed. The very same bed where you two made out just the other night.

“Y/N?” Sylus looked at you over the girl’s shoulder, and you were frozen on the spot, feeling an indescribable rush of emotions washing over you.

In the next moment, the hunter girl scrambled away from him in panic, her face flushed with shame. “I-it’s not what it looks like! I swear! Sylus— I was just trying to find his brooch and—!”

In that instant, something inside you turned ice-cold. Her frantic explanations—none of it registered to you. The fact that he let her into his bed was enough for you.

You weren’t sure if Sylus noticed, but your eyes darkened, your fists clenched, and a storm raged within your chest.

“Sorry for intruding,” you said frostily, cutting her off and casting a contemptuous glance at both of them before turning on your heel and slamming the door shut.

It was no use, you finally realized. In this twisted relationship you two shared, there could never be anything more than hot sex and flirtations.

Somehow it hurt more deeply than you expected, as though your heart were being scorched. Yet, you couldn’t even find the tears to cry—as you weren't allowed to do so.

Sylus noticed the change in you immediately.

You vanished from the base and returned in the evening, not sparing him even a look and he could tell then that you had come back a different woman.

And it was the part he hated the most. These days, he couldn't read you at all.

"Luke and Kieran, keep an eye on her tonight," he instructed his two underlings as the two of them were getting ready.

"Who? Miss Hunter?" Luke questioned.

"Or the missus?" Kieran supplied.

Both of them liked you as well. Unlike him, you’d spend your free time indulging their nonsense, and over time, they even gave you that friendly moniker.

They didn't really know the nature of your physical relationship though. Or at least, didn't really know fully.

"The latter," Sylus gruffly replied, and then he went to the hunter girl to prepare her as well.

He had a justified explanation. If you had asked him, he would tell you nothing had happened. Your ire was better than silence, definitely a hundred times better than this.

But why didn't you come to him?

And why does he want you to come and demand him for an explanation?

However, tonight was the auction for the Aether Core. He had to finish this first before he could get a word with you later.

At least that was what Sylus had thought... until he saw you at the auction venue.

You were stunning in that black cocktail dress. He didn’t know when you had your hair done, but you looked as if you had spent the entire day preparing for this occasion despite having barely two hours after coming back. You were definitely a head-turner, drawing the attention of many vermin as you navigated the ballroom with grace and everlasting smile.

And it grated at him. Severely. Sylus's eyes were locked on each lowlife hell-bent on taking his life and desperate to get into your pants, knowing he would end them all tonight.

...and as if it wasn't enough, he then saw you entertaining one of them with that sort of smile you used to reserve for him.

. . .

"Mm-hm, really?"

"Yes, I've heard they are inside the safe number 209."

You coyly smirked, looking the man with mask in front of you, whom you had led to a deserted hallway, who had been complying and smiling at each and every question of yours.

"Thank you then." You flashed him your best smile, about to go back to the main hall.

"And uh, miss," he suddenly turned to you in a flurry. "I believe I haven't gotten your name—"

You chuckled, facing him again. "Oh, you want to know my name?"

"Very much so!"

This was like bread and butter to you. You effortlessly wrapped an arm around the man's neck, standing on your tiptoes, and whispered in his ear:

"Halt."

He went rigid the moment the command left your lips, and you could feel his panic rising as you pulled away.

"W-what happened—!?" he thrashed against the invisible hold manifested by your Evol in pure panic, to no avail, whereas you regarded at him with a cold smile.

"What a shame. I planned to let you be, but then you gave me the perfect opportunity." You maintained your eerie smile as you pulled out a thin, needle-like blade from the hem of your dress. "You have been a great help. Thank you."

With that, you slit his throat, and blood splattered onto the ground in a continuous pool as he jerked, collapsing like a broken statue.

You felt nothing at the sight, but you knew you weren't alone as you felt his presence.

"You started the party without me?" Sylus' deep voice resonated through the hall. "Didn't know you have that much of bloodlust this early, sweetie."

The clench of your heart was still there, even when you had decided to discard all your lingering feelings for this man. Still, you put on the perfect poker face when you met his eyes.

"I want this to be over and done with quick. I'm exhausted already."

Sylus eyed you calmly, yet somehow it felt as if the depths of those red eyes were trying to assess your soul. "Your actions said otherwise. Is flirting with him necessary?"

"You're one to talk, Boss," you scoffed at the last word. "As long as it entertains me, why isn't it?"

Sylus didn't deign you with an answer, and you decided to pour more oil into it.

"Strictly professional, no?" You lifted your chin defiantly. "Last I checked, we were not supposed to meddle in personal affairs—"

You didn't realize it until he did, because the next thing you knew, his right eye suddenly glowed with that terrifying shade of crimson. "You—!"

He has seen it all. In the three years since he took you in, Sylus had never used his Aether Core-infused right eye on you to peek into your mind. The first and only time it had happened was when he restrained you from attacking him on the day you first met.

This was the second time. And now, he knows. Of your petty feelings, of your deepest, truest desire.

At first, Sylus remained silent, but then his eyes narrowed at you, low voice booming through the hall.

"Jealousy is unbecoming on you, Y/N."

And after all that he knew, that was the only thing he could come up with?

You felt shame wash over you. You wanted to run from him. This was too much because he most definitely didn’t reciprocate your feelings, did he?

"I don't want to hear it," you resolved, the space around you felt constricting all of a sudden. You walked past him, about to break into a sprint—

Sylus immediately caught a hold of your arm though, sending a glare at you. "You—"

"It ends here," you blurted in heat. "I don't want it anymore. We're through, Sylus."

"Listen to me!"

He snarled at you, and it was the very first time he did so. However, you paid him no mind and pulled out your ace card, staring hard into his eyes. You could feel the start of his black and red mist, but your Evol was faster—

"Move."

His hold on you loosened, and he jerked back several foot away from the impact. You kept your manipulation on him, avoiding his fury-blazed eyes, bolting away before he could catch you.

. . .

The night escalated so much worse than you had imagined. Explosions and a sudden appearance of an Arbiterwings threw the whole auction into chaos.

You were fighting off the sudden wave of wanderers alone, relying solely on your blade since your voice was too hoarse to use your Evol. When one of them struck you and sent you crashing into a wall, you just sat there in a daze.

It was exhausting. Usually, Sylus would be by your side, covering your back at the very least. He wouldn't let a single scratch get to you. His black and red mist of doom would dominate the battlefield, offering you protection while at it.

You loved that bastard. It was so beyond stupid. Why did you have to ruin everything by having these feelings? If your heart was gone, would these feelings go with it too?

You got your answer sooner than you thought.

White-hot pain engulfed you when something impaled you right in the chest. The searing agony was mind-blinding, the only thing you could discern was your own wails.

No, the feelings didn’t go. Even as you teetered on the brink of death, that damned love only evolved into many regrets.

And in your final moments, you could've sworn you felt the exact moment your heart stopped beating.

"Oh my god! Luke! She is here!"

"Kieran...! Is she alive?!"

"So much blood—! Luke, call Boss! Call Boss here!"

"Boss! We found her!"

"What do we do?! Shit! It's right... in her heart..."

"What!? Boss! S-she is...! Oh lord..."

You had a dream, and it was of your first meeting with Sylus.

Three years ago, in the wasteland of N109 Zone, you were a mere scavenger until he found you. You had thought he was a threat much like others in this lawless city, so you unwittingly showcased your Evol before him in defense, until he pinned you down on the hard ground, crimson eyes holding you in place.

"I'm giving you two options: go with me and live, or die here in vain," he had told you then, a smug smile on his face. "I assure you, so long as you're still useful to me, you won't have to worry about food or roof above your head ever again."

What kind of homeless person would refuse that tempting offer?

Since you followed him, Sylus had never been untrue to his word. He made good of his words, idly engaged you in his circle, showered you with gifts, and at one point—

"You're... trying to tempt me, aren't you?" he growled amidst kisses, pinning you on his desk. Apparently, seeing you up close and personal every day in his home had worn down his patience. He was just a man, after all.

You wickedly giggled, even breathless, cradling both sides of his face and admiring those ruby eyes of his. "What if... I am?"

"Then consider me tempted, little kitten," he chuckled, his baritone voice casting a spell over you. "Remember though, curiosity can kill most cats."

Thus began your thrilling relationship, and you knew you would gladly stay with him just to have a taste of that heaven. And you knew too, he wouldn't cast you easily this way.

And of course, so long as you are useful to him, that is.

When you came to, you felt warm, and your position was so comfortable that you were almost lulled back to sleep.

At first, it didn't register to you where you were. The scene before you was so familiar, but you were so lethargic that you were late to recognize it.

"Awake?"

Sylus' bedroom. The realization dawned on you as that deep, low voice questioned you flatly. You jerked instinctively, looking up at him as he came into view, holding a glass of wine.

He was still the same. Even with you out of commission, he would still indulge himself with his wine. Somehow you couldn't really pinpoint what you should feel about it.

However, Sylus then did the thing you didn't expect him to. He went back to his pantry to get a glass of water, and then he came to your side to prop you up.

"Drink," he commanded, positioning the glass on your chapped lips. You complied and did so, feeling relief for your throat. Once you were finished, he gently laid you back on the bed and tucked you in, never once taking his eyes off you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Have been better," you quipped dryly. Then it dawned on you that he had never been this gentle with you before. He was showing care, which confirmed one theory you had about him: Sylus could be considerate when he chose to be.

The very fact that you ended back here didn't really faze you much, because in the end, you belonged to him out of all people. Just one thing that still didn't make sense in your mind: "What did you do?"

His burgundy eyes squared at you. "What?"

"There’s no way I could've survived that," you mumbled, trying to gauge his reaction. "You must’ve done something."

“Ha, when it comes to these things, you’re sharp,” Sylus said with a light scoff, and you frowned.

"Answer me."

"Aether Core," he supplied. "It was now in you, repairing your coronary system."

"You..." you were rendered speechless. "You—what? You infused my heart with a Protocore...?"

Just like the one in his eye, he had implanted you with that dangerous fragment that was from something as horrific as a Wanderer. The very thought made your breath hitch.

"Stay calm," he commanded, his hand found yours when he noticed your horrified expression, squeezing it as if to provide some sort of reassurance. "You'll be fine."

"H-how... why..."

"That was your only chance, or you would’ve been dead." Sylus' tone was harsher now, his jaw set firmly. "I keep telling you not to rush in carelessly, and yet you did. Did you even know how bad your state was when I found you? No, you didn't."

The way he spoke made you feel as though you were being blamed, and overwhelmed with your frustration, you retorted sharply, "No one asked you to save me."

Awkward silence lingered for a good one minute after your jab. You turned away from him, feeling conflicted, because you knew you should be grateful that he did so, because it meant the Aether Core inside you now was the one he had been looking for in that auction.

He gave it up to save you.

Still, it confused you.

“If I died...” you began, bitterness creeping into your voice. “Then it just means I’m no longer useful to you. You always discard things that no longer serve your purpose.”

You turned back to him, meeting his impassive gaze. “So why? Did you pity me after discovering my feelings? Is that why?”

There are many labels in your relationship. Master and servant. Onychinus leader and his right-hand woman. But you were also his lover, even unsaid. Was that fact that did it? Or a mere charity for the weak, you?

Suddenly, Sylus placed his palm over your chest, right where your heartbeat pulsed. You stiffened, bracing for some sort of impact.

But no, it wasn’t anything sensual like he usually did. His hand—large and warm—was a comforting presence, resting on your chest and feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Haven't I told you that I never act out of pity?" Sylus' voice was strained but softer than usual, his deep burgundy eyes holding yours. "Do you really need me to spell it out?"

You didn't dare to look away, for the moment of truth was right in front of you.

"My only regret is not being able to pull you back," he said quietly, his tone somber. "I shouldn't have let you get hurt."

Oh. You blinked, taking in his sincere words, something inside you softening and warming at his words.

You had noticed it too. Despite his roguish exterior, he had always looked after you during your time together. It was just that you hadn’t dared to hope for more.

“The naughty little kitten has managed to worm her way into me, it seems,” he chuckled then, flashing you that cocky smile. “So now, she has to be held responsible for her actions.”

His red gaze narrowed as he added. “Moreover, since I have saved your life— you owe it to me not to throw it away so easily. So you can’t rush into danger carelessly again, you hear?”

Those playful remarks were enough to dispel your doubts and insecurities. They answered everything you had been questioning, and knowing it, finally you let out a relieved sigh and exasperated snort. “You shameless bastard...”

And when he leaned in to place a fleeting, innocent kiss on your forehead, you realized that, in his own way, he saw you just as you saw him, even if only a little.

Sylus settled into the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and letting your head rest on his arm. Tonight, there were no passionate kisses, no steamy foreplay, or dirty talks— just you being alive and well in his embrace.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three weeks, woman. Luke and Kieran keep mourning you everyday.”

“Three weeks?! How did you manage without me for that long?”

Sylus glanced at you, a contented smile on his face as he held you close. “It’s been horrid.”

Neither of you would be caught dead saying “I love you”, and yet, regardless, you knew that right this moment meant so much more.

[tojigasm]

I'm imagining how Logan letting you see his claws up close for the first time would go and like not to be too tmi, but I do think Logan's claw slits would be soooo sensitive.

I could imagine him not really holding hands with you or letting you get too close to his hands in general until the two of you have progressed past something superficial.

The first time he lets you even get near his hands is when the two of you are lying in his bed. Your back pressed to his chest and his chin resting atop your head.

You've got one of his hands held by both of yours, running your fingers over his blue veins and tracing the divets and scars of his skin.

"How'd you get this one?" You ask, running your thumb over the rough line of skin, tilting your head up against his chin some.

His other hand momentarily stops its path where he'd been smoothing it down the soft of your arm.

"Think I was cutting up an apple," he jokes.

The two of you burst into a fit of giggles and he presses a kiss to the side of your temple, moving to speak before he's suddenly caught off with a moan so low you almost weren't sure what it was at first.

Logan doesn't even seem as though he's noticed as his brows remain furrowed and his body relaxed beneath you.

"What was that?" You turn to him, brows arched. You know he can already read the scheming expression written over your features.

Wordlessly, he pops his neck as he moves his hand upwards towards your face, pulling your hands along with it.

Balling his hand into a fist, he turns his knuckles towards you.

Your eyes catch on three small slits between each of his digits, only about half and inch or so long.

Cautiously, you run the tip of your finger down the length of one, earning a shiver from the man beneath you.

"Does it hurt?" You say quietly, nearly a whisper. Almost as if speaking too loud would startle the riveting atmosphere of the room.

You feel him shake his head 'no' behind you before he says gently, "feels good."

You give a slow nod at that, eyes glued to his knuckles.

"Can I touch them again?" You ask after a quiet moment passes.

Logan hums from behind you, "Go ahead."

You're careful in the amount of pressure you apply as you gently stroke the tips of your finger down each slit, relishing in the soft hums earned by the man behind you.

You can feel Logan's eyes watching you – as if equally enthralled with your newfound fascination of his mutation.

He lets you enjoy the delicate nature of it. A man so brutally threatening and deemed almost wild for the majority of his life subdued by something so seemingly trivial about the very thing that labeled him dangerous in the first place.

It's sweet to him.

"D'like it?" Your voice pulls him from his haze.

He seems to mull over his response, unfurling his hand to flex all five fingers in a spread palm.

"S'okay," he offers before unsheathing his claws, letting you look them over.

The lights from his room add a sparkle to their sharp tips, and for a moment, he finds his loathed despotion for them to be almost futile.

"They're pretty." You comment, meeting his hazel eyes in the metallic reflection of them.

He scoffs, "That's just cus' you're lookin' at yourself in 'em."

You feel him reach towards his beer on the nightstand. "I mean it." You click your tongue.

It's a sensitive topic for him, you know that.

Logan takes a swig of his beer, taking another look at his claws. He turns his hand back and forth before retracting them with a 'Shing!'

"Well, in that case," he flicks your temple with a chuckle, "Thank you."

"Can I see them again?" You pull his hand back into your own.

With a sigh, Logan unsheathes his claws for you again.

He takes another swig of his beer, mumbling "Brat."